How are you feeling? Did you get caught in the snow? I saw the forecast for the Riverside area tonight.
He checked the weather for Riverside.
Cassandra:
I’m feeling good, just a little headache, but that’s all. It is snowing! It’s beautiful.
Mikhail:
I’m glad you’re safe. Go take an Ibuprofen right now.
I roll my eyes at his controlling tone even as a laugh threatens to escape my throat.
Cassandra:
Please.
Mikhail:
What?
Cassandra:
Please go take an Ibuprofen.
Mikhail:
Please, Little Menace, go take some medicine.
Cassandra:
Yes, Mikhail.
I close out of my phone and pull my new favorite jacket tight around me, opening the car door to the storm.
Mikhail
Inever get in bed this early, but the sheets are still scrunched from Cassandra last night, and when I checked on her in the early hours of the morning, she made my bed look so fucking welcoming and comfortable that I felt like I’d been missing something all my life. I pull the duvet over my legs and bury my nose in the pillow. It still smells like her. Her sweet spiced vanilla perfume from the night before clings to the sheets, and I already fear the way it will dissipate over time, returning to its regular, dull scent.
The same thing happened when she left my car and walked into the building. The air, previously charged with electricity and life, deflated into mundanity, muted and gray. I can’t place the way I feel about her, but I’ve weathered enough storms to know Cassandra is the flurry of flakes before the blizzard. Nothing but trouble with beautiful wrapping.
Buzzing against the pillow, my phone lights up with a call. I connect it and sit up. I don’t usually receive calls this late, but when I do…
“Pakhan, there seems to have been an issue with the last shipment. Lev took inventory, and it appears nearly half the load is missing.” Ivan says, his usually stoic facade cracking with a touch of urgency.
“I’ll be right over,” I reply curtly, before ending the call and throwing the blanket off. A tampered shipment, though not detrimental to the Bratva’s finances, is no small matter. When I made Lev my Operations Manager, I instilled in him the importance of keeping the shipping locations confidential. There are a few other crime syndicates in the area, but the Russian Bratva is the main competitor for arms dealing and laundering, and we only stay on top of the field if everyone else deems us unfuckwithable.
After devoting the past few months to tearing down and rebuilding every single aspect of the organization, down to the loyalties of the soldiers in the lowest ring, I can’t afford a single slip-up. We simply wouldn’t survive another slip-up.
I hit the road, soon pulling down the dirt path that leads to our most recent drop location. We change the shipment site on a regular basis to prevent this exact situation, and yet somehow, our system has been breached.Not good.
Covered in a peeling layer of stained white paint, the exterior reveals no indication of recent activity or occupation. It has been an excellent transfer location, well disguised in the slushy wastelands off the upstate freeway. At least, it was until tonight. As I pull up to the low-lit, stripped-down warehouse, I wave off security and storm right inside.
Inside, my entire inner circle is lined up beside the door, waiting for my direction. Ivan and Lev are first in line. The brothers are often together, remaining close after the tragedy that befell their parents at my father’s hand. I don’t examine their easy, playful dynamic long—the circumstances are still too fresh to linger on. Ilya is standing tall beside the duo, his long, dark hair a sharp contrast to the golden brown of the brothers. He’s been my tech specialist for 3 years, previously just a soldier in my ranks, before I discovered his considerable talents with computers.
Andrei is next, texting attentively on his phone, likely checking in with his security teams. The last man in line flicks his cigarette butt to the ground upon seeing my arrival, crushing it beneath his heavy boot and pressing his hands behind his back. Sergei is mainly responsible for running our clubs, a job I’m grateful to delegate. He also launders the money we receive in our arms deals, so he is among the few in the room who should have access to the drop locations.
I stroll down the line, leveling my gaze at Lev for an updated report. He clears his throat.
