Keep(Romanian Mob Chronicles 1)(10)

He headed the sizable Peruvian faction, and was personally responsible for half of the city’s drug trade. A person of his power in David’s corner was surprising, but even Vargas’s power would not sway me. If anything, this display only confirmed I’d done the right thing.

He shook his head. “Don’t think of it that way. I’m simply facilitating a meeting, hopefully one between friends.”

“He’s no friend of mine.” I inclined my head toward Ashmore. “You either. But we make money together. That can change,” I said.

Vargas’s eyes flashed with malice before he put his docile mask back in place. And that was all it was, the thinnest veneer of civility to hide the savagery underneath. It had helped him, too, his appearance of calm allowing him to emerge from the last war on top of the heap. It was impressive how he’d managed to pull rival factions together, wrangle complete control, and still maintain his reputation as a conciliator despite the bodies he’d stacked.

He’d worked hard for status, had gone to great lengths to keep it, and I wondered how deep his ties to David went if he was willing to risk it, or whether this was a surface play, a roundabout way for Vargas to solidify his hold on the Peruvians, which would give him almost a monopoly on the drug trade and the money and power that came with it, a result I wouldn’t allow.

I couldn’t immediately read his intentions. Unlike so many others, Vargas was usually in control of his emotions, and his thin face, dark eyes gave away nothing.

“Business is business, and what you did was bad business,” Vargas said, just managing to stay on the right side of chiding, but only barely.

Sorin stepped closer to Vargas, his own tolerance for the type of question Vargas posed far less than mine. But then again, Sorin had never been patient and had never, ever, overlooked a slight. That hotheaded nature always threatened to strike.

“Sorin, let Mr. Ashmore plead his case,” I said.

Sorin recognized the play for what it was, the barest attempt to give Vargas at least some of what he wanted, and he went along with it, loosening his stance but still alternating his glare between the two interlopers with naked contempt.

“Just give her back,” Ashmore said, voice now a whine. “No harm, no foul. And I can sweeten the pot. I’ll clean for free this week.”

He looked at me hopefully, eyes half begging, half defiant before he choked out, “She can stay another day if you’re not finished with her yet.”

I thinned my lips and exhaled hard, my hands clenching into fists, anger at his continued mistreatment of her surging through my blood. Sorin glared at Ashmore harder, and even Vargas shot him a brief look of disdain.

“Do not come here again. Either of you,” I said, looking at Vargas then.

“Please…I need her!” Ashmore cried, his hands balled into tight fists. “I need her.”

“Mr. Petran, extending this courtesy is something my organization would look kindly on,” Vargas said.

I huffed a breath and glared at Vargas. Of course his organization would look kindly on it. Why wouldn’t it? Giving her back would be a show a weakness on my part and would solidify his relationship with Ashmore. It was an excellent outcome for him, which was probably why he’d risked coming here in the first place.

“Do not come here again,” I said, keeping my eyes on Vargas, reminding him without words that he existed at the pleasure—and mercy—of Clan Petran. Yes, he’d displayed a savvy and brutality that was impressive, but had my clan taken sides, he would not have won. Seemed he’d forgotten that fact momentarily, but if the calculation I saw spinning in his eyes was a clue, he was quickly remembering.

“Thank you for your time. I hope we didn’t disrupt your evening,” Vargas finally said.

Then he turned, and Ashmore peered at him, mouth gaped open. “What about…?”

Vargas looked back. “You heard the man. And if you want to continue breathing, I suggest you follow me.”

Now Ashmore’s expression was a mix of anger, desperation, and fear. I focused on the fear, and twisted my face into an even more unwelcoming grimace.

“Just…tell her to please call me,” he said, voice reminiscent of a little boy’s, filled with hope and trepidation. He’d taken such pleasure in lording over her, of showing me how powerful he was because he controlled her. And now he was begging for a phone call that would never come. Pathetic, even more so than I’d pegged him for.

I stared at him silently, unblinking, and eventually, Ashmore turned and fled, trailing behind Vargas.

When they’d exited, Sorin relaxed his stance. “We should have fucked them up.”