“How’s that?”
“You know Ronan Shaughnessy’s daughter. Anthony Brennan feels threatened by you. And Ivan Petrov believes you are his son. Who the fuck are you?”
“Just a street-level dealer. Nobody important.”
Dmitri laughed humorlessly. “Nobody important. As it turns out, you won’t need to find a new employer. Petrov wants to deal with you directly.”
“I work for you. This isn’t my show.”
Dmitri grabbed me by the shirt collar and slammed me against the railing, getting right in my face. “You fuck me over and I’ll put a bullet in your head. I’ve worked too hard for this to get fucked over bynobody important.”
I shoved him away. “I have no intention of fucking you over. I just want my cut, like we agreed. That’s it.”
He stared at my face and I kept it carefully neutral. “Leon will pick you up at eleven.”
With that, he turned on his heel and strode away.
Fuck.
This was not going to plan. But then, these things rarely did. You couldn’t anticipate a person’s every move. Nobody could have predicted this shit show.
* * *
I was wired,a tiny microphone that transmitted sound and video attached to the button of my black button-down shirt. My back-up team was right down the road if I needed to send a distress signal. After I was free and clear, my cover not compromised, the NYPD and federal agents would make the arrests. That was the plan. But I already knew that plans could go to shit in the blink of an eye.
Two hundred kilos of cocaine and heroin wrapped in duct-taped bricks were hidden under the produce—onions, potatoes, and tomatoes. Forty-nine assault weapons and twenty-nine handguns. Enough Fentanyl to kill a few million people. It had all rolled into the warehouse on the back of a produce truck, Ivan and Anthony following in the Mercedes, and after we had inventoried the product, Dmitri had transferred the money to Ivan’s shell company, and we’d unloaded the product onto the warehouse shelves. My part was done. Time to get out.
“I see it now. Your resemblance to Sasha,” Petrov said. “It’s in the eyes. You have so much going on in that brain of yours. Sasha was always thinking, planning, plotting. Just like you.”
I breathed through my nose trying to calm the fuck down. I wasn’t here for a father/son chat. “I’m sorry about your son. You have my condolences. But I’m not—”
“What did your mother look like?”
“I don’t know. She died when I was a baby. I was raised in foster care.”
“You’re my son. I know it in here.” He pounded his right fist against his chest.
“You’re mistaken. I’m not your son.”
“You obviously have a knack for the family business,” he said. “Why settle for so little when you can have it all?”
“Have it all,” I repeated, watching Anthony from the corner of my eye. He was talking to Dmitri and Leon by the truck, but their voices were too low to be overheard. That put me on edge. Sergei was on the opposite side of the warehouse guarding the door, Viktor outside the door on lookout. Petrov had three men inside, including Anthony. Nobody appeared to be in any rush to leave. “The only thing I want right now is a cold beer and a shower. It’s been a long day.”
“I don’t think you understand what I’m offering you. This…tonight…was nothing compared to what we can do. I want to take you under my wing, Kosta. Teach you the ropes.” He clapped his hand on the shoulder. “We’ll meet tomorrow to discuss this.”
Anthony was nowhere in sight. Dmitri and Leon were watching me and Petrov.
“Dmitri, I’m out of here.” I strode toward the door. Sergei drew his gun as Dmitri and Leon closed in, weapons drawn.
“I don’t think so, my friend.”
They were closing ranks, Petrov’s men turning against him and we were outnumbered.
It was one of those moments that happened so fast yet seemed to play out in slow motion.
A shot rang out and I turned, drawing my gun from my back waistband as the sound of gunfire ricocheted off the warehouse walls.
“Would you like to know your son’s last words before you die, old man?”
