Through the phone, Alexei's voice: "I'll put out feelers. See if anyone on the street knows anything."
"Do it." I pick up my espresso. It's gone cold, but I drink it anyway. Let the bitter liquid focus me. "And be discreet. If Eryan Nis is watching us, I don't want him to know we're hunting him until it's too late."
"Understood."
We end the call. The clock ticks. The morning light continues its slow journey across the room. Outside, the city wakes up, oblivious to the war being waged in its shadows.
We stand in silence for a moment. Two men who've survived worse than this. Two men who will survive this too.
But the weight of it settles on my shoulders nonetheless. The knowledge that we're being hunted. That someone out there knows us well enough to hit where it hurts.
I look down at my hands. At the scars across my knuckles. The evidence of bones broken and badly healed.
I've rebuilt once before. From nothing. From streets and hunger and the ashes of my family.
I'll do it again if necessary.
But this time, I have more to lose.
"We keep this to ourselves but double the security on Victoria," I tell Zakhar. "She doesn't leave the house without armed escort. She doesn't go anywhere we haven't vetted first."
"She won't like it," he observes.
"I don't care." My voice is flat. Final. "If Eryan Nis is targeting our operations, she's a target by association. I won't lose her because I was too concerned with her comfort to keep her safe."
Zakhar studies me for a long moment. Then nods. Understanding passing between us without additional words needed.
He leaves. The door closes behind him with a soft click.
I'm alone again in my office. The morning light. The ticking clock.
But the peace is gone. Shattered like glass beneath a hammer.
War is coming. Or more accurately, it's already here. We just didn't recognize it until now.
I straighten my cufflinks. Adjust my collar. Smooth any evidence of disorder from my appearance.
Then I sit back down at my desk and begin making calls.
If someone wants to destroy what I've built, they're going to learn what happens when you come for the Severyn Bratva.
They're going to learn that some men don't just survive violence.
Some men return it tenfold.
28
VICTORIA
I sit cross-legged on my bed, laptop balanced on my thighs, staring at spreadsheets that refuse to make sense.
Soft lamplight casts shadows across the screen. The quiet hum of the laptop's fan is the only sound in the room. Outside, night has settled over Chicago, and the house feels too big and too empty.
I'm supposed to be researching potential targets for Eryan Nis. Operations can't run on good intentions and depleted reserves. I need to identify a shipment worth hitting, a warehouse vulnerable enough to breach, something that will net us the resources to keep helping women who have nowhere else to turn.
But I can't focus.
My fingers tap restlessly against the keys without typing anything useful. My mind keeps drifting to the three men who'veconsumed my thoughts for the past three days in ways that have nothing to do with strategy and everything to do with want.
