“I can handle it,” Kirill says. “No need for you to get your hands dirty.”
I give him a look. He knows I get my hands dirty. It’s how I keep control. I can’t look soft. Like a man who delegates all the wet work. Some of it, I handle myself.
I change into a simple black suit. I probably have fifty. It would make more sense to wear something less formal. But I have an image to maintain.
I meet Kirill in the foyer. He’s on the phone, pacing.
“Car’s waiting,” he says.
We step out into the sunshine. A black SUV waits at the curb. I slip into the backseat and settle in. Things are moving faster than I thought they would. Yuri is making a play, which means Mikhail is sicker and shorter on time than he wants people to know.
I could snatch Sofia, put her under my protection and let Yuri take over. I’d be fulfilling my promise. But Sofia would fight me, and Yuri is an unknown. That could get dangerous.
“Everything okay?” Kirill asks.
“Fine.”
The SUV stops at one of our buildings in the harbor. One of many.
Inside is a man named Caruso who has been skimming from a distribution arrangement he has with my operation for approximately eight months. The skimming itself is almost forgivable. Small amounts, the kind of thing designed to go unnoticed. What is not forgivable is that he moved cargo through a route I explicitly closed three months ago after an incident that cost me two men. He did it because the route was faster and he thought I wouldn't check.
He was wrong about the checking.
I overlook nothing. His shortcuts threaten the entire operation.
I walk in.
He starts talking before I've crossed the threshold. He’s nervous. He should be. His mouth is running with a million different excuses. I let him talk. I watch him, letting him believe his words mean something.
They don’t.
But this is part of the intimidation. The fear.
I stop him.
"The Nostrand route," I say.
He licks his lips and swallows hard.
"I closed it in January. I told you it was closed. I explained why it was closed. Two of my men are in the ground because of what happened on that route." I hold his gaze. "You used it in February. Twice."
"I—it was a timing issue, the alternate route had a?—"
"I know what it had. I know what everything has. That's my job." I take a step toward him. He takes one back, which is instinct. He can't help it. The will to survive is in all of us. "My job is to know. Your job was to follow a single instruction. And you decided your convenience was worth more than my instruction."
What happens next is not pleasant. I don't need it to be pleasant. I need it to be clear. The lesson I need him to learn is simple. When I close a route, it stays closed. When I give an instruction, it is not a suggestion. The city is full of men who have tested that principle, and the ones who are still breathing are the ones who only tested it once.
By the time I'm done, Caruso is on the floor, and the message has been received. He’s missing a few fingers and his jaw will be wired shut, but he’ll survive. He’ll be uglier with the new scar I cut into his face, but I let him keep his eyes.
I'm not angry. I'm never angry when it comes time for this part. This is what order costs.
I wash my hands at the utility sink in the corner.
Kirill falls into step beside me as we walk back to the car.
"Follow up tomorrow. Make sure the route stays closed."
He nods.