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There were other ways to increase the organization’s capital, but Roman had already tried that tack. His father wasn’t interested in moving the bratva into the 21st century.
He was a man of the past. A man who preferred familiarity over risk.
His father, taking Roman’s silence as agreement, picked up his sheaf of papers. “I’ll arrange a meeting with Vladimir and Valeriya to go over the details.”
“And if I refuse?” The words were out of Roman’s mouth before he could stop them.
His father looked up from the papers, his eyes turned to shiny pieces of flint. “That would be unwise.”
Roman held his gaze, then nodded and headed for the door.
Now wasn’t the time to argue, but Lyon Antonov was finally in control of the Chicago territory.
And he owed Roman quite a lot of favors.
