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“It will be, and I trust we’ve both been discreet enough to make the latter concern irrelevant,” Roman said.
Lev tapped his nicotine-stained fingers on the table and surveyed Roman with sharp blue eyes. His brown hair was thinning over angular features, and even sitting, Roman could see that the man was thin and wiry.
“Nevertheless,” Lev said, “we should make quick work of such a meeting.”
Roman didn’t disagree. “You have an inbound shipment of raw gold bound for my father. I’d like you to sell it to me instead.”
Lev lifted his eyebrows. “Why would I do such a thing? You may be dead by tomorrow for even suggesting it.”
“Only if you tell someone.” It was a risk Roman had to take, the most strategic risk he had available. He’d analyzed all the other opening moves against his father. They all involved more than one man, and the more people he had to trust, the greater the odds of betrayal. “Are you planning to tell anyone?”
Lev leaned back in his chair. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Roman nodded. “I appreciate your honesty.”
“I must admit to being curious.” Lev lifted his eyes to someone behind Roman — a waiter, Roman assumed, since Max was still sitting calmly next to Lev’s bodyguard — and shook his head. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re taking such a risk.”
“Let me ask you a question first,” Roman said. “How long did it take my father to pay you for the last shipment?”
Lev’s dark eyes widened in surprise in the moment before he hid it. “Let us just say it was… not in accordance with the agreed-upon payment schedule.”
“And yet you offer my father another shipment.”
Lev shrugged. “The money still comes, and when it does, it is quite a lot of money. And there is Mother Russia to consider.”
Roman understood. The New York bratva was given great leeway to operate as Igor saw fit, but the powers that be still had their hands in Igor’s pockets. Loyalty to Igor was loyalty to Russia.
For now.
“The New York bratva is broke,” Roman said. “You were paid late because my father needed to move the gold in order to pay for it.”
“I see,” Lev said.
Roman considered his words. “It wasn’t a one-time problem. The bratva is being run by outdated leadership according to outdated principles. My father has no intention of changing either situation.”
“Et tu, Brute?” Lev said.
If Lev had expected the comment to sting, he would be disappointed. Roman wasn’t in the habit of lying to himself.
“I won’t try to paint it as other than what it is,” Roman said. “A betrayal. But it’s a necessary one if the bratva is to survive without Russian intervention.”
“You’re talking about Chicago,” Lev said.
Roman nodded. Everyone associated with the bratva knew about the shit show that had been Chicago when Lyon Antonov had been trying to take control. The situation had become so untenable that Russia had sent a team to take it over.
“Let’s just say Mother Russia seems a little too eager to intervene in the affairs of the bratva in the States,” Roman said. “Best not to give them a reason, and my father had already given them a very big one.”
Lev stared him down. “You speak as if your betrayal won’t lead to bloodshed. To war.”
“There will certainly be bloodshed. And yes, war. My father won’t go quietly.”
“Yet another reason for the homeland to intervene,” Lev said.
They were speaking in familiar code to avoid naming those in power in Russia. They were like boogeymen, best not spoken of lest they be conjured to life.
“Perhaps,” Roman said. “But if I take over, there’s a chance we retain control without interference. If my father remains as pakhan, Russia will have men on the ground inside of six months.”
Roman could see Lev calculating his position. He could play it safe with Roman’s father and potentially lose the cash cow that was illegal gold exports to the bratva, or he could take a chance with Roman, get in on the ground floor of something new.
