Again, no change in expression. “And you get?”
“To start with, a fifty-thousand-dollar consulting fee, to be renegotiated based on your profits. And a receipt saying that all Ben’s and my company debts have been paid in full. Of course, you’d keep charging us for our workers, so everything looks legal. But you’d reduce your rate—a lot. We’d call it a bulk discount.”
Phil stopped, waiting for a reaction.
“Fifty thousand,” Xiao Long said thoughtfully. “You very confident.”
“I’m very good at what I do.”
“So am I.” Xiao pushed back his chair and rose. “I think. You hear from me.”
“Fair enough.” Phil stood up as well. Ben was already on his feet, eager to get the hell out of there.
As Phil reached out to shake Xiao’s hand, the teenager who’d showed them in opened the door to escort them out.
A shaft of light flashed across Xiao’s face.
Phil’s hand paused, and his brows drew together. “Have we met? You look familiar.”
A hint of a smile. “Not met. Seen. Ask any of your partners. Ask Burbank.”
All the color drained from Phil’s face, and his arm fell limply to his side. “Oh my God.”
Xiao’s smile didn’t waver. “Also, word to the wise. Fifty thousand not nearly enough to pay Ardian Sava. You owe lot more. Albanians no like to wait for money. Good-bye, Mr. Leary.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Xiao Long’s gaze bore into Leary’s and Martino’s backs as they walked rigidly out of the back room.
He was livid. Even so, the white-faced shock that had registered on Leary’s face had been worth the wasted time he’d spent listening to Leary’s bullshit and looking at that pathetic, drunken partner of his who hadn’t even had the guts to tell Leary who he was meeting with.
Xiao had taken care of that forgotten detail himself.
He might as well enjoy the results.
With that goal, Xiao made his way out of the back room and slipped into a far, dark corner of the gambling parlor. Silently, he watched Leary and Martino make their exit. Sweat was pouring down Leary’s face and neck. The back of his shirt was drenched. And Martino looked like a chicken about to get its neck wrung.
Martino’s neck would come later.
But Leary—he was another story. He’d just made Xiao Long angry. Very angry. Xiao, who was next in line to head the Liu Jian Triad. Xiao, who had more power than Leary could begin to imagine. Xiao, whose brains and ambition were second to none, save his Dragon Head.
No one squeezed him for money. No one issued ultimatums, not to him. Especially not some stupid, ego-inflated accountant with a gambling problem and no backbone.
This meeting changed everything. Xiao would push up one element of the timetable. Revise the order he’d planned for the executions. The Dragon Head would agree. Leary’s mental torture was complete. The final blow had been dealt when Xiao let him know that Sava was in his pocket. Now, Leary had outlived his usefulness. It was time for him to endure an agonizing death.
Xiao felt the familiar surge of adrenaline and excitement.
This was what he’d been waiting for.
He retraced his steps into the back room and made the phone call.
Phil went straight to his office. He sure as hell wasn’t going home. God only knew who was waiting for him there.
He poured himself a drink and wiped the sweat off his neck and face with his sleeve. What the hell had Ben been thinking? Dealing with Xiao Long, and not telling Phil—not even after he knew who Xiao really was? The animal wasn’t just a bloodsucking mobster. He was a killer. A killer who was after their entire art investment partnership. Not to mention arranging a hit on Rosalyn Burbank and stabbing her bodyguard to death in the process.
Phil had to call the FBI—now. His gambling debt didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. His life was on the line. Xiao Long knew Ardian Sava’s name. That meant the slimy Albanian bookie was in his pocket. There was no way out.
He sat down behind his desk and picked up the telephone receiver.