Page 95 of Tainted Blood
However, the Ukrainian Don doesn’t seem as offended by the insult as he is entertained. “I like to ‘see,’ Señor Carrera,” he says, drumming his fingers together. “Observation is the key to success.”
“Actually, that’s perseverance, but, hey, your house, your rules. Mind if we take a seat?” I don’t wait for a response before pulling out one of the two folding metal chairs set across from him.
I can feel Grayson’s agitation rising as he jerks out a chair, too.
Chuckling again, Lisko wags a stumpy finger across the table. “I like you, Carrera. You have balls. Few men would be so bold.” That irritating smile widens, and he tilts his head at Grayson. “You should lighten up, yes? Take notes from your friend. All business, no fun shuts doors…and ports.”
“Is that a threat?” he asks coldly.
“Observation,” the Don repeats, his gaze sliding back to me as if the damn word is now our own private joke.
I’m about to tell him to get the fuck on with it, when a kitchen timer goes off.
Pushing away from the table, he rises to his feet. “Dinner is served.” Waddling toward the stove, he dips a ladle into a steel pot and fills three bowls. “Have borscht…” he instructs, setting a bowl in front of both of us before taking his seat.
“Not hungry,” Grayson snarls, biting down on each syllable instead.
Shrugging, Lisko tucks his napkin into his collar before taking a loud slurp.
Out of habit, I scan the room for signs of movement, finding nothing but silence. Lisko may be an irritating son of a bitch, but he didn't claim The Odessa’s throne by being careless.
That’s when Thalia’s confession from earlier floats into my head. “First rule of counting cards... When someone accuses you of being a hustler, always distract them with innocence.”
I note his non-answers. His redirects. His hospitality. His cool demeanor.
Something isn’t right.
“Likso, our offer—”
“Artem,” he tuts, cutting Grayson off with a wave of his hand. “And I never talk business before borscht. ...Is bad luck.” Refilling his spoon, he lifts it with a lethal smile. “You should try. Is my mother’s recipe. Family tradition passed down from generation to generation…” Just as the spoon touches his lips, he glances up at me. “Much like Villefort.”
He might as well have tossed a grenade in my lap.
I’m halfway out of my chair, ready to shove that fucking spoon down his throat, when a strong hand clamps down on my shoulder.
“Lisko…” Grayson starts, when a throat clears across the table. Gritting his teeth, he tries again. “Artem, let’s not be coy here. You know our distaste for your business partner. As a man seeped in family values, you can understand how Villefort isn’t a favored topic.”
The pressure on my shoulder intensifies, and I glare at him while lowering myself back into my chair. If we were anywhere else, I would have broken his nose for that.
Lisko drops his spoon, unfazed as it clatters against the table. “This business is not for fool-hearted men, Edier Grayson,” he says, all earlier amusement evaporating into a scowl. “Flash your weaknesses, and they get noticed.”
Anger coils around me like a serpent. It hisses. It rattles. It rises up, fangs bared, ready to strike. I see Thalia waiting for me in that room… I see Lola asleep in her apartment.
Both alone inside Legado.
I see a vicious circle.
My weaknesses.
“I have a good deal with Lorenzo,” he continues, tugging the napkin away from his chin. “What can two warring cartels offer to make me change my mind?”
It’s not a question.
It’s a hook.
He’s baiting us.
“Our ports are under reconstruction as we speak,” Grayson answers tersely. “You’d have clear access at two points of entry, one in Santiago territory, one in Carrera. Surely, you can see the benefit of having multiple avenues of distribution rather than relying on one channel? If Zaccaria decides he’s no longer interested in doing business, he won’t cut ties, Lisko. He’ll cut throats.”
