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He shrugged, heading toward the bar. I knew what he was doing, trying to pacify me. Sanchez was well aware that when I got into this mood, almost nothing brought me out.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, moving toward the window.
“Drink this, Sevastian,” he stated, giving me a side eye.
I finally took it, tossing back most before rubbing the glass across my forehead. Nothing was going to calm me down. “This can’t get out of hand. We need to determine the person responsible for the attack. The DEA is likely crawling all over the site, trying to put the pieces together.”
“They couldn’t do that with two hands and a flashlight.” His sense of humor wasn’t what I needed right now. “However, you’ve been through this shit before. I honestly don’t think this has as much to do with the assassination attempt as it does with the package you brought with you.”
“Are you trying to handle me, Sanchez?”
“Not a chance in hell that I can do that. What I’m trying to do is remind you that you’re a man with needs, ones that you’ve ignored for years. Enjoy her.”
Enjoy. The world seemed foreign.
“By the way, her scent smells good on you.”
I wanted to be angry with him, but he was just stating the truth. I’d ignored any sense of personal fulfillment to enhance my business. Perhaps I was doing nothing more than trying to prove something to my father. “She will be difficult to handle.”
“And I have no doubt you’ll be able to control her. What do you need from me?”
“We’re under the assumption that the attack was planned as an assassination. I’m not certain that was the case.”
“So you’re certain they were only issuing threats?”
“That’s what I believe, although the arson also made a statement,” I snarled. “I think Giada was the intended target.”
“Whew. If that’s the case, how the hell are we supposed to find out how that was allowed to happen?”
“First, we rule out everyone else. Have the kitchen staff and the goddamn pianist checked thoroughly. I want every fucking venue of their lives searched with a fine-tooth comb. I need to know if there are any discrepancies.”
“That’s the easy part. I have a feeling there’s more.”
I laughed, shaking my head. Sanchez could always see right through me. “This is all about the Colombian Cartel, Rojas making a play. I need to know why there’s someone interested in purchasing our weapons.”
“Could there be a possible connection?”
“Two of them were speaking Spanish and they weren’t from Mexico. Too coincidental and you know how I feel about that.”
“Any guesses what they’re trying to do?”
“Oh, I have a lot of those. The only one with merit is that Cesare Vincheti pissed in somebody’s Wheaties.”
“Don’t you hate when that happens? Gets my day off to a pissy start.” His laugh was boisterous. I often wondered how the hell he could find amusement in anything we did.
I contemplated what I’d said, swirling the whiskey in my glass.
“You’re serious,” he added. “Then why try and purchase weapons from us?”
“Part of the mystery. However, that’s the only thing that makes sense, unless the Colombians had decided to take on the Bratva and the Cosa Nostra at the same time.”
“I didn’t think the Vinchetis were considered Cosa Nostra.”
“Cut the crap, Sanchez.”
“Okay, fine. If what you’re telling me turns out to hold any validity, then there’s a significant chance they’ll try to pin it on another family. The Poles. The Irish. Hell, the Armenians, if you can believe that one.”
I nodded. “That’s what I’m afraid of. As I said, we rule everything out first. I need feelers in New York. I’m going to have a teleconference with Kostya to find out if he’s heard anything. I may need to broker a deal in Colombia or Brazil.”
