The Negotiator (Professionals 7)

“Let me go,” she demanded, the order gritting out of her. Defiant even though she knew she didn’t stand a chance.

“We agreed this job didn’t involve your boss,” I reminded her as she tried to jerk back, neck turning, likely trying to figure out if someone was nearby who would save her if she threw a fit.

Normally, yes, they would.

But not when the person she needed saving from was me.

No one would make a move against me. There was something in the way her shoulders slumped that said she was beginning to understand that, to see my reach.

“Through here,” I told her, easing my grip, but keeping a hand on her, leading her through a bright blue door and into a small coffee shop.

“I need the balcony cleared,” I told the proprietor who immediately stepped out from behind his counter, going outside to make that happen. “And two frappes,” I added, to the man’s wife, who quickly gathered the instant coffee grounds and milk.

“You can let go of me,” Miller said, voice rough even as she shot me a fake smile. If I didn’t know she was pissed, I would have believed it.

“So you can chase after Bellamy to speak to your boss? No.”

“I thought we had a business arrangement.”

“We do,” I agreed, nodding to the owner as I led Miller onto the balcony, seating her near the railing as I took the spot near the door. No exit.

“Then why are you treating me like a prisoner?”

The owner’s wife stepped out on the balcony, set down our drinks along with a menu, then quietly disappeared again, closing the door as she went.

“Frappe, food… yes, you are being horribly mistreated.”

“I just wanted my team to know where I am. That’s all. And I know Bellamy is going to lie to them. You have loved ones, Mr. Adamos. You know how it is to worry when one of them is suddenly missing.”

“I’m sure Bellamy has fed them a story that will buy you enough time to save Alexander.”

To that, she let out a long sigh, reaching for a frappe, leaning back in her seat.

“Okay. I am going to need more details.”

“About what, exactly?”

“Your brother. Atanas. The hierarchy of crime in your country. The kind of allies Atanas has. And you. What you are—and are not—willing to negotiate on. Everything.”

She fell silent then, taking a tentative sip of her frappe, letting out a moan that I could feel in my fucking cock, then taking a longer sip.

“That is a long story,” I told her, finger sliding across the sweat on my glass.

“I’m on your dime now,” she said with a casual shrug.

“My father started the family business. He rose up the ranks from loanshark to, as you like to put it, crime lord. He passed five years after Alexander was born. His mother moved onto another rich man, leaving me to raise Alexander. Which I did. Last year, he insisted on going to school in Athens. He felt stifled here, I guess.”

“Armed guards preventing him from being a kid?” she asked.

“Something like that, yes. He should have been safe. No one crosses me here.”

“What, exactly, is your business, Mr. Adamos?”

“I believe they would call it ‘racketeering’ in the States.”

“That’s an umbrella term.”

“Mine is an umbrella business.”

“So, you, what, take a percentage of all illegal dealings? In exchange for protection?”

“For the most part, yes.”

“Who deals heroin in your country?”

“No one from here. It sneaks in. So many boats, so many faces, it is impossible to keep track.”

“So you don’t condone any drug trade?”

“I said I don’t have a hand in heroin. There are other drugs, less destructive drugs, and those I allow. Those have dealers who I have agreements with.”

“So it would be safe to assume that Atanas Chernev is likely who has been having people sneak in. He’s finding a market for it. He’s getting greedy. He wants you to let him corner that market.”

“Yes.”

“Was he planning on giving you a cut?”

“Originally, yes. Thirty percent. As is standard.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Six months. Eight, possibly.”

“Was he angry?”

“Chernev doesn’t show such weakness. He told me he understood my hesitance. I didn’t hear from him again. I figured he had moved onto Turkey or Romania. Even Italy. I had no reason to suspect he was a threat.”

“Except that everyone is a threat when they want something from you that they are not getting.”

“This is true,” I allowed.

“Okay. Well, what is Alexander like?”

“Much like me at that age. Except perhaps smarter. More sly even.”

“So not someone who is likely to cower and beg to be released,” she guessed.

“I can’t imagine him doing either of those things.”

“Is he reckless? Will he do something to screw up negotiations?”

“Anything is possible. I think, if he knows you are involved, he will be smart, try to let things play out.”

“I will demand proof of life. He will know I am involved. Do you and Alexander have any sort of code?”