Avenge :Romanian Mob Chronicles(7)

It didn’t matter, though. Not anymore. He was dead now, gone like so many others, destined to be a memory, a story, a do-you-remember-when.

And it was my job to make sure that the same didn’t happen to his brother.

I found Christoph Junior perched behind his father’s desk. He looked right there, eerily reminiscent of the old man, same face, same light hair, though his eyes were blue to his father’s black. He was more boyish though, almost delicate, something he had been teased about.

Once.

The price of the implied insult had been the offender’s top row of teeth, and the message had been received. No one else had ever dared speak of Christoph Junior’s looks. After his display, he’d established that he wouldn’t be trifled with and been free to cultivate his persona, more stockbroker than mobster.

It must be nice, I thought as I walked through the office. Blending in had never been an option for me; lulling people into a false sense of comfort was something that my stature and demeanor didn’t allow.

But Christoph Junior worked it to his advantage, somehow managing to balance his father’s ruthlessness with his mother’s smoothness, something that had served him well despite his sometimes erratic behavior.

It was an admirable quality, the ability to mask what lay beneath, and there had been a time when I’d envied him. But no more. His approach had its advantages, but so did mine.

“Anton,” he said after I shut the door behind me, closing out the noise that drifted from above. “You spoke with Father?”

I nodded.

“And this won’t be a problem? I know there had been talk that you would…” He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

“Not around me. That seat is your birthright, and I will remove the tongue of anyone who dares say otherwise,” I said.

I meant it too. The chair did belong to a Constantin, something that I, no matter how much I was respected, would never be. And I didn’t waste the energy or the time trying to imagine what it would be like if I were.

Not anymore.

“I knew I could count on you,” he said.

“Always.”

“We have a meeting tonight,” he said.

“With who?” I asked.

“Me.”

I turned to the sound of the voice and watched as Priest, our occasional business partner, stepped out of the shadows. He’d never crossed me, or Clan Constantin as far as I knew, but I didn’t trust him, especially not to overhear such a personal conversation. He was far too comfortable in the outskirts, never picked a side. And a man with no loyalty, with nothing to be loyal to, was a dangerous one.

“I’m stepping in on a temporary basis for David Ashmore.”

“Did they ever find him?” Christoph asked.

“Not that I know of,” Priest replied.

He spoke casually, as if he knew nothing about the matter, but it was an open secret that he had helped Vasile Petran bury Ashmore in a very deep hole after the money launderer had invaded Vasile’s home and attacked his woman. Though if the reasons were true, no one had any qualms about it. Wouldn’t have even if the reasons hadn’t been. Still, Ashmore’s loss had been somewhat disruptive to the business, and Priest would get things back on track.

“So you’re stepping in to handle the money aspect of the business?” I said.

“Yes. But it’ll be at a higher rate,” Priest replied.

“How much?” I asked.

“Twenty percent,” he said.

“Fine,” I replied.

“Fifteen,” Christoph Junior interjected.

Priest looked to him for the first time. “Twenty is standard given the circumstances.”

“Circumstances you helped create,” Christoph Junior said.

“Still. There is a customary price.”

“Fifteen,” he repeated.

“Does his father agree with this?” Priest asked, this time looking directly at me.

“Christoph Junior speaks for Clan Constantin,” I said.

“Very well. Fifteen.”

Priest left without saying anything else.

“He folded,” Christoph said, looking rather pleased with himself.

I didn’t bother to tell him that if Priest had done something, he had his own motives, and bowing to Christoph was likely not one of them.

“You disagree,” he said.

I took a moment to consider. Christoph Junior and I had always operated more or less as equals, the Constantin name giving him an advantage I’d never have, but his father’s favor and that of the others bolstering my status. So while our relationship had been friendly if not close, there had always been an undercurrent of tension, a battle that neither of us acknowledged but which both of us were aware of. But this was different, and I sensed the test in his words.