Page 63 of The Mad Don
I knew a day like this would come; that’s why I stayed useful to the families. I expected it five or ten years down the line, not so soon.
“They will not let my sister live, Pakhan, as long as I am breathing. They know that as long as she is in the world and I am in the world, I will come for them. So, they will come for her first.” I drink. The tea is cooling. “I need her safe and hidden somewhere they cannot reach. If they take me out tomorrow, I will go down fighting to the last man, and I will take as many of them with me as I can. I can swallow many things, Don. What I cannot is my sister being touched. But I need to know, before any of that happens, that she is somewhere your name protects her.”
He sits very still.
“And in return?” he says.
“I will give you access to the Italian priority routes.”
His thumb stops on the rim of his cup.
The priority routes are not cargo routes or territory routes. They are the channels for the specialized ammunition, the manufacture of which the Italian families have kept sealed behind their own walls for generations. No Russian house has ever been permitted near them. Many families let Russians in for cargo, for cash, for political cover, but no Russian in living memory has ever been given priority routes. That is the line. I am offering to cross it.
I knew before I said it that he could not let it walk past him.
He is quiet for a long moment. His thumb moves once along the rim of the cup.
“Yana,” he says. “Is she all right?”
I stiffen before I can stop it.
“I am offering you a once-in-a-lifetime arrangement,” I say, “and you ask after your staff?”
He looks at me.
He looks at me for a long second, the kind of look that has a shape to it.
“I see the question you are not asking, Don.”
My jaw tightens. I do not move.
“Yana is a loyal worker,” he says, “but a worker, nonetheless. I have a wife. I have a son. I have no such designs on her, nor have I ever. She is not in my bed and never has been. Whatever you have built up in your head, lay it down.”
Something inside my chest unclenches.
I keep my face exactly where it is.
“I have no idea what you are saying,Pakhan.”
The corner of his mouth lifts.
The grin settles in. He is enjoying himself.
“Of course, you don’t.”
He drinks the last of his tea. He sets the cup down with a small click.
“All right. Your sister. Done. The priority routes for the trouble.” He spreads his hands.
“And one more thing,” I ask.
“What?”
“I need some of your men to track Fabiano. He must have compromised most, if not all, of my men.”
“How do I know this isn’t a trap, Don? I hear your ways are…” he pauses, “interesting.”
“You don’t,” I say. “You take the bet.”
