Page 224 of Lethal Obsession

Almost.

“Hunter’s daughter is a whore,” Thorne carries on, blissfully unaware of his growing audience, “who Hunter has pimped out to every donor in Miami since she was an underage cheerleader.”

He’s so caught up in his narrative he seems totally oblivious to Roman’s silent contempt.

On the security cameras, a white-faced Marty Hunter Jr. stares at the screen in stunned silence, while Kristi pounds on the door, demanding to be given her phone. The dragons, standing outside and grinning, ignore her completely.

The only one unbothered by the situation is Hunter’s wife, who is still snorting lines.

“Since Kristi is pocketing fifty percent of the profits from Compass,” Thorne goes on, “her blow jobs are also the most expensive in history—but worth it in more ways than one.” His mouth twists knowingly. “The Compass Initiative has turned out enough votes to ensure that Hunter will be our next governor. With your support, of course.” He addresses Roman almost as an afterthought.

“Of course,” Roman murmurs.

“I thought about killing Petrovsky for what he did to my son.” Thorne’s eyes actually light up as he says it, and he looks at Roman as if he thinks just saying the words makes him Roman’s equal. “But then I realized there’s a better play to be made. One that I think you are going to like, Borovsky.”

“Oh, I like it already.” Roman sits back, hooking one ankle over the other knee and regarding Thorne as one might a circus freak show. “Do continue.”

“I own Hunter,” Thorne says importantly. “Obviously. Or perhaps I should say that we do,” he says, smiling ingratiatingly at Roman. “But on the surface, I’m squeaky fucking clean. There’s not a single digit connecting Hunter to me.” He leans forward. “Hunter is Petrovsky’s bitch, and I’ve worked tirelessly to make sure everyone knows it.”

His self-satisfaction is visible.

“And how, exactly,” Roman says, “have you done that?”

In the Hunter suite, Kristi and her father are having a vehement argument, while Lance Ryder discreetly films every word.

“I’ve been setting Petrovsky up for months.” Thorne sits back with a smug smirk. “I have him on tape planning the murder of Ron Watkins, who was in witness protection for a case that bitch Renata Cardeñas was planning to make against Hunter. I figured that instead of just killing Watkins, we could use his death, so I had my contacts in the FBI facilitate his escape.”

Roman just shakes his head in amazement and stays quiet.

“I sent Watkins into one of Petrovsky’s clubs with a pile of drugs,” Thorne continues. “Then I had Kristi Hunter go into the club and buy cocaine from him. I have a clear recording of Petrovsky, on the phone to Hunter, stating that he’ll take care of Watkins.” His face darkens. “Renata Cardeñas got ahold of that recording and cleaned it up, which unfortunately made it clear it was Marty requesting Petrovsky make the hit. Fortunately, the mayor is also on my payroll, so she took care of stealing it back.”

His self-satisfied smile returns. “I let the mayor keep it. It’s always good to give people the illusion of power. Makes them more compliant, don’t you think?” He looks speculatively at Roman.

Like I said. Lars’s voice rings through my head. This fucker is dangerous.

“I prefer my compliance at gunpoint.” Roman sounds supremely disinterested in Thorne’s philosophical nuance.

Thorne’s mouth curls in a condescending sneer.

“Now,” Roman says briskly, pretending not to notice his contempt. “Let’s get the practicalities done so I can get one of these famous Kristi Hunter blow jobs.”

Oh, nicely played, motherfucker, Lars chuckles.

“We’re going to need the names of all your contacts in the FBI office,” Roman continues, “as well as Miami PD, and any other bent officials on the payroll.”

Thorne looks for a moment like he’s deliberating.

“For Chrissakes,” Roman says, looking half amused, half annoyed. “I’m about to blow up Miami for you, not to mention taking care of those murderous Novikov fucks you set loose on the city. What were you thinking, sending them here, by the way?” He gives Thorne a sideways look. “And you’re lucky I didn’t mention it around Rico Lucchese, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Thorne’s eyes narrow. “What makes you think I have any connection to the Novikovs?”

“Please.” Roman looks bored. “You’ve just taken up a lot of good drinking time telling me you’re the mastermind behind all this.” He gestures at the fires burning on the city skyline. “Masterminds like to outsource the dirty work—and cutting heads off is very dirty work.”

“Ha.” Thorne smiles contemptuously. “If Rico Lucchese was smart enough to come to that conclusion, he’d be sitting here instead of you. For that matter, if his predecessors had possessed an ounce of intelligence, they might not have had their heads removed from their shoulders.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dimitry put a restraining hand on Rico Lucchese’s shoulder, although going by the blind fury on Rico’s face, he may wind up needing more force.

“Kiril Novikov might be a psychopath,” Thorne continues, “but like Hunter, he’s a useful one. He’s stupid, ambitious, and has his own reasons for hating Petrovsky, which gives you added leverage. You might find it easier dealing with him than that Lucchese dog you had here earlier.” He scowls. “The Luccheses knew what happened to my son. They played it close, but they fucking knew. And still they did business with the Petrovsky bratva—and the Cardeñas cartel.” He glares into the distance. “I know you’ve allied with Lucchese. But if you’ll allow me to give you some advice—stick with the Novikovs. At least then you know you’ll be in control.”