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Sienna ignores the creep and continues chatting with Jelena. The guy finally leaves, heading toward the restrooms, but my guard intercepts him halfway and not so gently “persuades” the shit-for-brains to visit the back of the club. Time to face those consequences.
“I need to take care of something,” I tell Filip in passing. “Keep my wife in your sights.”
Before going to my office, I make a detour to the bar to pick up a spoon and a glass, then turn around and head across the dance floor.
* * *
When I get back from handling the issue inside the office, a man approaches my booth and stops across from the sofa I’m sitting on. Late sixties, receding gray hairline, thin gold glasses. Endri Dushku. The Albanian leader.
“Endri.” I gesture toward the armchair beside him. “What brings you to New York?”
The older man takes the offered seat and waves off the waiter. “Bogdan called me the other day. He had some . . . concerning information to share.”
“Oh? And what exactly is causing your concerns?”
“What’s prompted your interest in the arms business, Drago?”
“Money,” I say and take a sip of my drink. “But you shouldn’t be worried. I have no plans to encroach on your territory. “
“You delivered a large shipment to Bratva.”
“Yes. But Petrov won’t deal with you anymore, so I don’t see a problem. And after the clusterfuck with the Irish, you’re banned from doing business in New York.” I throw my arm over the back of the sofa. “Supplying guns to people who kidnapped the don’s wife? To be honest, I’m surprised to see you still breathing. So, I don’t see any conflict of interest between the two of us.”
Dushku adjusts his glasses. He always does that when he’s angry.
“And it’ll stay that way?” he asks.
“I’m not looking for a fight, Endri. You have your buyers. I have mine. The market is big enough for the both of us.”
“And what about the Romanians?”
“They’ll soon be out of the picture,” I say. “Once I locate Bogdan.”
“You think getting rid of Bogdan will solve your problem?”
“Remove the head, and the rest will scatter like rats. And I mean that literally.”
“Well . . . I wouldn’t want to be in Bogdan’s shoes, then,” Dushku says. “I hear you got married. Happened a bit suddenly, it seems. Was that a business decision?”
“Of course.”
“Interesting. I noticed your security staff throwing out a man as I was coming in. He was pressing a bloody towel to his face and holding a glass in his free hand. I’m not sure, but I think there was an eyeball inside.”
“So?”
“Does that have anything to do with the warning I received upon entry?” He has a calculating smile on his face.
“Yes. But I’m in a good mood, so I decided to let him keep the other eye.”
“Well, that’s rather . . . out of character for you, if I may say so. Someone might get the idea that the girl is more than a mere business arrangement.”
I squeeze the glass in my hand. There are three things to stay away from in my line of work: False loyalties. Deals that sound too good to be true. And any sort of weaknesses.
I trust very few people in my life. Those who have my loyalty, deserve it. I’d die for them, and I know they would not hesitate to do the same for me. Anyone stupid enough to betray me and think they can get away with it, I make sure they don’t live long enough to regret their decision.
I don’t make any deals unless I’m one hundred percent confident they are solid. Money and power don’t sway me, and I’m not here to be anyone’s fool.
And I certainly don’t have any weaknesses. Or didn’t. However, as I look at Dushku’s self-satisfied smile, I realize I have one now. And she’s currently taking selfies with a martini she isn’t old enough to drink.
