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Mikhail’s expression darkened. Diminishing profitability was a problem — a big one — but if Russia chose the next pakhan of New York, there was no telling who they might get.
Leaders installed by the motherland weren’t known for their equanimity.
Mikhail turned his gaze back to the city, the needle on the Freedom Tower piercing the blue sky, the metal and glass skyscrapers glimmering in the winter sunlight. “I fear this will become bloody.”
“There are no guarantees,” Roman said. “But I do believe this is our best course of action.”
The boat chugged as it slowed, the engine becoming louder as the captain navigated it toward the waiting pier, another line of customers waiting to begin the Liberty-Ellis circuit.
Mikhail held on to the railing with one gloved hand. “Capital will be a key piece of the puzzle. You will not survive the turmoil without resources.”
“I’ll have the gold in hand by tomorrow,” Roman said. “I can move it inside of two weeks.”
“You will have my support if — and only if — you secure the gold,” Mikhail said.
“Thank you,” Roman said.
Mikhail placed a hand on Roman’s shoulder and squeezed. His grip was surprisingly strong, a warning more than a gesture of affection. “Be careful, Roman. I won’t back a losing horse.”
Roman opened his mouth to answer, then closed it when Mikhail moved away from the railing.
A moment later he was swallowed by the crowd leaving the ferry and Roman exhaled the breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding.
Now he just had to get the gold.
20
RUBY
Ruby’s stomach churned as she made her way down 7th Avenue, her bag slung messenger-style over her shoulder, a coffee in each of her hands.
The fashion district was alive and well, with well-heeled fashionistas striding alongside people pushing giant racks of clothing covered in plastic. Some of the windows showcased clothing, but most of the businesses had signs advertising fabric, trim, or sewing services.
She stopped at a crosswalk gridlocked with traffic, the usual cacophony of horns and curse words coming from the drivers behind the wheel, and crossed against the light, weaving her way in and out of the stopped cars.
In the city, traffic lights were more suggestion than edict, and that went double for pedestrians.
She reached a slim stone building nestled between two larger ones, opened the glass doors, then took the elevator to the third floor.
She made her way to the door at the end of a long hall and used her elbow to press the buzzer. A moment later, the door was opened by Brooke, her dark hair pulled up into a messy bun, a yellow tape measure around her neck.
“I have an hour before he comes back,” she said, opening the door wider.
Ruby stepped inside a spacious open room, racks of clothing on both sides, two giant work tables scattered with pins, tape measures, hemming tape, and an assortment of other tools Ruby couldn’t identify.
Brooke had always been the one into fashion, had been tearing apart her Barbie clothes and remaking them into something new since they were kids. Ruby envied her passion, her purpose, but she didn’t know anything at all about the business.
Ruby handed Brooke one of the coffees.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
Ruby tested the strength of one of the tables, then scooted onto it with her coffee. “How is he today?”
Brooke rolled her eyes. “Monstrous.”
David Chang was one of the hottest up-and-coming designers in the world of fashion. Brooke had felt like her ship had come in when she’d landed an internship working directly with him, but he’d turned out to be an absolute nightmare of a boss.
“What is it today?” Ruby asked, not wanting to dive right into her own shit.
