19. RAVEN

19

RAVEN

A week since my coming back, the Center has become the war headquarters. With Tsariuk’s presence, it feels like a military camp. Before, we stalled trying to work out how to get prepared for the worst. To be honest, my thing with Skiba in the jungle felt like it was supposed to be the end. But Tsariuk has a plan for another world war. Here, on Zion.

His presence feels like a visit from POTUS as Archer, Ortiz, Marlow, Bishop, and the heads of IT and Security sit at a large conference table at the Center.

Tsariuk is at the head of it, in Archer’s seat. I think Archer is more relieved than annoyed. Next to Tsariuk is one of his personal assistants, who looks like a blond Dracula, wearing glasses and constantly checking his multiple phones, occasionally passing one or another to Tsariuk.

“I have personal interest in this island,” Tsariuk says, sleeves rolled up, glasses perched on his nose. He takes his eyes off the papers in his hands and leans back in his chair, scanning everyone at the table over his glasses. He sure knows how to work the room. “Not because of the contracts I now fulfill. Thanks to Mr. Levi.” He nods in my direction. “But my daughter. Her safety is my priority. She refused to leave, so now you must understand that I cannot just sit and watch you act amateurish.”

Everyone is quiet. The security heads pucker their lips, exchanging glances. I can tell that everyone smirked collectively at the word “amateurish.” Tsariuk doesn’t filter his language. He doesn’t give a shit. Maybe it’s a cultural thing.

“You want to keep Ayana safe and get rid of Butcher, you let me handle it,” he says, not flustered by his overbearing authority.

“Mr. Tsariuk,” Archer intervenes, “in all fairness, we have our own IT?—”

“You have shit, Mr. Crone, excuse my language.” Still, his tone doesn’t change. Neither does its pitch. He’s not angry or trying to offend. He’s only stating facts. And he’s right. “I looked into your board members and financials.” He taps the pen in his hand on the table in front of him as he continues. “Your security budget was cut in half, yes? I know from personal experience, some of your security is on good terms with Butcher. Your port is a joke. Has been for a while, if I am honest. I studied your surveillance perimeter maps, your guards’ prior records and employment, the illegal shipments. Your Ayana network has so many holes that my friend’s eighteen-year-old high-school dropout hacked it.”

I see Bishop rolling his eyes.

Tsariuk gives us a crooked smile. “Heard of the Crocodile of Wall Street back in the day, yes? Nothing is hard for the right people. The kid is part of the BlackCat and now is integrated with Scattered Spider. Do not feel bad. They stole classified Pentagon files after the Change. So, Ayana was a weekend project.”

Tsariuk is cocky, sure. But he is also undeniably the man with the most advanced connections and professionals on his payroll. We know exactly the reach and power Tsariuk has. He has a degree in nuclear engineering, an uncanny fact, considering the world is where it is because of nuclear bombings.

And Tsariuk is throwing it in our faces. That’s okay. You know why?

Archer knows Ayana needs support, even if it comes at a cost, the cost being his pride and Gen-Alpha’s accessibility to Tsariuk.

Bishop knows exactly what Tsariuk’s hackers can do and did, in fact, several times, jailbreaking Ayana’s security. We want those guys on our side.

Ortiz and Marlow know how important Tsariuk’s military connections are. We need those, too.

A smart man who doesn’t give a fuck about the world doesn’t pick sides. Instead, he gathers intel on everyone. That’s Tsariuk. He has his people in every hole of this island. His team found me before ours did.

Me? I sit back and enjoy the show. My dealings with Butcher are done. But Butcher is by no means done with Ayana. In fact, the havoc I wreaked at his headquarters probably made him mad. So, yeah, we need Tsariuk, this cocky wanna-be-world’s-godfather wizard who drinks cognac for breakfast and probably eats his enemies chopped up into taco meat for dinner.

Also, he so happens to be the father of my beautiful girl. I’ll make the motherfucker like me. I think he already does.

“So, listen up,” he says, leans forward on the table, and pushes the reader glasses up his nose as he picks up another sheet of paper his blond Dracula passes to him. “I have the spreadsheets with numbers for Ayana residents and your security personnel.”

Of course, he does. The guy just humbled the top echelon of Ayana’s finest.

The room is quiet, but bitterness and amusement simmer under the surface. I lock eyes with Bishop, and I feel like we are both trying to hold back smiles.

No one is moving or making a face. This is almost comical if it weren’t so sad. Tsariuk knows everything about Zion except probably how to manufacture Gen-Alpha’s most profitable drug. Or how to make his daughter happy.

And his guards look like they chop others’ heads off for entertainment. His team is a mix of Eastern-Europeans and other ethnicities that all speak English, but combined, speak ten different languages.

