And that’s why they will fail.
“I have no intention of fighting on behalf of Jonas Bernadetti. I won’t shedyourblood to put a crown onhim. Before Cardona is defeated, I intend to give Jonas to him. And then, if both men die when we come to ‘rescue’ the useless fool…Well, that’s just too bad.”
But that’s just the first half of the plan.
“Because Jonas isn’t the only one who can place a claim to the Citta Nostra.” I exhale slowly, stand up, and look at the men sitting around me. “In the absence of a don once we knock off Cardona and Jonas, the person with the best claim to the entire organization is Liya. The Citta Nostra caporegimes, however, won’t accept having a Bernadettidaughterleading them.
“But if she has a son…” I smile deviously. “And who else to guide the young don until he comes of age than his own father? And you’ll be right beside me, won’t you, boys?” I ask.
Nods of agreement soar around the table.Now that’s more like it.
But I still can’t help wondering if there might be another Kiril or Vorobyov among them.
“How will this war heat up, Pavel Sergeyevich?” Gennadiy asks.
“We hit Cardona first. Before he can hit us,” I explain. “First, we need to root out the cops working for Cardona. Go after some of Cardona’s personal moneymakers—nightclubs, bars, and empty offices that collect rent from ghost companies—and see which piggies tag along for the barbecue.”
Another round of nods. Good, I still have them.
My smile grows more confident as I add, “Dig through the public records and find everything we know about those cops. When the time comes, take them off the board all at once.
“Remember, they must all be taken out at the same time.” I remind them. “We want to blind Cardona in one fell swoop. We hit one of the cops too early, and they’ll know we’re coming. We hit them too late, and we risk Cardona picking us off with his entire network. I trust you to get this done properly.”
“Yes, Pavel Sergeyevich!” they say in unison.
Outlining the plan has put my brigadiers in the right mood. Their unreadable expressions revert back to allegiance. I wrap up the meeting and dismiss them, but motion at Stepan to stay.
“Stepan Petrovich, I need your metal-plated brain again.”
Stepan takes a seat at the table. “Of course, Pavel Sergeyevich.”
The last of the brigadiers fade from the room, the low hum of conversation wiped from the air when the door closes. Tense molecules dance around my forehead. I massage my temples while resting my elbows on the table.
After a few deep breaths, I drop my hands to the table and fold my fingers together. “I want to know what you think about Vorobyov’s defection.”
“Your ticks have multiplied.”
“How do you mean?”
Stepan gestures toward the wide windows lining the wall. Sunlight pours into the room; it is a beautiful day outside. I wish I could say I was enjoying it.
“Kiril Vladimirovich spoke out of turn and meant his disrespect,” Stepan continues. “But it was a calculated action.”
My jaw snaps shut like a snake snatching its prey. “What do you mean?”
“A man who goes back on the word of his father.” He repeats Kiril’s words at the wedding. “Kiril Vladimirovich knows that the brigadiers still intend to honor the words of your father. After all, those men were his before they were yours. When Kiril disrespected you, he did so through your own father’s honor.”
I push away from the table and march toward the window. The city looks gorgeous up here. But I feel like the view is wasted on my irritated gaze.
“Respond, and you risk proving his accusation,” Stepan continues calmly. “Do nothing, and you are admitting your own weakness to him. There is no easy choice.”
“I’m not a child, Stepan Petrovich.” I know the familiar lecture. It’s one that my father gave me plenty of times throughout my life:
Honor is all we have, Pasha. It is a man’s shield and his sword.
Kiril artfully used it as both. As much as I hate him for it, I cannot help but respect it.
“You’re not,” Stepan agrees. “Vorobyov is the first to follow Kiril’s footsteps, but he won’t be the last.”