Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Normally, I’d never go along with what my sister says. She likes to be bossy, and it works for her on everyone else in the world, but I learned a long time ago to ignore her more controlling tendencies.
But I like the idea of dropping in on Lucy.
I can’t stop thinking about that night together. I wish we had more time, but a problem at another club pulled me away. I’ve been thinking about getting in touch, except I haven’t known how to do it without letting her know that I saw through her disguise.
This is a good opportunity.
“Set it up,” I say, looking down at my phone. “For sometime tomorrow.”
“I’m your secretary now?”
“Delegate to one of the guys then,” I say, exasperated. “Do you have to make everything difficult?”
“Yep, pretty much.” She beams at me and waves. “See you later, bro.”
My sister leaves. I get five minutes to drink my whiskey and think about Lucy before Luca shows up at the door, breathless from the climb. He seems like he’s in a hurry.
“Adriano, there’s a man downstairs to see you.”
My eyebrows raise. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“He says his name is Demir Yilmaz. He says you’d know him.”
I sit very still. My heart rate quickens at the name. “Wait for me in the hall. I’ll be down in a moment.”
Luca seems uncertain, but he nods and steps out.
I pull a gun from my desk drawer and tuck it into my pants. There are about a dozen guards lurking around downstairs, all of them armed and violent, but there’s no way I’ll ever go to a meeting with the head of the Gray Wolf mafia unarmed.
I finish my drink, take a moment to compose myself, and step out. Luca walks at my shoulder as we head down the hall. “Who is that guy?” he asks.
“Demir Yilmaz is the head of the North American wing of the Gray Wolf mafia.”
“Never heard of them.”
“They’re a niche Turkish crime syndicate. Mostly, they operate in Europe and the Middle East. They specialize in black market artifacts. Byzantine art, Ming Dynasty vases, shit like that. Their legitimate cover does authentication and auctions.”
Luca grunts slightly, frowning as we take the stairs down. “Sounds like a good racket.”
“They’re dangerous. Demir especially. Most of the time, we have no reason to deal with them. The Gray Wolf is deeply embedded with high society, though.”
Which means I have a feeling I know what this is about.
Or at least who.
Luca stops talking as we approach the bar. Demir’s waiting right in the middle with a glass at his elbow. He’s a few years older than me, grizzled and tanned, hair graying and slicked back. He’s in a gray sweater and a pair of jeans, and though I don’t notice a weapon bulge anywhere, I can’t rule out the possibility that he’s armed.
The rumors about Demir are very specific. He’s ex-special forces with a reputation for ruthless violence. The man is allegedly from the toughest slums of Istanbul, which makes him one mean bastard. How this brutal thug runs an art business, I have no fucking clue.
He turns to me and stands. “Adriano Marino,” he says, holding out a hand.
I shake it. “Demir Yilmaz. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You as well. I was just enjoying your club’s hospitality.” He grins. His teeth are white and straight. “Please, sit down.”
I join him at the bar. Luca stays a few feet away, watching. Demir considers me for a moment as I ask for a drink from the bartender. He seems sharp and charming, not at all the gutter thug I assumed he would be.
“I assume you’re not here to discuss acquiring some of my art collection,” I comment once my bourbon arrives.
He laughs lightly. “I didn’t know you were interested.”
“Art’s a good investment these days. I have some Rothkos stashed away.”
“Rothko. Very nice.” He waves a hand. “We do not deal in that modern stuff, no offense. But this is good; you know my trade.”
“I’m vaguely familiar. So what can I do for you, Mr. Yilmaz?”
“Call me Demir, please.” His charming smile slips slightly. “I confess, I’m not here for good reasons. I suppose you will not like what I have to say.”
A bad feeling runs down my spine, but I keep myself carefully composed. “When it comes to bad news, I like to get straight to it.”
“Very good. A man I can respect.” He rolls his glass, and the ice clinks. “Ten years ago, I entered into a business agreement. It was an unusual arrangement, but my new partner desperately needed a loan, and I was willing to provide her the funds at a very reasonable price. However, ten years later, she still hasn’t paid me back what she owes. And now the interest is very substantial. So much so that I do not believe she can ever make good on her promises.”