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“Correct.”
“Care to explain why your supplies travelled through the Bianchi channel and then ended up at our docks?” I press, leaning my folded hands on the table.
The older man averts his gaze, and the tattooed one clears his throat.
“It was an accident. The supplies were supposed to be delivered to Scotland.” His accent is just as thick as his companion’s.
Jac barks out a laugh. “We’re supposed to believe that?”
Tattoo Guy’s jaw ticks, his hazel eyes filling with anger. Old Guy scrambles for an answer, muttering to Tattoo Guy in Russian.
“The Mozorovs want an agreement.” They finally settle on that answer.
“And you thought running through our domain was the way to do it?”
“Your routes are safe. Untraceable. It’s what we need,” Tattoo Guy presses.
“For what? So you can poach our buyers? Not happening,” I state.
“If you don’t agree, Nikolay will use them anyway. Your supply will drop; people will start buying from us.”
“What makes you think your supply is worth more than ours?”
“Connections.” Old Guy shrugs.
“Not happening. Tell Nikolay to stay out of our city or we’ll have problems,” Jac threatens, standing from his seat.
“That’s your choice, but if—”
Old Guy doesn’t get to finish his sentence before my bullet pierces his skull. Tattoo Guy pushes out of his seat, causing the chair to fall backwards, and holds his hands up in surrender. I straighten, pointing my gun at him.
Jac pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of the scene. “Tell Nikolay he has two days to clear his supply out of our grounds. I don’t wanna hear your name uttered around here. Are we clear?”
Tattoo Guy’s head jerks up and down, his wide eyes fixed on his buddy.
I stuff my gun back into the waistband of my slacks, pushing through the exit door to find Ezra and Daniel standing guard.
“Clear the body and drive the other one back to the docks. He has a message to deliver,” I say, both of our men on immediate duty.
Jacques and I make our way back down the stairs to the main club of DL and out of the back exit to our cars.
“I’m going to help Camila at the studio. Opening week is in two days, and she’s running behind,” I say as I unlock my car.
“Do you need an extra hand?” Jac asks, following me to my car and leaning his arm on the hood of it as I climb into the driver's seat.
“No. You make sure the Mozorov sidekick leaves the country.”
He salutes me before jogging to his car parked in front of mine and driving out of the alleyway.
It was Nova’s idea to build an illegal casino on the top floor of DL where only the elite are allowed to enter. Since our supplies and chains are growing, we need more ways of laundering. Word got around pretty quickly that England has new bosses in town. Jenny wasn’t running London anymore, so someone had to step up. No one knows what really happened to her and her men, and it’s best it stays that way.
Now, more than ever, everyone wants an alliance with us and the Bianchis, but not everyone can get it. We’ve grown stronger, and so has Nova. Which brings men like the Mozorovs to our door.
Jac’s postcard is sure to keep them away.
The drive from DL to Wilder Studio is only twenty minutes down the road. I roll the car to a stop outside the studio. The green, neon sign reading ‘Wilder Studio’ is currently being installed by a team of builders. I slide past them and up the black, marble stairs into the main room. It’s a small studio with only one room, but Camila is looking to run this herself, so she doesn’t want a huge building.
I quietly lean against the doorframe as her form flits about the large space. She painted the walls a baby pink, with black, marble flooring and mirrors all around, except the wall with the floor-to-ceiling windows. A privacy screen has been added to the windows so that students can see outside but people can't see inside.
