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His smile spread from ear to ear and after quickly tossing back his first shot, he poured another. It didn’t take much to get Sorin in a good mood, but I’d have to get details later, when we were alone and on safer ground. I turned toward him, catching the grin that still covered his face.
“Did Priest try to talk you out of it?” Sorin asked.
“Sorin, you speak in riddles and I have no energy to translate,” I said. My voice was harsh, but my brother knew there were no teeth behind it. He was many things, many bad things, but he was my brother, and I would never let anything come between us.
“You stole the accountant’s girl. I know he had something to say about it.”
“I answer to no man,” I said, echoing the words I’d said to Priest earlier.
Sorin smiled and nodded, then looked toward the front door. “You might have to answer to that,” he said.
I watched as Ashmore approached, still dressed impeccably, but even in the dim light of the room, his eyes were shifty with energy and animation. Only the presence of the person who accompanied him kept me from dismissing him.
Vargas, one of the most powerful men in the city’s criminal underworld.
Sorin stood, as did I. Priest’s place was the neutral spot where factions met to discuss business or on occasion, relax without fear of reprisal. But Familie belonged to Clan Petran, was in the heart of my territory. This intrusion would not go unnoticed and could not go unremarked.
Ashmore rushed toward me and then stopped. “I want her back. Now!”
At his sharp-voiced words, people began filing out of the room, first the women and staff, then the men, and finally higher-level soldiers. They knew when to make themselves scarce, and a visit from Ashmore and the Peruvian definitely qualified as one of those times.
Sorin moved closer to Ashmore, close enough to the other man’s face he could bite off his nose if he so chose. Something he’d done to others before.
“Do you know where you are?” Sorin asked.
The edge in his voice was razor-sharp, and he kept his eyes glued on Ashmore, waiting for the other man to do anything that would give him an excuse.
Vargas raised a hand, an attempt to placate Sorin. “We do. No disrespect intended. My associate is a little emotional.”
“Are you sanctioning this intrusion, Vargas?” I asked.
He headed the sizable Peruvian faction, and was personally responsible for half of the city’s drug trade. A person of his power in David’s corner was surprising, but even Vargas’s power would not sway me. If anything, this display only confirmed I’d done the right thing.
He shook his head. “Don’t think of it that way. I’m simply facilitating a meeting, hopefully one between friends.”
“He’s no friend of mine.” I inclined my head toward Ashmore. “You either. But we make money together. That can change,” I said.
Vargas’s eyes flashed with malice before he put his docile mask back in place. And that was all it was, the thinnest veneer of civility to hide the savagery underneath. It had helped him, too, his appearance of calm allowing him to emerge from the last war on top of the heap. It was impressive how he’d managed to pull rival factions together, wrangle complete control, and still maintain his reputation as a conciliator despite the bodies he’d stacked.
He’d worked hard for status, had gone to great lengths to keep it, and I wondered how deep his ties to David went if he was willing to risk it, or whether this was a surface play, a roundabout way for Vargas to solidify his hold on the Peruvians, which would give him almost a monopoly on the drug trade and the money and power that came with it, a result I wouldn’t allow.
I couldn’t immediately read his intentions. Unlike so many others, Vargas was usually in control of his emotions, and his thin face, dark eyes gave away nothing.
“Business is business, and what you did was bad business,” Vargas said, just managing to stay on the right side of chiding, but only barely.
Sorin stepped closer to Vargas, his own tolerance for the type of question Vargas posed far less than mine. But then again, Sorin had never been patient and had never, ever, overlooked a slight. That hotheaded nature always threatened to strike.
“Sorin, let Mr. Ashmore plead his case,” I said.
Sorin recognized the play for what it was, the barest attempt to give Vargas at least some of what he wanted, and he went along with it, loosening his stance but still alternating his glare between the two interlopers with naked contempt.
“Just give her back,” Ashmore said, voice now a whine. “No harm, no foul. And I can sweeten the pot. I’ll clean for free this week.”
He looked at me hopefully, eyes half begging, half defiant before he choked out, “She can stay another day if you’re not finished with her yet.”
I thinned my lips and exhaled hard, my hands clenching into fists, anger at his continued mistreatment of her surging through my blood. Sorin glared at Ashmore harder, and even Vargas shot him a brief look of disdain.
“Do not come here again. Either of you,” I said, looking at Vargas then.
