Page 106 of The Arrangement

With the night vision scope attached and the sights turned on, he surveyed the green and black landscape until different colors bloomed, indicating movement. The warmth of the bodies showed in bright reds and yellows.

Anton hit the pre-set button on the phone and hit speaker.

“Where’d you get his new cell number from?” Bo wondered down below.

“The wife.”

“Ah …”

Anton hummed, but he didn’t share anything else.

Four rings later and the phone finally picked up.

“Christ, yeah … Ciao?”

That smooth, blackstrap voice of Anton’s carried like dripping honey into the phone. He rested the barrel of the rifle to his propped up knee and started surveying the crowd of yellow.

“Sonny, we’ve got a little problem here.”

There wasn’t a response. Not even a breath. Given Anton still had a slight Russian accent, he knew it wouldn’t be mistaken by the man on the other end as to who the caller was. There also wasn’t any change in the line of swarming bodies he was keeping a close eye on.

“Who the fuck—”

“You know who,” Anton said, his lips curving wickedly as a lit cigarette was handed to him through the window. “Let’s not play stupid.”

“The Russian scum, I assume. Did you like my gift this morning?”

“Liked it just fine,” Anton replied coolly, ignoring the obvious jibe. “Liked it even better when it fucked up something awful and didn’t blow right. I thought it’d be an obvious thing, Sonny, but I guess not.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Anton gave Sonny a moment to let the words have their confusing effect. That was the point, after all. Once more, Anton lined up his sights and gauged the crowd. There still wasn’t much change. Certain bodies had swarmed together, families and friends likely. He was looking for two bodies out of order from the rest, or at least slightly off from the others, considering Sonny wouldn’t want the phone call to be overheard.

“You know what the difference is between you and me, Sonny?”

There was a certain biting acid when the Italian scoffed out, “What’s that?”

“When something needs to be done, I fucking do it. I don’t wait around and ask questions. I don’t expect my boys to frolic along like a bunch of idiots who just know what they have to do. No, I’m me because I’m goddamned good at what I do and they know it. They have a boss for a reason. I get my hands red just like they do. They call me Pakhan and respect it. And you know what else comes of that, Don?”

“Don’t you—”

“I don’t fuck up,” Anton interrupted darkly. “I don’t mess up hits, or takes, and like hell would I accept anything less than perfect craftsmanship from my guys when it comes to their work. Bombs don’t get mucked up; we keep it good and clean, and toes don’t get stepped on. Also, I like to think I have a pretty good internal indicator on when to back the hell off of something. Clearly yours is broken, given the gift that blew up in my driveway this morning.

“Important bulletin, Sonny … your work was terribly shoddy in more ways that I have time to explain.” Anton chuckled, keeping his gaze locked through the scope. “That the kind of guys you have working under you now? Or would the regulars who do your hit work just not take the minuscule bait you offered to off Viviana for you?”

“Wasn’t me who offered that.”

“Bullshit.”

In no way was Anton going to keep the train of questioning going if it wasn’t working to his gain. He’d already spotted ten different pairs of people and he had his scope pulled back at a far enough length in sight to have all of them loaded in so he could watch their movements closely. So far, nothing.

“Your daughter, Cici … right?”

Sonny went silent again.

“I’d suggest you don’t hang up the phone on me, Don. You won’t like what I do next,” Anton warned quietly. “The very last thing you want is for me to go in on her angry, trust that.”

“I have three daughters.”