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Or former soldier.
The greeter’s desk blocked most of Roman’s view, but not so much that he didn’t spot the weapon under the man’s suit jacket.
“Roman Kalashnik,” Roman said. “I have an appointment.”
The man tapped his computer, then stood. “Follow me.”
Roman considered it a good sign that he hadn’t been frisked. Then again, the office was clearly well defended. Anyone daring to pull a weapon wouldn’t make it out alive.
He placed a hand on Ruby’s back and guided her in front of him as they followed the security guard — because that was obviously what he was — down a long hall.
The office was upscale, with glossy wood floors covered in expensive patterned carpets that Roman pegged as Turkish. He got glimpses inside a handful of offices as they made their way down the hall, but they were filled with an assortment of men and women working at computers and told him nothing about the operation.
If Roman hadn’t known better, he would have thought it was the headquarters for an exclusive investment firm.
This was something he admired about the Syndicate. They didn’t deal in street corners or seedy restaurants. They’d elevated their business — and not just on the surface. Their bookmaking operations had moved from dive bars to slick online websites, their thievery from trucks full of TVs to corporate digital theft and stock manipulation.
They weren’t even close to legitimate, but they gave the appearance of being legitimate, and in so doing, they’d gained access to the halls of power in both business and politics.
It was a blueprint for what Roman wanted to do with the bratva. The Italians, Irish, and Russians had areas of overlap — prostitution, gambling, money laundering — but each organization also had its area of specialty.
And the bratva had easy access to the most valuable commodity of all — oil.
There was no excuse for the way Roman’s father had run the organization into the ground, not with access to such a valuable resource. With a new business model, one that provided a legitimate front to their dealings, the bratva would take its place among the most powerful organizations in the world.
The security guard stopped at a set of wood doors at the end of the hall. One of the doors was open, and the guard stepped through it, then motioned for Roman and Ruby to enter.
The city opened up before them, framed by two walls of glass. Roman almost laughed. Damian Cavallo — son of old New York money and financial wunderkind turned Syndicate boss — was probably the only Mob boss in history to have a fucking corner office in Manhattan.
He stood, looking every bit the trader, his shirt sleeves rolled to reveal powerful biceps. “Roman, nice to see you.”
He held out his hand and Roman shook it. “Thanks for seeing me.” Roman looked at Ruby. “This is Ruby Bishop.”
A flicker of interest lit Damian’s eyes. “Nice to meet you, Ruby.”
“You too.”
Roman had only brought her because there were so few opportunities to get Ruby out of the loft. Her sister’s visit had left her pensive, and Roman hadn’t wanted to leave her alone yet again. Besides, there were few places in the world Ruby would be safer than with Roman at one of the Syndicate’s headquarters.
“Please,” Damian said, “have a seat.”
Roman took the chair next to Ruby and watched as she took in the luxurious office. He’d told her they were going to see one of the Italian bosses, but he doubted this was what she’d had in mind.
Damian sat like a king behind the monstrous desk, an array of monitors spitting out data on financial markets all over the world.
“In need of another night out?” Damian asked.
Roman smiled. Damian had made arrangements for Roman and Ruby to dine at one of the boutique hotels owned by the Syndicate and they’d spent a passionate night tangled in the hotel’s expensive sheets.
“I’m afraid I need something a little more pedestrian this time,” Roman said.
“And what might that be?” Damian asked.
“Data,” Roman said. “Flight manifests and customs information, to be exact. And I need to know the whereabouts of a cop.”
Roman felt Ruby’s eyes on his face. He hadn’t told her about his plan to use the Syndicate’s cyber lab to find Adam and Olivia.
Damian rubbed at his jaw. “Customsanda cop?” He chuckled. “You don’t do anything the easy way, do you?”
