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“I wasn’t kidding about the death wish,” Roman said. “I could be killed for coming here.”
“And yet, here you are,” Lyon said.
“Here I am,” Roman said. “You have fifteen minutes.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard what’s going on in Chicago.”
“Enough to know I’d profit more from turning you in than having this conversation,” Roman said.
“I have thoughts that might change your mind,” Lyon said.
“I’m listening.” Roman started walking, and Lyon followed him from the Cubist piece to a wall painted in a retro 50s-style, the man suited and coiffed, the woman wearing bright red lipstick and an exaggerated expression on her heavily made up face.
“Chicago is an outdated organization with outdated leadership,” Lyon said. “I aim to change that.”
“And what does that have to do with me?” Roman asked.
It was a fair question. The bratva wasn’t like the Italian mafia, otherwise known as the Syndicate, a rebrand aimed at eliminating the negative connotations of the Cosa Nostra. The Syndicate was a worldwide operation, led by the same four men with bosses in each city who reported to them. Anything done in one branch of the Syndicate was authorized by its leadership, and all the cells worked together.
The bratva was different. Each city had its own leadership, and that leadership answered to no one. They closely guarded the secrets of their operations, even from other bratva cells in other cities.
Sometimes especially from other bratva cells in other cities.
“I estimate the Syndicate has increased their profit margin by a full seventy-five percent since the change in leadership a few years back.” Lyon said. No one knew the real numbers of course, but he knew enough to make an estimate. “Even more important, they’ve got their hands in the pockets of new revenue streams — and new seats of power.”
Under its new leadership, the Syndicate had eliminated old-school, high-risk trade like heroin and other highly addictive drugs and expanded into areas like corporate espionage and political bribery. Some of the revenue streams were evergreen— the import and export of stolen goods, bookmaking, and prostitution, although the latter was now treated as a legitimate trade — but others had become high-risk, low-reward.
The Syndicate had been wise to eliminate them.
“We’re not the Italians,” Roman said.
The bratva dealt with the Syndicate — and the Irish — when they had to, but there was no love lost between them. “I’m aware, but I see the merit in using their model to remake the bratva. We’re leaving money on the table, becoming a relic of the past. Who knows what we could accomplish if we were willing to change, if we were willing to work together.”
“Let’s say I agree — and I’m not saying I do — what does it have to do with me? I’m not the pakhan in New York.” Lyon caught the hint of antipathy in his voice and felt a surge of triumph.
He’d been right about Roman Kalashnik. Had been right to contact him.
“But you could be.”
Roman took off his sunglasses and turned to face Lyon. His eyes were so dark they were almost black. “I could kill you now for what you’re suggesting.”
“You could,” Lyon said. “But that would be short sighted, and I have a feeling you’re not short sighted.”
Lyon was banking his life on it. Roman was Lyon’s age and had been waiting to assume power in the New York organization for the last ten years.
But Igor Kalashnik, Roman’s father, had a reputation for being a hard, difficult man, and he seemed no more inclined to give Roman authority now than he had been a decade ago, despite his advancing age of nearly ninety years old.
“You’re not dead yet.” Roman checked his watch. “But you’re running out of time.”
Lyon knew this to be true because he knew about Roman’s reputation for keeping track of time. It was less a quirk and more an obsession. When Roman said fifteen minutes, he meant fifteen minutes. Lyon had been keeping track on his Patek Phillippe.
“I need help in Chicago. In return, I’ll help you in New York.”
“My father will not agree to become involved in Chicago’s business,” Roman said.
Lyon held his gaze. “I’m not talking to your father.”
“My ability to help is… compromised by my father’s leadership.”
