Page 205 of Lethal Obsession

“The story we’re spreading is that Roman plans to take Miami himself, ensuring Alexei has nothing to come back to—and that Darya is too scared to fight him in their theoretical divorce.”

Not a single man at the table says a word. The silence stretches on long enough to become uncomfortable.

“Hey,” Roman says finally, tilting his head toward me in an attempt to inject some levity into the room. “This is his master plan, not mine. Personally, I hate this fucking city.”

“We both do.” Dimitry’s smile helps lighten the atmosphere. “Too many people who think pastel is a personality.”

“Cocktails with umbrellas,” Roman adds, nodding. “What the fuck is with those? Point is,” he goes on without waiting for an answer, “Lex’s plan ensures I not only have good reason for being here, but that I’m motivated by revenge.”

Which, after all this is done, might not be far from the truth. But I leave that thought unsaid.

“It’s not a theory that will stand up over time.” I’m surprised my voice comes out sounding so steady. “But we don’t need it to. We just need it to be believable until this dinner is over. Which leads me to how this is going to work. Pull up the map, Mickey.”

He hits a key, and a screen on the wall flickers to life, showing a map of Miami. “Everything relies upon timing,” I begin. “Well—timing, and a few well-placed explosives. Paddy,” I say, glancing at an Irishman who has worked for Luke Macarthur for years and is renowned for his ability with incendiary devices. “That’s going to be your department, but you’ll have plenty of help.”

“Oh, it’s no bother, lad.” Paddy’s smile is positively gleeful. “You just give me the fireworks, tell me when and where you need them, and I’ll make sure they go boom on time, all right.”

“No doubt.” I catch myself actually grinning, something I honestly never thought I’d do again. “The rest of it is slightly more complicated, with a lot of moving parts, which is why we’re going to be joined shortly by some friends from other families. We’ve got some Luccheses coming in from New York, backed by some Bellinis from New Orleans. A handful of carefully chosen Cardeñases. And surprisingly, quite the contingent of local law enforcement, along with representatives from the US Marshals office.”

The heads of my Miami crew snap up, eyes narrowing, faces growing hard.

“Don’t worry.” I give them my best gator smile. “It’s a temporary alliance, boys. But one that should prove profitable. It seems the FBI has managed to piss off people on their own side, as well as ours. They’ve got more rotten apples than is healthy, so we’re going to help the marshals’ office and Miami PD do a little clearing of their ranks. In exchange, they’re going to be otherwise occupied while our combined forces take back our respective properties.”

There’s a stir of palpable interest around the table.

“What about these pingas in black who shut us down?” Dom is a Cubano who has worked for me since the Orlov days. He’s one of the hardest men in my crew and my closest liaison with the Cardeñases. “Our Colombian allies lost millions of dollars in product, not to mention a lot of good men. I was on the water when those commandos came at us, and believe me, it was an entire army, fully armed and highly trained. No offense, but if you plan to take them down”—he gestures to Paddy—“you’re going to need more than a few pyrotechnics.”

Dimitry snorts. “You haven’t seen those pyrotechnics in action. Believe me.” He and Paddy high-five each other, the latter grinning like the crazy bastard he is.

“Mickey,” I say, “want to bring up today’s international headlines?”

“With pleasure.” He hits a few keys, and everyone frowns at the screen.

“A new war in the Middle East?” Dom, reading the headlines, shrugs. “¿Y qué? There’s always a war in the fucking Middle East. Who gives a shit?”

“In this case, we do.” I nod at Mickey, who brings up several aerial images of men storming an oil tanker. “Those uniforms look familiar to you?”

“¡Coño!” Dom squints at the screen. “Are those the same pingas who boarded the Cardeñas boats?”

“Yup.” It’s Pavel who answers. “Along with all of their buddies.” He clicks rapidly through a variety of photographs showing the black-clad uniforms standing guard at various oil fields, airports, and other locations. “The entire force that stormed Miami has been pulled out. They’re all on government contracts now, protecting US interests in the Middle East. We have it on very reliable authority”—Mak, in other words—“that there’s only a skeleton force left in Miami, currently under the direction of Kiril fucking Novikov.”

“Even better, Dom,” I say. “You and the Cardeñas street crews have the blessing of law enforcement to take down what’s left here of that force. Whatever you don’t take, the US Marshals office will—no questions asked. They’re all wanted on federal counts, according to our contact.”

By the hungry expressions on the faces of my men, there’s unlikely to be much left for Renata to arrest.

“Right.” I look around the table. “While we’ve been speaking, representatives from Miami’s favorite criminal syndicates have arrived and are waiting to join our conversation. If there are no more questions, are we ready to let them in?”

Several hours later, Mickey and I stand on the front step of the compound, waving off Rico Lucchese, the new don of the Miami branch of his family. Rico is a young man, barely older than Mickey, with the hard edge and wary demeanor I’d expect of someone who’s not only recently lost his father, uncle, and two older brothers, but has also survived internecine warfare to win his chance at leadership. Mickey and he have met before and seem to have a good understanding, which has helped smooth the way to cooperation.

“Alexei,” Mickey says as I close the front door behind Rico. “Can I have a brief word?”

“Can it wait?” The truth is that despite several days of reestablishing alliances in secret, I still don’t know exactly what I plan to do—and I still haven’t spoken to Ofelia. And if he asks me about either of those things, this isn’t going to go well.

“No, actually,” he says grimly, “it can’t.”

Taking in his visible tension, I gesture to a nearby room and close the door behind us. “What’s on your mind?”

Because if you’re about to mention anything to do with Ofelia, this conversation is fucking over.