“Twenty percent,” Mikhail says. “Is that going to be a problem?”
His bodyguard stands in the door and glances from the hallway back toward his boss and then at me. He clears his throat at Mikhail. I can only assume it’s a signal, but of what?
His bodyguard’s gun is poised at his hip. The reflection of metal catches my eye. He isn’t holding it, which means I could reach for my spare gun under my desk and take out Mikhail or the bodyguard. It’s unlikely I’d make both shots before getting hit myself with a round or two.
And I’m more concerned about Aleksandra and the twins. If I make one wrong move, they could die.
I press my lips together. I don’t like shakedowns. While I’m a man of the mafia, I’m also a man of my word. “We agreed to ten percent,” I say. Technically, I wasn’t happy about that arrangement, but I’d have said anything to get Aleksandra and the kids away from the Russian mobster.
Mikhail leans back in the chair. He stretches his arms and puts his hands behind his head. “Well, the price went up.”
“Excuse me?”
What’s saying he won’t raise the price again in a month. He’s just as bad as the cable provider that fucking hoses me. At least with cable, I get a service. What do I get from Mikhail? Certainly not him leaving us alone.
“You left with my sister and didn’t pay.”
He thinks he owns me. “You’re a dead man!” I threaten, my heart pounding against my ribcage.
“Remember who started this war,” Mikhail says. “You brought death onto your doorstep and into the homes of your mafia brothers. Are you sure you want to do that again?”
My top lip twitches with a snarl. “You’re a monster.”
“No worse than you kidnapping my nephew and working for Roberto.” Mikhail can’t let that go.
“Do you see Roberto running the mafia around here?” I won’t confess to murdering Roberto. I can’t take a chance that Mikhail came in here with another agenda, wearing a wire, and trying to incriminate me.
He glances around my office from his position in the chair. “Seems you’ve done well for yourself. Let me give you a piece of advice,brother.” There’s disdain in his tone, arrogance, and anger simmering at the surface.
“I don’t want your advice,” I snap.
“But you should take it,” Mikhail says. His demeanor is calm, and why shouldn’t it be? He’s getting everything he fucking wants. “Don’t fuck with the bratva unless you’re prepared for war. Your predecessor was foolish, believing he could sell Liam, and for what, a couple hundred thousand to a wealthy family who wanted a Caucasian son? You nearly destroyed your own family, and you didn’t even know it.”
He’s right, I fucked up, started a war, but we put it all behind us. Didn’t we? We’d made a truce, a cease-fire, and the arrangement had been to let Mikhail return to the bratva under the condition that he and his men leave the other mafia families alone. His war was with us.
“I paid you your money,” I say, turning the computer screen so he can see the receipt for the transfer of funds. “I want Aleksandra released and you to leave my children alone.”