“There’s no problem with your payment. Have a seat.”
Kirill did as he was told, and gripped the armrests tightly, knuckles blanching as if he were on the verge of a full-on panic attack. He was right to be nervous. After all, he was part of the complex racket that Dom’s family ran on the backs of Russian, Chinese, and Latin American immigrants. For a fee, the immigrant was given a job and, eventually, citizenship, but none of it came free. Not only were they required to work their fingers to the bone to pay down thousands of dollars in debt to the Mafia, but they were sworn to secrecy about their duties, which for an unfortunate few meant playing a dangerous role in smuggling cocaine through Cape Swan’s deceptively quiet marina. Once the person had worked off his debt to the family, he and his would be given their documents, all of which had been acquired through the proper, legal channels, but held until the debt was paid. It was something Dom could only think of as indentured servitude with a side of human trafficking.
Dom hated it. He hated his role in the whole thing. He hated being the one who’d send out soldiers to put the squeeze on anyone who wasn’t making regular payments, or those suspected of leaking information to the feds.
But it had become his job when Corrado had made noise about putting Felice in charge of this particular industry. Felice had no qualms about doing more than putting the squeeze on people. Threatening a man’s wife and kids was not below him.
So Dom had taken it on, if only to be the humane voice of reason.
Dom gazed at the terrified Russian. “How is the family?”
Kirill eyed him. He clutched the armrests tighter. “Please, don’t hurt my children.”
“I’m not going to hurt them.” Dom leaned forward, ignoring the aches and twinges in his lower body and folding his hands on the blotter. “I need you to listen very closely, Kirill.”
The Russian nodded vigorously.
“I have your papers,” Dom said quietly. “Full citizenship for you and your family. Social security, passports, driver’s licenses for you and your sister.”
Kirill gulped, and sat straighter, but he didn’t speak. He’d been at the family’s beck and call long enough to be wary of the strings that would be attached.
Dom pulled a couple of envelopes from a drawer. He slid the manila one across the desk. “These are all your documents.” Then he held up a sealed white envelope. “And this is three thousand dollars in cash.”
Kirill blanched, eyeing the white envelope like it was a venomous snake. It didn’t take a psychic to read his mind. You didn’t say no when a Mafioso offered you money, even if the terms were cruel or impossible. And if he was like any of the other immigrants currently indebted to the Maisanos, he needed that money no matter what came with it.
Dom set the envelope on top of the larger one. “I’m erasing your balance from the ledger. You owe nothing. This”—he tapped the envelope—“is a gift. From me.”
Kirill still didn’t take it. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m letting you out of your contract,” Dom said, almost whispering. “I want you to take your kids, and your sister, and all of your papers, and get the fuck out of Cape Swan.”
“Get… out…” Kirill shook his head. “Where do we go?”
“Anywhere. The money will keep you going until you can find work.”
The Russian gulped. “But why? I… I don’t under—”
“It doesn’t have to be you.” Dom started to withdraw the envelopes, but Kirill suddenly lunged for them.
“No! Please. We… my family, we need this. But…” He raised his eyebrows. “What am I to do in return?”
“Nothing.” Dom let go of the envelopes and sat back. “All I ask is that you leave Cape Swan. And if you breathe a word to anyone about where this came from, or the erasure of your debt, and you and your family will answer to me. Am I clear?”
“Da. Yes! Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Dom gestured at the door. “You can go.”
Kirill stood. “Thank you, Mr. Maisano.” He smiled, clutching the envelopes to his chest as if they might suddenly be yanked away from him. “We’re very grateful.”
“You’re welcome.”