The Mafia Man's Trophy [On Hold]

Chapter 39

"We've got our men on standby, staying low until we have need of them." My consigliere mutters as he deposits a thick folder to my desk, and takes a seat opposite me.

"How many are we looking at?" I query, reaching for the folder and flipping it open as I scan through the pages quickly.

"A hundred thousand soliders from our combined regimes accounted for. Five thousand made men, and another fifty thousand reserved — locking off the streets." He mutters, and I glance up at him curiously before leaning back into my seat.

"What about the others?" I ask, tapping my desk top rhythmically. Viktor sighs in exhaustion and purses his lips.

"Either in prison, or jumped ship. Our men that have been convicted on criminal charges still remain loyal to you, and have received immunity and mob protection by the warden at the Springfield and Calabasas Jail Houses." He mutters conversationally, giving me the bad news, but cushioning it with a more favorable update.

If my men couldn't be safe out in the streets while their loyalty remained with me, then atleast they'd be protected within the walls of those hostile prisons.

"Good, that's good news." I mutter quietly, after considering Viktor's words.

"Yes, this is progress atleast." He nods reaching for the opened bottle of whiskey on my desk.

"Any reports on our powder ring?" I query, arching a brow at the man across him me. He takes a sip of the harsh liquor and his face grimaces at the taste.

"The FBI is still up our asses, but their dogs haven't been able to sniff out anymore of our stations within the last day..."

"Fuck, that's all we ever get." Dimitri pipes up quietly from his chair around the desk as he flips through the pages of the most recent issue of the New York Times news article.

"Antwan, and some of our long time business partners have pulled the plug on our bonds. They're worried about getting caught up with the FBI. News spreads fast." Viktor mutters bitterly, and I hum lowly, considering his words.

"I imagine, this entire thing is a shit show right now. It's best they cut ties and lie low until all this commotion dies down."

"Well, I'm glad you think so. We have stopped all production for that market, and profits have dropped."

"How steep of a drop are we looking at?" I mutter in a tensed voice. Viktor pauses to look at me, trying to gage my reaction before he sets his glass down on my desk.

"20 million dollars, and counting..." He mutters silently, and I grunt at his words, the figure of the amount lost hitting my in the gut like a freight train.

"Fuck, that's a big fucking hit." I breathe, pulling up our family's financial forecast on my laptop before inserting some figure silently.

"Any word from Pheobe, or Rapheal?" Viktor suddenly inquires after a few silent seconds had ticked by.

"None from Rapheal, he does not want to be found. Pheobe is aware of what is happening here, and I've requested that she extends her stay in St. Lucia. With the women gone, I can work without worrying about their safety." I mutter without meeting my consigliere's questioning gaze as I click away on my keyboard.

"What about Kylie? Didn't you say she's asked to come back, to help us with tracking our rat." He mutters, and I pause before looking up to meet his eyes.

"Yes. And it kills me to bring her back into this mess, especially since she's fresh out of therapy. I don't know how much she's changed over the last month, and how this will affect her. All my efforts could be for nothing if this fued escalates to war." I mutter agitatedly, frowning as I rub the frustration from my brows