PROLOGUE
ILYA
“Two hundred thousand dollars,” I say coldly.
The man kneeling in front of me shakes his head. “No! Boss, I swear, it wasn’t me! I didn’t… I didn’t do anything!”
The back room of this small gambling hall has a drain in the middle of the floor. It used to be an industrial kitchen, before the restaurant went under and I’d bought the property for cheap.
The drain had been a selling point.
I glance over to Boris, who glares at Artyom with open hatred. “Boris, is that true? Did you make a mistake while investigating?”
Boris straightens his shoulders. “I didn’t. I tracked the cash. I found his accomplices.”
In the grand scheme of things, two hundred thousand missing dollars are nothing.
I earn more than that in a month, usually.
Gambling is a lucrative business, especially here in New Bristol where it’s still illegal. The addicts need bookies to place their bets, and they need secret poker games and underground casinos.
I had worried that when sports betting became widespread that I’d lose business, but all it did was convince more and morepeople to play with their money. The ones who weren’t content to lose their money online, but were sure they could make it big if they were playing against a real human, had flocked in.
Artyom tries to get up, but my men shove him back onto the concrete floor. His knees slam loudly against it, and if I had any sympathy left for him, I’d wince.
“Please, Boss! Somebody must be setting me up. One of the others—” Artyom begs.
I get closer and grip his jaw, forcing him to look up at me. “It isn’t even the money,” I say.
Artyom’s eyes widen. “It’s… it’s not?”
I smile, a deep, nasty smile that has never put anyone at ease.
The same smile my father always wore when he did business.
“Boris followed the money. He found your secret account.” I tighten my grip. “Do you know what else he found?”
Artyom swallows hard. “There’s nothing to find,” he whispers, but I can see in his eyes that he knows.
“You’re very familiar with the New Bristol police,” I say. “They like buying you lunches. They’re filling your secret account too.”
“No!” Artyom shouts. He lashes out at me, but my men grab his arms. “I swear, I didn’t do it! It wasn’t me! Maybe Boris?—”
“I would never consort with those pigs,” Boris says, spitting on the ground for good measure. “I would never betray Ilya.”
And that’s what this is all about.
Betrayal.
Artyom was supposed to be one of my closest friends.
Instead, I discover that he’s been selling me out to the cops. No wonder I’ve been having trouble with some of the other locations. No wonder so many of my underlings have gotten arrested.
“How much did they pay you?” I ask, pressing a foot against his groin. “What was the cost of our friendship?”
Artyom whimpers and shakes his head. “I didn’t. I swear, I didn’t.”
I glance over at Boris.
