Page 221 of Lethal Obsession

Roman, somehow, manages to maintain a grave expression. “I appreciate that, Silas.”

Dimitry almost chokes on his vodka. Even the Italians have to drink deeply to hide their amusement.

“Speaking of the Compass Initiative,” Silas goes on, “Kristi has done such good work, we should really have her join us.”

“Of course, of course.” The perpetually beaming Hunter reaches for his phone, then frowns as he pats his pockets. “Your men have my phone,” he says, glancing at Roman. “They said they took it for security reasons, but surely—”

“Sorry,” Roman says, not sounding it at all. “But I’m sure you understand,” he goes on, addressing Thorne. “You know how easily tech can be tracked.”

“Absolutely.” He nods emphatically. In a matter of minutes he’s gone from skepticism to almost fawning sycophancy. “Good call, Borovsky.” He gives Roman a knowing look. “Although I guarantee you’ll find Kristi’s company satisfying. I always have.”

“Definitely,” Hunter echoes, his smile not slipping in the slightest.

“Jesus,” Renata says. “Is that slimy prick pimping out his own daughter?” She leans in to study Hunter’s face. “To both men?”

“It certainly looks that way.” I stare at the screen in amazement. “This shit is better than any reality TV, I’ll give it that.”

“Shh,” she says, kicking me. “Let me listen.”

“Before Kristi joins us,” Roman says to Thorne, “we were discussing the Cardeñas cartel’s supply issues. Now that we’re all comfortable, I’ll ask again—is the Cardeñas family still our cartel of choice, or do we need to change direction?”

Oh, nice one, motherfucker. I hear Lars chuckling in my head. Our allies are also struggling to contain their amusement at Roman’s sardonic delivery, Dimitry almost choking on his drink.

Thorne, however, isn’t smiling at all.

At the mention of the name Cardeñas, his face immediately settled into its habitual mean, resentful lines, his eyes small and dark behind his glasses.

“I want the Cardeñases ended,” he says coldly. “Not slowed down. Not arrested or exposed. I want those lying, worthless pieces of garbage finished—and by that, I mean I want their entire goddamn bloodline extinguished, and a guarantee that no member of that family will ever set foot on American soil again.”

“Oh, brother.” Renata shakes her head slowly beside me. “You are so fucked.” She sits back, exhaling heavily and threading her hands behind her head.

“Dom,” I say quietly into my comms. “Are the Cardeñases getting this?”

“Alto y claro,” Dom says coldly. “Loud and fucking clear as a bell. Not to mention in widescreen Technicolor.”

That really does make me grin. “Excellent,” I mimic Thorne, which gets a derisive snort from Pavel through my comms.

Renata rolls her eyes. “You boys are enjoying this way too much.”

“If you don’t mind me saying,” Roman is addressing Thorne rather quizzically, “you seem to have a personal axe to grind when it comes to the Cardeñases. Want to share?”

He folds his arms. “Not particularly.”

Roman grimaces. “Well, that’s a shame.” He gestures around the table. “You see, we all have very real skin in this game. Rico here, for example, has recently lost several members of his immediate family to Kiril Novikov, a psychopath who likes cutting heads off. And Luca is here because Novikov got so cocky after his recent killing spree that he thought he’d try spreading his operation to the New Orleans Bellini family.”

“Bullshit, obviously,” I say to Renata, covering my comms. “Luca is here because Thorne gave the orders for what happened in Sicily. But these fuckers don’t know that. And look at their faces.” Both Hunter and Thorne are looking decidedly uncomfortable. “They both know it was them who invited the Novikovs into town and gave them muscle to work with. Now they have no idea how the fuck to wriggle out of it.”

On deck, Roman is playing his part to perfection.

“I’m here,” he says, with a grimness I suspect he doesn’t need to entirely fake, “because Alexei fucking Petrovsky has systematically tried to destroy me. First with trumped-up corruption charges that have affected my business, then by turning my wife against me, and now”—his eyes gleam dangerously—“by seducing and then kidnapping my eldest daughter. When I say I have skin in this game, I mean my skin is all the fucking way in.”

He downs his whiskey with lethal intent, pinning Thorne with his famous death stare. “So if you have some reason for being here that I don’t know about, Mr. Thorne, I suggest that now is the time for you to mention it.” Roman tilts his head at the shoreline. “And given that it appears you might need my help sorting this dump of a city out sooner rather than later, you might want to cut the shit and tell me what has given you such a hard-on for Miami politics.”

Thorne’s eyes dart around the gathering, clearly weighing how much it’s safe to say.

“Benson,” I say into my comms, “you’re up.”

The slightly pale soon-to-be head of Miami PD clears his throat nervously. “The thing is, Silas,” he says, interlinking his hands on the table, “now that Sentinel is caught up in the Middle East, it’s Homeland that is going to have to deal with the fallout from this—and they’ll expect Miami PD to back them up. None of us needs a scandal, so if there are any skeletons in your closet, now is the time to mention them.”