61. Antonio

Cristiano, Lucas, and I are in the villa, tying up last-minute details for my trip to Morocco and trying to predict the unforeseen circumstances, because of course, there will be some.

Nikitin is spending his last days on earth. That’s the only thing I’m one hundred percent sure about.

The Russian government had already seized all his known assets. But Lucas tracked down every offshore bank account that belonged to the billionaire, and rerouted the account information to Russia. Before the day was over, they’d sucked up every cent more efficiently than a fancy vacuum cleaner.

He’s without resources to open doors. It also means that the number of men he can hire, and the quality of those men, is severely limited. It’s better to have no men than men who are disloyal. He’s desperate in every regard.

His former lavish lifestyle is a thing of the past. Powerless oligarchs with dwindling bank accounts are not in high demand, especially on the party circuit. Although, we are planning a big bash for him. I guess you could call it a farewell party.

“Maybe you should confirm with Jake one more time before we leave,” Lucas suggests. He doesn’t like the idea of drawing an outsider into a plan with such high stakes.

Normally I would agree with him, but Jake’s not an outsider to me. I’ve known him since college. Along with Gray, Jake and I were close, and although we certainly don’t share everything, we’ve kept the relationship tight all these years.

Jake’s a stand-up guy who’s loyal to the bone. He didn’t blink when we asked to use his island when we needed a safe place outside the US to meet Valentina after Isabel was killed.

“Just don’t leave a mess,” he drawled, “or I’m grabbin’ my shotgun and comin’ for you.”

“There are plenty of things to worry about, but Jake isn’t one of them,” I grumble, while scrolling through my phone. “But I’ll touch base with him, if it means you’ll stop nagging like a fishwife.”

“Hey, you fucked-up sumabitch,” Jake drawls. “I hear it’s hunting season in Morocco. I’m thinking about bagging me a blonde and a brunette. Although redheads are mighty tasty, too. Mmhm. Can’t decide. Think three pussies in one hunt is too much for an old man like me?”

I’m glad the phone isn’t on speaker, because Lucas would be in heart failure.

Jake had a rough start in life and spent some time in prison when he was a kid, before the tide turned. Now he’s a Harvard-educated businessman who made a killing on Wall Street and owns a bourbon distillery that’s quickly becoming a household name. But he likes to pretend he’s a good ole boy—dumb as fuck. It’s served him incredibly well up until now. Although it’s not the image we need him to project if we want our plan to work.

“We’re there to hunt Russians, not pussy.”

We rented a mansion in Morocco, in Jake’s name, and he’s throwing a big party. Beautiful women, excellent booze, and high rollers who sweat power and money. All things billionaire oligarchs can’t resist—especially those on the outs. Not to mention, I’ll be there. When Nikitin learns that, he’s going to be so excited for an opportunity to kill me, his tiny dick’s going to stand up straight.

“Always a killjoy, Huntsman. You used to be a hell of a lot more fun before you handed over your balls to a woman,” Jake grouses. “I’ll be in the country as planned, but if you don’t mind, I’m going to skip the big bash.”

“Don’t mind at all. I’m surprised, though. I know how much you love big parties.”

He snickers. “Especially those with self-important buffoons hanging around the buffet.”

The plan had always been for Jake to quietly slip away long before the party. If things go sideways, I don’t want it to blow back on him. Besides, he exports a lot of expensive bourbon to Russia, and there’s no reason to rock that boat.

With any luck, we’ll lure out Nikitin early enough that I’ll be long gone before the first guest arrives, too. I would rather not have a gunfight in the middle of a party that’s not in a place where I control the authorities.

“Just remember the deal we made, Huntsman.”

Aside from lending his name to the party, he’s going to show up with me at some upscale places, where we can spread a lot of cash around. In exchange for his help, he gets my matured Port barrels to age his bourbon, no charge, for as long as he wants them. It’s a fair deal as far as I’m concerned.

“I appreciate your help. The barrels are yours, as many as I have, for as long as your dark heart desires.”

“All kidding aside, I’m happy to help. It’s the most trouble I’ve gotten into in a long time.”

“I doubt that.”

He chuckles. “And those barrels—” Jake continues.

“You don’t want them?”

“Oh, I want them. But I know what those honey barrels are worth, and I’m more than willing to pay top dollar for them babies.” He pauses. “Whatever you’re up to is clearly important. That’s why you called. I’m glad you did, by the way, and I’m honored to help. You’ve certainly saved my sorry ass plenty of times, and I’m sure there will be plenty more times when it needs saving. Buy me a drink in Morocco and we’ll call it even.”

“It is important. I’m trying to save my family.” Something that Jake understands well. “But the drink and the barrels are on me. And I’m happy to save your sorry ass any time.”