Page 20 of Maximum Bet

The door to the security hub buzzes open as a few associates exit for a coffee break. Before the door can slam shut, another man rushes in, a dumb-as-fuck grin stretching across his face.

I raise a brow at Leo as he speed-walks toward me. He’s shaking his head, laughing to himself. I’m pretty sure he’s lost his damn mind.

“You all right, or do I need to call a shrink?” I ask as he stops a foot in front of me.

“How do you feel about Puerto Rico this time of year?”

I blink, my brain sifting through any mention of Puerto Rico from our past conversations. “I’ve only ever been in the summer.”

“Well, I think you might want to try it out next week.” Leo holds out a stack of papers, which I take and flip through, hoping they will decode his cryptic statement.

On them are lists of phone records and flight logs, all of which are associated with business names—names I don’t recognize.

“Leo, you’ve got to explain this shit. All I’m looking at are numbers from what are probably shell corporations.”

“We can’t talk about it in here.” He side-eyes a set of security personnel who aren’t on the Romano-Tariello payroll. “Think Dante will mind if we use his office?”

I scoff. “I don’t think he has a choice.”

Leo leads the way as we head out of the room. I tell Dante to call me if needed as we pass.

Down the hall, Leo swipes his all-access badge and steps into a small office. He flicks on the light and glances around. “Does Dante even use this space?” he asks, gesturing to the almost bare desk.

“Guy is a neat freak,” I explain. “Now, what the fuck are these?” I shake the papers in my hand.

“Lucas and I have been working on getting as much information about the Medina Cartel and the Kozlova family as we can. It was actually Lucas who traced the first shell company on thatlist back to Anatoliy. Look.” He grabs a paper from my hand. “You see all these calls from Rostov Trading to Viejo Inc.?”

“Yeah.”

“Rostov is the town in Russia where Kozlova’s mother was born. Lucas did a deep dive into the family tree, which Anatoliy’s maternal aunt had stupidly posted online.”

I whistle, cocking my head. “Risky.”

“She did it a few months ago, before she died from cancer. Either she didn’t know her sister was married into the Bratva, or she did and hated the family enough to give one last fuck you before she passed. I don’t think the Kozlovas know it’s up. It’s pretty detailed and fucking damning for some guys I didn’t even know were part of the organization. Anyway, that’s how Lucas found the company.”

I flip through the pages again, noticing a new pattern this time. The report mentions six companies multiple times, in random order—three with Russian names and three with Spanish names.

“Half of these are Anatoliy’s. Half belong to Perez,” I mutter as the meaning dawns on me.

“Exactly,” Leo says, pointing out the first two. “Once Lucas figured out the family tree, he started looking for links to the Caribbean. Wouldn’t you know, Anatoliy’s cousin has a company, Rostov Trading, which does a lot of business in the Dominican Republic and, more recently, Puerto Rico.”

“What about Viejo Inc.?”

Leo leans against Dante’s desk, crossing his arms. “That was harder to trace. It’s a subsidiary of a company opened with a trust in the Bahamas. The only thing we have to go on is that their bank is the same one Perez uses in Grand Cayman. All the companies with Spanish names are set up this way.”

“Perez is smarter than Kozlova.”

“But not smart enough.” Leo smirks. “Here’s the big thing: those flight records are all from one airport.”

I glance at the top of the records page. “SIG?”

“An airport servicing San Juan.”

“So, they’re meeting in Puerto Rico?” I drop the stack of papers on the desk.

“It looks that way.” Leo smirks.

“When do we fly?” For the first time in months, we have the upper hand.