MASSIMO
You could cut the tension with a knife and suddenly I regret stepping away from my wife at all. The look on her pale face is enough to drive me wild with the need to protect her.
“What is the meaning of this, Spartak?” Hernandez asks, eyes narrowing as he levels his gun at me.
Spartak waves his hand dismissively. “If you put your gun down, I will explain.”
Hernandez glares at him for a few painfully long moments before lowering his gun, but keeping it in his hand. “Explain, fast.”
Spartak smirks. “We know about your plan with my nephew.”
Hernandez shakes his head. “I don’t know—”
“Save it,” I say, cutting him off. “We are here to negotiate for you not to blow us to Timbuktu.”
A sinister smirk twists onto his lips. “And why would I negotiate with the likes of you?”
“Because otherwise we’ll make sure we do everything in our power to annihilate you before the bombs are ready.”
Hernandez growls. “You can’t annihilate the cartel.”
“No, but I can destroy your family.” I cross my arms over his chest. “The three of us together are stronger than your family alone, Hernandez.”
I can see the old man thinking about my words, plotting a way around this. There’s no way I’d ever underestimate the wrath of a Mexican drug lord when he’s been accosted like this. There’s every chance this attempt to agree peace with the Estrada Cartel may turn into a bloodbath.
His eye twitches slightly, and then he nods. “What do you want?”
Rourke scoffs at that. “We want you to stop planning to destroy us all.”
“And what do you offer me in return?”
Spartak shakes his head. “Not to hunt you down and torture you.”
I shoot Spartak an irritated look. “Money. We will all give you money to walk away.”
Hernandez smirks at the mention of money, since it’s always the way to a Mexican’s heart.
“Like hell we will,” Rourke counters, shaking his head. “Why would we pay the bastard for plotting against us?”
The man we’re trying to negotiate with glares at Rourke. “I must admit, I’m not sure paying me off is as satisfying as taking the entire territory of Chicago for myself.” His eyes narrow as they meet mine. “Think how rich the Estrada family will grow once we eliminate all three of you.” He shakes his head. “You couldn’t afford to pay me enough to make me abandon my plan.”
“So you declare war?” I ask, clarifying his position.
“I didn’t say that, exactly,” Hernandez says, walking over and taking a seat at the table where Maxim is sitting. “Why don’t we all sit and have a discussion?” His two sons, Thiago and Enzo, take a seat on either side of him, remaining silent.
The slime ball wants to shake us down for God knows what, but I sit anyway. If there’s any chance of salvaging something from this wreckage, then I need to seize it. Father is relying on me to sort this out and stop Hernandez in his tracks. The idea of letting him down when he’s sick in hospital and possibly dying makes my stomach churn.
“What do you want?” I ask, glaring at the man opposite me.
“Territory.”
I had a bad feeling that was what he was going to say.
“You already have territory,” Maxim points out. “The largest of all three of us.”
“Exactly,” Rourke says, shaking his head. “What exactly are you expecting us to give you?”
“Central,” he says, matter of fact, as if he didn’t just ask for the heart of the fucking city to be handed to him on a platter.
Spartak growls, eyes flaring with psychotic rage. “You will be dead and buried before you lay a hand on central Chicago.”
Hernandez arches a brow. “I think you’ll find it will be you, Spartak, dead and buried under the rubble of your empire.” The smirk on his lips is callous and cruel.
Spartak moves forward, fists clenched, but Imalia places a hand on his arm and tries to soothe him. Instantly, when he looks at her, his demeanor changes.
“You know central has to remain neutral. There’s no way one gang can control it. It’s the heart of the city,” I say.
Luca leans forward. “Right, and it’s a neutral space to move around freely. You take that from us three, you isolate us.”
Thiago clears his throat for the first time since they entered and nods. “I agree it’s an overstretch. You should just all give us a piece of your current territory.”
My eyes widen. “Are you insane?”
The heir to his father’s throne merely smirks at me. “No. Give us something to make it worthwhile.”
“Contracts,” Spartak suggests.
Hernandez glares at him. “What kind of contracts?”
“All three of us agree to buy our product from you and sign contracts for that effect tonight. You end this bullshit. That way, you have a monopoly on the drugs flooding the city.”
It’s a clever offer, but not one I can uphold. Our deal with Albanians is iron clad. “We can’t get out of our contract for cocaine with the current supplier.”
Spartak waves his hand dismissively. “Fine, the two of us, Me and Rourke, will sign contracts to that effect.”
Hernandez narrows his eyes at me. “You will need to compensate us somehow, Morrone.”
“Guns,” I say simply, knowing our supplier of guns doesn’t have a valid contract. We can switch supplier without too much bother. “You supply our weapons.”
“But—” Thiago is about to speak when his father cuts him off.
“Deal.”