Page 29 of Ruinous Need
The Argentinian cartel is not affiliated with the Bratva — not since Yuri’s day, at least — but they cut deals with us when they need to move their drug supplies through New York. They also cut deals with anyone else.
It’s not an exclusive relationship, leaving us unsure how they’ll react. Although one thing is for sure, as the Bratva’s top assassin, no one is ever happy to see me.
I smirk at the thought. That’s the reputation I’ve cultivated. That’s the reputation that was handed to me. Days like this, I appreciate it.
In situations like this one, I know how to use it to my advantage. I can play the unhinged madman when I need to. But my opponents would be stupid to think I’m out of control.
I nod at Markov, who will have already memorized the complete file like the professional he is.
“Viktor Zakharov. Is it my final day on earth?”
Manuel blows a kiss to the sky melodramatically from the back porch. He seems drunk — and in a good mood.
I was hoping for a gunshot. Instead, I force a polite smile.
“No. But it might be your lucky day, Manuel.”
He widens his grin and gestures for us to come inside. “Alright then. Let’s talk. I like a lucky day. Much more than I like a last one.”
Markov follows warily as I step through the door. The house which looked plain on the outside is the opposite inside.
We walk into a party.Bass-heavy music fills the house, topless women walk through the crowds of people speaking Spanish with trays of drinks. The heat is blasting. The inside of the house is all silk and gold furnishings, plush furniture and large rooms that are the total opposite of a quaint family home.
It takes about half an hour for us to make our way upstairs where we can talk privately, with a stream of men and womenpulling him into conversations while Markov and I stand by with stony faces.
I know it would be a bad idea to point a gun at Manuel’s head when the party is heaving with cartel members but I’m tempted, if only to speed things up.
Finally, I physically drag him away from a loud woman clad in leopard print with a hand on his shoulder. He stops jabbering and looks wounded.
“What’s the rush?” he asks me. “Have a drink and relax, Viktor. It cannot be that serious.”
I press my lips together. “Your office, Manuel.”
I try to concentrate on Manuel’s small-talk but it breezes around my head and out the window. Not sticking. Not making any kind of impression on me. He leads me into an office that sparkles with gold. Pictures of Manuel and his millions of children are everywhere.
I just want to get this over and done with so I can go back to the apartment.
And see Lisette.
That’s the truth.
Instead, I’m making a joke about another of Manuel’s girlfriends looking like she’s half his age. He gives a great laugh from his belly and pours me glass of red wine.
I hate wine, but I sip it out of respect and comment on the taste.
“So.” He reclines back in his chair and folds his hands over his round belly. “What is it you’re looking for, Viktor? You don’t normally talk with words. Only guns. And knives, if what I hear is true.”
“I have travel plans. To Argentina.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Lovely. It will be summer there. For what?”
“This man. Yuri Petrov.” I show him Yuri’s headshot but he waves it away.
“I remember Yuri. He was our liaison with the Bratva, back before your cousin took over. When things were a little more amenable.”
“I remember him too. Not in such a good light.”
“Mm.” Manuel narrows his eyes. “And what do you want from me, Viktor?”
