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I stare at the map. “Keep talking.”
“Upscale clients and desperate artists create the perfect storm for funneling. Money pours through those places for all sorts of things—lighting, setup costs, equipment, catering, staff. You can charge a fee for just about anything.”
“And shave whatever you want off the top.”
She nods. “Exactly.”
“How do we find the galleries he’s using?”
“We should start looking at the boutique art galleries near the places your men have already hit. Chances are he wants everything in the same place. That way, when bars and clubs close at four, they immediately move their cash into the galleries. Six hours later, a ‘client’ comes into the galleries when they open, makes a purchase, and suddenly the money is legit.”
Turning the phone sideways expands the map. Little red balloons mark the spots on the list that belong to Cardona. I click on the places that were already hit and change their colors to yellow. Within a few minutes, we have a small radius of art galleries.
“Here—” I point to a boutique around the corner from the East Village bar. “That one seems to have pretty tight hours.”
“It’s a gallery. They can do whatever they want.”
She bows forward, a lock of hair falling into her face. Absentmindedly, I scoop it behind her ear. A blush blooms on her cheek but she doesn’t say anything.
“Yeah, this looks like a good place to start,” she says while grabbing the list from the folder. “Got a pen?”
I hand her the pen from my breast pocket. She perches her tongue between her lips while glancing between the phone and the page, jotting down a few names. I pinch my fingers on the screen to widen the map.
Sure enough, a gallery sits near Hunts Point. “There’s another one.”
“And they’re all within a block or two of those spots. They’re really close.”
“A man who finds value in something always wants to keep it close.”
The way she looks at me presents another challenge: am I talking about the galleries?
Or am I talking about her?
I’ll never tell.
The smile she offers tells me she doesn’t need me to say anything. I shouldn’t have to. I made a deal with her, and I made it clear that I’m going to keep my word.
Honor is all we have.
My brigadiers aren’t the only ones who need to trust my actions. She does too. And although she’s only wearing a crown in theory, I can start to see her wearing one in reality.
Especially when she thinks like this.
She completes the list and slides it over to me.
“I should go tell my men.”
“Of course.”
“And Liya?”
She hums as she stands and pushes her chair in. “Yeah?”
I clear my throat, shrug lightly, and meet her gaze. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, Pavel.”
“To show my gratitude, I’d like you to come to dinner with me.”
