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The only people present would be Roman’s mother, who would probably be “asleep,” and Igor.
Konstantin would be on the premises — he resided in the guest house in order to be on hand should Igor need him — but he wouldn’t be in the main house.
Roman would issue the ultimatum to his father, give Igor the chance to bow out gracefully. If he declined, it would be war, but at least Roman would be alive to wage it.
They spent the rest of the afternoon crunching numbers in the loft. Matvey and Yury arrived early in the day to let Roman know they’d moved the last of their gold. They’d been followed by Tima, who’d moved the last forty ounces that afternoon to a jeweler who’d been giving Roman’s father shit about his prices for years.
“Where is Pavel?” Roman asked as the sun sank lower in the sky.
Max got up from the expensive dining table that had become the site of their battle plans and headed for the other room. “I’ll find out.”
The timing was fortuitous. Roman needed to make a call of his own.
He dialed the number and waited while it rang.
“Is it time?” The voice on the other end was deep and nearly accentless, with only the slightest hint of his Russian heritage.
“I’m moving tonight,” Roman said.
They hadn’t done the final tally, but they were close enough, and if Roman didn’t move tonight, he would have to wait another week to catch his father alone at the Brighton Beach house.
“The men are in position in the city per your request,” Lyon Antonov said. “They can be to you in under an hour.”
“Thank you,” Roman said. Lyon owed him, but he could have been a dick about it and he hadn’t been.
Roman was grateful to have him as an ally. They were about the same age, both members of a younger generation that had dreams of reimagining their enterprise, bringing it into the twenty-first century and subsequently increasing their profits.
And their power.
“I’ll call when I’m ready for them to move in.” They’d already discussed the plans for Lyon’s men to station themselves in and around Roman’s apartment. For the next days and weeks — depending on how long it took for Igor to either step down or be removed — Roman would depend on Lyon’s men for security.
There had been no way to recruit from the ranks of the New York bratva with any guarantee of loyalty. It was unconventional, but at a time like this, it was safer to rely on outside forces, loyal to their own boss outside of New York, for security.
“Watch your back,” Lyon said before hanging up.
If anyone was equipped to give the advice, it was the Chicago pakhan referred to as the Lion. He’d married Viktor Baranov’s daughter hoping for an easy transition to boss and had gotten the furthest thing from easy.
Max returned to the room. “Pavel is on his way up.”
The bell rang a few seconds later and Max removed his weapon and walked to the door to open it.
Pavel entered the room, sweating despite the frigid temperatures outside. He was shaking, his lanky frame practically knocking together as he approached Roman.
“I have eighty-four ounces left,” he said, shifting on his feet like he expected Roman to produce a whip and start lashing.
Roman ran the numbers on his phone. Gold was just over $1900 an ounce on the commodities market, but they were selling it at a deep discount to move it fast and without alerting Igor.
“What happened?” Roman asked as he tapped on his phone.
“Branka backed out at the last minute. She’s worried about Mr. Kalashn… about your father,” Pavel said. “I tried to move her, I even gave her an additional discount, but she wouldn’t take it.”
Roman swore under his breath. It wasn’t the lost revenue that was the problem. With the discount Roman was offering, the lost revenue only amounted to a little under $100,000.
But Branka Hornet — a Croatian jeweler always looking for a deal — hadn’t completed the transaction, which meant she could tip off Igor without repercussions, and quite possibly with rewards, to her business.
Roman had to move.
He stood and clasped Pavel on the shoulder. “It’s all right. It’s not your fault. These are difficult transactions to make. We’ll find someone else.”
