Ribisi stands to the side, waiting for me to invite him to sit down. I give him only a casual glance and reach for my whiskey.
“I take it you’re here because you have news for me.”
“Yes, sir. Don Semenov is desperate to meet with you.”
“That is not news,” I say, glaring up at him. “It’s common knowledge. Are you trying to trick me into believing you’re loyal to me?”
“I am not your don yet,” I remind him harshly. “I’m still deciding what to do with you. You were his creature for a long time.”
“And I still would be,” Ribisi agrees, “if he hadn’t spat in my face.”
Petro rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna spit in your face, too, amigo, if you keep boring the s**t out of me with the same old sob story. And not in the ‘pay extra because that’s what you like’ kind of way.”
Ribisi’s face sours, but
