Benyamin nods. “He refused to do business with me so long as I keep doing business with you. His allies have followed suit.”
“I think I more than make up for the loss,” I point out. “I give you a lot of business, Benyamin.”
“You give me half,” Benyamin replies. “But the other half is supplied mostly by the Ivanovs. I need their share to keep my business afloat.”
I recline in my seat and regard him carefully, making sure he can see the threat in my posture. “If the business is split fifty-fifty between me and the Ivanovs, then it comes down to a matter of loyalty.”
The boy pales. He gives his fear away by looking at his father. Now that I understand why they’re here, I’m surprised Benyamin brought him along at all.
He’s too green. Far too naïve for this. He reeks of fear.
“I’m here, Anton,” Benyamin protests. “I’m here talking to you, aren’t I?”
“Something tells me that Rodion made that decision for you,” I say.
“He’s mourning his daughter.”
“Her death had nothing to do with me.”
Benyamin looks uncomfortable. “That’s not what he believes.”
“He’s mistaken,” I say, my voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Are you asking me to prove myself, Benyamin? Are you saying my word isn’t enough?”
He’s still for a long time. Long enough that I’m able to count the individual beads of sweat on his forehead. Then he shakes his head.
“Of course not. I am, as always, loyal to the Stepanovs.”
I give him a curt nod. “Smart choice.”
He snorts. “You’re implying I have a choice.”
I smile. “And that right there is why I’ve always liked you, Benyamin. You get it.”