As the door opened, I couldn’t help but smile, the lovely bartender bringing in my refreshment herself. Her look of admiration continued. Everyone would remain quiet until she left. I held the glass of vodka in front of me, the Russian liquor exactly what I needed.
I allowed our fingers to touch as I inhaled the sweet scent of her exotic perfume. My mouth watered at the thought of what I could do to her in one of the hotel rooms. However, as with all our settings, the hired help was completely off limits. When she walked out, closing the door with a soft click, my cock twitched.
“Seems you have an issue on your hands, one that is extending into Francesco turf.” Dominick was always the voice of reason, even more so since his marriage to a New York senator’s daughter.
“And what issue would that be?” I asked before taking and savoring a swallow of the cold vodka.
Lorenzo walked closer, giving me a hard once-over. I could tell he’d already had too much to drink, a weakness in my mind and the man had several.
“Shipping. Export. Drugs.”
I chuckled and took another sip before moving to one of the chairs, easing down and studying him intently. “In that particular order?”
Huffing, Lorenzo cursed under his breath. “You have an asshole claiming to be from Philadelphia trying to muscle in on our business and using the inroads from Canada.”
I hated to admit that I had limited idea with regard to what he was talking about. I prided myself in knowing about every aspect of my competitors, but business had taken me out of town recently, appeasing certain clients. “And who is that?”
“Church Exports.”
I eased the glass onto the table, leaning forward as I thought about what my father as just told me. “Church Exports.” I repeated the name, my entire mind grasping onto the fact that some lowlife piece of trash had managed to slither his way into making a dent in our business. My father had kept the information from me for far too long. Party favors were his part of our world.
“Peter Church. He’s certainly been in the news lately.” Dominick lifted a single eyebrow.
With that, Lorenzo yanked a copy of the New York Times from his jacket, tossing it in my direction. “Even making the news in Dominick’s part of the world.”
“I spent a good portion of the morning gleaning information. Peter Church is a bottom feeder, his import-export business bringing in various pieces of art,” Michael stated. “From all appearances, he’s on the up and up, the majority of pieces going to high-end collectors. He pawns himself off as legitimate, gaining not only notoriety but clout amongst lenders, corporate leaders, and even politicians.”
I shifted, angry with myself for not paying closer attention. The second page headline was damning enough.
Is Church Exports Powerful Enough to Slide into New York?
Slide. The word was interesting. I scanned a few paragraphs, studying the man’s glossy photo. A few memories began to settle in. I’d heard about an incident when I was merely a Capo, a small organization attempting to muscle in. I thought my father had taken care of what had been a single small issue over three years before. No wonder he’d been pissed as hell earlier. The one thing you didn’t do was attempt to make Aleksandr Petrov look like a fool.
Even though I’d been able to tell that my father had been hiding important details. I’d left the meeting wondering whether he had merely been testing me, ensuring I was prepared to take over the reins. This was something else entirely. A real threat.
I took a deep breath, pushing the paper away, putting certain pieces together. “So Mr. Church had set his sights on Chicago and New York as well as Philly?” I glanced from Dominick to Lorenzo, both men confirming with a nod.
“He fashions himself to be a real player, even sniffing in Miami,” Miguel offered. “Michael is right. He is seen as nothing but reputable. The man and his operation are brilliant if you ask me. Plus, he’s well connected. Everybody likes the guy. My sources tell me that the heroin he is bringing in is almost pure and getting into the hands of minors. He is clever in that he’s moving everything in during the middle of the night.”
Brilliant. I exhaled, rubbing my jaw. The word I’d use was calculating. Minors. I loathed the concept. I was a man of honor, refusing to allow our Bratva’s drugs to get into the hands of children. Snarling, I knew the situation had to be handled with extreme caution. If Church Exports was stationed out of Philadelphia, naturally it was believed that I would take care of the situation.
And there was another problem.
My guess is that heroin wasn’t Church Exports’ only import the man was bringing in. The options were endless. All of which could prove damning and expensive for the Petrov empire. From all appearances, Peter Church had maintained a legal operation in Philadelphia while setting up franchises in other cities.
Fortunately, Mr. Church didn’t know about my relationship with the other families. He would learn soon enough.
“And he has enough manpower to handle additional merchandise?” I asked casually, although I was seething inside, burning with anger.
“The word on the street is that he’s developed quite a following, both in investors and in those now under his employ. Peter Church is not to be underestimated, the people he employs just as dangerous as any of our soldiers,” Miguel stated, choosing his words carefully. He eased into a standing position, handing me a folder. “Everything I’ve been able to collect on the man and his growing empire. Mr. Church is cagey, but a damn good businessman, protecting himself and his interests carefully.”
I eased my glass down, taking a look through various files, including photographs of some influential people on the corporate and political side. I was honestly stunned that the man had been able to stay under the radar.
My radar.
My father had every right to be angry, seeking revenge. He had even mentioned several unexplained deaths at raves, creating heat on our establishment. The police would find answers given the push from the parents. Thankfully, news hadn’t hit the streets.
Yet.
This kind of bullshit my family didn’t need.
“Notice the amount of money in offshore accounts. Seems the man is doing very well for himself,” Miguel said under his breath, cursing in Spanish. “It’s an intricate operation, obviously in the works for years.”
“The information has been corroborated by several sources,” Dominick added. “Mr. Church needs to be dealt with before this gets out of hand. We can’t allow our people to know we’ve lost a handle on this. You know what would happen.”
Anarchy.
We’d lose all credibility.
Rage rose like nasty bile, choking me. I was appalled at my own weakness, working on other areas of the business. I tossed the file, grabbing my drink once again. Seething.
I already knew what had to be done.
Eradication.
“Given you gentlemen seem to know Peter Church better than I do, what do you believe are his weaknesses?” I glanced from one to the other, demanding in my tone.
Lorenzo snorted, lifting his glass. “Squeaky clean, other than a few parking tickets. That’s why he is brilliant. The man has been playing us for years.”