“The shipment came in at 2:15 AM this morning. I took inventory at 6 AM, like usual, but my count came out 45K short. There’s a chance it was intercepted during transport and pillaged before ever arriving at this location.”
I absorb the information, scratching against the short stubble on my jaw. “And the security footage?”
“It was clear,” Ilya speaks up, meeting my stern expression. “I swept the footage twice. No personnel came in, indicating that it was an issue en route.”
I shake my head. Either someone got into our territory completely undetected, or our transport allies are trying to fuck us over.
“Could the leak have been Dennis, you know, before he was taken care of?” Sergei offers, clicking off his phone.
“It’s possible, but unlikely. Dennis was in it for easy gain; undercutting profits, syphoning a bit extra here and there. I don’t think he had it in him to uproot half a delivery and orchestrate new buyers.” Concern swirls around the words as they leave my mouth. There aren’t many who could pull off such an operation against us.
I catch the attention of my second, gesturing for him to follow me outside. Leaving the temporary shelter of the warehouse, the wet wind sweeps into our faces, unrooting settled snow like dried-up plants and throwing it into our cold forms.
You can almost never catch an unobstructed view of the sky in the city, but way out here, the stars glitter through the clouds, lighting variouspaths to the glow of the moon. I wonder if Cassandra likes being out here, away from the city, the stars in plain view.
Ivan clears his throat, and I abandon the calm beauty of the sky to discuss the problem at hand. “We can’t afford fuck-ups like this. The organization is only as stable as its funding. Our new deal with the Irish could flip with the slightest mention of uncertainty.”
“I know.” He levels me with a serious expression. “It could just be a one-time issue. We should up security for the next few shipments, but on the off-chance this becomes a larger issue, I think we should scrap the previous shipping routes.
“Good. Work with Lev and Andrei to establish new storage options and transfer protocols as well. I expect them on my desk by Wednesday.” I turn from my second, dismissing him for the night, but he still lingers beside me.
“Mikhail, I know this may not be something you want to consider, but it would be foolish not to be wary of the obvious.”
I raise an eyebrow in his direction.
Ivan only uses my first name to address me when we’re alone, and only ever when he has something important to discuss. Our closeness from childhood may have become strained by my father’s actions and the transition of power dynamics, but we’ve found our way through it.
Curiosity consumes me, and my head tilts as I try to work out what exactly he’s trying to say.
“Go on.”
“The girl. Cassandra. You don’t think her timing is questionable? First, she showed up just in time to help you in the alley, and then she just miraculously appears at your club, needing your assistance?”
I shake my head, processing my second’s suspicions.
“That theory is a stretch, even for you, Ivan. What purpose would she have for 45K worth of weaponry? She doesn’t even like having my handgun in her house.” I reply skeptically.
“She could have ties to the Italians.”
“Just what are you implying?” I snap at my loyal friend, immediately regretting my vicious tone. He squares his shoulders and keeps going.
“She might be spying for the Mafia. It is a possibility we at least have to consider?—”
“That’s enough. Inform your brother to double the inventory counts and let Ilya know I’ll be expecting a security report in the morning. That will be all.” I say, my voice low and cold.
“Yes, Pakhan” is his final reply before storming back into the warehouse and pulling the door closed.
His suggestion just goes to show how unstable my Bratva has become, and the exploitable weakness fills me with a different type of tightness. After the recent turnover of power, our ability to trust one another is running on fumes. Even the small group of men collected in this very warehouse, most of whom have grown up together, are having power disputes and disagreements with one another.
And now, rather than working on the problem, my own second is trying to pawn it off on this poor girl without any evidence. If we keep going like this, soon enough, we won’t have much left to defend.
Cassandra
After a lengthy, productive morning of caffeine and skimming research summaries, I’m just packing my bag to head out to my Strategics in Marketing lecture when I hear a key turn in the lock of the front door.
Shit.
A heavy duffle hits the living room floor, followed by a collection of strolling steps echoing through the house.
