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Luciu nodded. "Very."
"I'd heard it was exclusive but didn't realize the extent. We both know how that works in these circumstances."
"We do. I originally sold a tab of Red for twenty-five dollars. Now I can sell them for two hundred bucks and people are buying it." He shrugged at my low whistle. "First and foremost, I’m a businessman."
"Are there plans to widen distribution?"
"Why? Do you want in on the game?"
I shot him a grin. "With those kinds of profit margins? Of course."
He snorted. "Custanzu will not be pushed. He keeps his production low."
"To spike the price?"
"No, because the high is not what he seeks." He took a sip of coffee, and before I could ask him about that cryptic comment, he stated, "He also handles each batch with all the care of a baker making pastries." Luciu rolled his eyes, his impatience and love for his brother clashing. "He has played his part well in our rise to power, so the least I can do is support him in this."
"You’re more generous than I am."
"Our struggles are not your struggles," he dismissed. "I will keep my ear to the ground for more information on Stepanov and will investigate who among my people is distributing to him."
"I appreciate that."
He bowed his head. "All those months ago, I meant it when I told you that you and I are the next generation, Aidan.
"I never imagined the ways in which we would ultimately be tied, not just through blood but by our wives’ friendship too, and while we have very different methods of handling our respective businesses, that doesn’t mean we can’t be more open with one another."
"Information holds more power than a gun," I murmured.
"Precisely. Sharing it would be beneficial to us both."
I didn’t argue. I couldn’t.
Not when he was right.
"So," I asked, deciding now was a good time to change the subject, "how’s fatherhood treating you?"
His dopey grin, I figured, said it all.
