Tempted by the Sinner

“You still haven’t told me why we’d want that,” I said. “Makes more sense to kill Maksim off, let his organization fracture, and take all their territory.”

“Stop that,” my father said, slamming a hand on the table.

I smiled at him and stopped spinning the phone.

“On edge?” I asked.

He let out a breath and leaned his head back, eyes closed, for five deep breaths. His face was composed when he looked at me again.

“We don’t want to own the city outright,” he said. “Even if we could reach out and take it right now, that would bring too much attention down on us. Yes, we own politicians and police officers, but if we draw too much attention, there’s only so much they can do. We need Maksim to retain some measure of power and control, even if it’s only a distant second place. If we have influence over him and his organization, it will leave us in a stronger position, long-term.”

I nodded and crossed my arms. It was a sound theory, and I actually agreed with my old man. I had to admit, it was kind of a brilliant strategy. The Russians would become our vassals and they’d owe us for their very existence, and in effect we’d own the whole city, although we’d do it through proxies.

It was really, really smart. There was a reason my father was the head of this family and one of the most powerful mobsters in the world.

And yet, I still hesitated. I still didn’t like it.

The Russians weren’t weak. They were weakened, that was true, and they were only a shadow of their former selves, but they weren’t weak. They could regain their strength, bide their time, and make a move years down the road when we weren’t expecting it. Perhaps my father wasn’t thinking past his own death, but it was on my mind all the time.

There was a knock at the door. My father stood, spry as ever, and looked at me. I got to my feet as the door to the conference room opened and Dino walked into the room, followed by Maksim Volkov himself.

It was strange to see the old Russian in my father’s home. He was wrinkled, with lines around his eyes and on his forehead. He had a square chin, straight nose, white hair, and a trim gray beard. He was thin, like he kept himself in shape, and wore simple jeans and a sweater.

“Luciano,” Maksim said. He approached my father and held out his hand. I watched a vein in Roberto’s skull throb like the enforcer wanted to attack, and was barely holding himself back.

“Maksim.” My father smiled and shook. “How are you doing?”

“Well, well.” Maksim looked at me. “And this is Vincent. Ah, little Vincent, how long has it been?”

“Too long,” I said, not showing the annoyance that crept through my body. I walked around the table and shook his hand before gesturing at a chair.

“Can we get you something?” I asked.

“No, no,” Maksim said, taking a seat.

I returned to my chair and lowered myself down as my father sat with a sigh. The two old men looked at each other for a long moment, both of their expressions guarded, and I took a second to marvel at them.

They’d been at each other’s throats for a long time, possibly for the entire time either of them had been in control of their organizations. The Russians and the Italians were lifelong enemies, and seeing them at a table together was almost jarring.

Maksim was a hard and a shrewd man. He didn’t rise to his position without some brains and some muscle. The only reason they’d taken such a beating lately was due to his moron son getting his ass handed to him by one of my old friends from when I was coming up, back before I left for New York. That little war had fractured something within the Russian organization, and they were losing ground little by little nearly every day.

“I’m happy you came,” my father said. “I know things have always been difficult between us, Maksim.”

“Difficult?” Maksim grunted. “Please, you make life miserable. You come and kill soldiers, you steal shipments. Of course, I do same to you, so things, they are even. But still, we should say what we mean, yes?”

“I agree,” my father said.

“Then let me ask you. Why am I here?” Maksim crossed his arms over his chest and looked from my father over to me then back again.

I raised an eyebrow and waited. My father took a moment to compose himself before folding his hands together on the table and leaning toward Maksim.

“I’ve come to offer you a deal,” my father said.

“You make me deal?” Maksim laughed. “I do not think you make me good deal.”

“Hear me out, Maksim,” my father said. “I know we’ve been at odds for a long time, but believe me. I think I have something that will benefit us both.”