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Sergei nodded, making a face like he believed me and understood she was inconsequential, but we both knew she wasn't. Besides my brother and father, she was everything to me.
I didn’t like that these gangsters knew about Celia, but that barn door had been left open long ago and there was nothing I could do to retroactively shut it short of sending Celia away with a new identity. I didn’t want to consider that – not yet, at least. I wanted her with me. There was this huge selfish part of me that was too strong and overpowered the more honorable part of me, which should have thought first about protecting her.
I should have sent her away immediately, getting the FBI to give her a new identity as soon as the Romanovs showed an interest in her.
But I didn't. I hoped I wouldn't live to regret that decision, and if I was going to be selfish and keep her in Boston for
myself, I'd have to do everything I could to protect her.
"So, what is it you want from me today?" Sergei said. "Why did you ask for this meeting?"
"I want to provide security for your properties. As you may know, I was in the military and did several tours of duty in Afghanistan and Iraq. I have several years of experience providing security for private business in Iraq. I want to get out of the gym business and into security. You have a lot of properties in Boston, around the waterfront. I'd like to bid on the contracts. Get my foot in the door, so to speak."
Sergei made a face and shrugged. "I already have signed contracts with a security company. Tell me why I should use you instead?"
"I wouldn't suggest you break any contracts, but for any new properties, I'd be really pleased to provide services. And when any contracts came up for renewal, I'd like to bid on them."
"Fair enough. What would you do for me in return?"
I frowned, playing dumb. "I'd provide security, of course. Highly skilled operators who would be the best you could hire."
He gave an icy smile. "Like I say, I already have contracts in place. What else could you do for me?"
"What do you need me to do?"
He stood and walked around the desk, leaning against it so he was closer to me, his hands folded.
"I get shipments of… items, shall we say, that need to be warehoused for a time before being sold. You could store them for me. I understand you have several warehouses in the downtown area."
I knew immediately what he meant. He wanted me to store his contraband – most likely guns from Russia, if I knew Sergei Romanov. I'd get the charges if they were discovered by ATF. It was a layer of protection that many gangsters put in place, spreading out the risk.
"I could do that," I said. "What in particular did you have in mind for me to be storing? I'd like to know what I'm getting myself into."
"Very well," he said and went to the door. "Come with me and I'll show you. You might like some of my products for your security business."
We walked down a narrow hallway to a side door and into a large garage where several expensive vehicles were parked – a Porsche, a Mercedes, and a Bentley. The man liked his vehicles. There were about two dozen wooden crates stacked against one wall. A guard stood beside them and nodded when he saw Sergei.
"Open one," he said to the guard.
The guard complied, using a crowbar to pry open a box. Inside was straw and about a dozen weapons. Sniper rifles. I was familiar with them, having trained on them while working for special forces.
"Nice," I said and stepped closer.
Sergei removed one from the crate and handed it to me. A Dragunov sniper rifle used by the Russian military. I checked it out, examining the weapon with keen interest.
"They're beauties," Sergei said as I tested the weapon's weight.
"Very nice," I replied.
"You should take," he said, smiling like he enjoyed seeing me hold one. "I'll sell you them at a good price."
"Why would I need sniper rifles?" I asked, attaching a sight he handed me. "I use semi-automatics in my security business."
"Every man needs at least one sniper. You never know when it might come in handy. Besides, is very good for practice."
I held the weapon and aimed at the far wall, checking the sight and feeling the trigger. The weapon was nice, but I preferred my .300 Win Mag – a weapon preferred by American snipers. I handed it back to him and he replaced it into the crate.
"What other weapons do you sell? I might be interested in something."