“I am sending a container with military aid to Ayana,” Tsariuk says, checking again with his guy.

“What sort of military aid?” Archer asks.

“We will discuss it with Mr. Ortiz and Mr. Bishop. They will be most helpful in determining if what I have is enough. Then… Let’s see…” Tsariuk doesn’t even look at any of us, checking something in his lists. “Then, I need you , Mr. Crone, to work with my colleague on a chemical formula.”

Archer looks like he is about to punch the wall and shifts in his seat uncomfortably, frowning. “What sort of formula?” he grits out.

“It’s a chemical formula my chemist has worked out and sold a number of years ago. To the US military.” Why am I not surprised Tsariuk has a chemist on call too? “He wants to run it by you— confidentially —and discuss the precautions of using it at Ayana.”

Now everyone at the table exchanges worried looks. It sounds dangerous if not illegal. But then, his daughter is on Zion. Tsariuk might be a psychopath, but he would never do anything that would harm her.

“For what?”

“Again, confidentially first, then we discuss it with the team.” He checks the watch on his wrist. “Unfortunately, I have to go, gentlemen. If that is okay, I will message you about the next meeting to coordinate a convenient time. Yes?”

Without any more words, he rises from his seat and walks out, his assistant following him, his guards outside the conference room escorting him like an army.

Marlow throws his hands in the air. “Did he literally just tell us how he is going to handle the security on this island, without even asking permission, but then asked permission to coordinate the next meeting? Is he fucking insane?”

Archer rubs his forehead. “He has an upper hand right now, and he knows it.”

“He is smart,” Bishop says.

“He is right,” Ortiz says.

I smile to myself, wondering which part of him my sweet Maddy inherited.

I disregard the rest of the meeting and text Maddy.

Me: Had a meeting with your father. Is he crazy or just wickedly smart?

Mayflower: Both.

Me: Which part did you inherit?

Mayflower: I’d love to say the latter, but most probably the former.

She sends a smily face with the tongue sticking out.

Mayflower: Everything is fine?

Walking out of the Center after the meeting, I get another text.

Mayflower: Everything is okay?

I don’t answer. I’m driving my Yamaha home, wanting to surprise her. Also, hoping that Sonny is not there so I can get her naked and explain how much I missed her for the four hours I didn’t see her.

I walk into the house right when she sends me another text.

Mayflower: You okay???

I check it as I walk through the door.

“Really?” she snaps, setting her hand on her hip. “You couldn’t just reply?”

I toss the motorcycle keys on the small table by the door and start taking slow steps toward her.

“Why?” I ask, with a teasing smile. “You think something is wrong when I talk to your father?”

She watches me, her eyes taking me in just the way I like it—a little annoyed, a little excited, a little horny.

“You could’ve answered,” she says right as I walk up to her and wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her into me and kissing her softly on the lips.

“Are you afraid I’ll get on your dad’s black list?”

“My dad takes things personally when it comes to me.”

“You are telling me that I should be on my best behavior?”

She smiles wickedly. “No.”

“No?”

“My dad picks very few people he can trust. Very few.”

“And what does it have to do with me?”

“He told me something the other day, before you came back. He said, ‘If I ever met your guy back on the mainland, and you told me he was important to you, I wouldn’t have made you marry another person.’” She cocks her pretty brow.

I cock mine.

“When it comes to my dad, that’s something.”

My phone rings. The fucking Center.

“I need to take it,” I say, and Maddy instantly pouts and crosses her arms at her chest. “One second.” I pick up. “Yes, Marlow.”

“Can you believe that guy? The containers with military aid are already on their way.”

“How many containers? Are they coming from the US or Russia?”

“The US. And they got clearance on their side already. You think this guy was fucking planning this all along or what?”

“No. He’s just that”—I glance at Maddy—“efficient. I’ll deal with that later. Gotta go.”

“What containers?” Maddy asks when I hang up.

“Doesn’t matter.” I tug her into me.

“It does if that has to do with my father,” she says, bending backward and trying to avoid my kisses.

Her arms are still crossed at her chest. I like when she acts all defensive and slightly angry, because then she takes it out on me in bed. But right now, I want her hands on me. I pull them free and wrap them around my neck.

“If you come with me to the bedroom, I will tell you,” I murmur against her lips.

“Since when is being honest a bargain, Mr. Levi?”

Oh, no. That’s a little stab.

I freeze and gaze at her for the longest time. She doesn’t look away, keeping my gaze, and hers starts softening. It always does. That’s what I love about us these days. We know we can’t hurt each other anymore. We just know too much about each other.

“Rave?” she prompts in that seductive voice of hers.

“I will tell you, Mayflower,” I say softly so that she knows I have all the good intentions. “But can I get you naked first?”