“I think you do. I think you see it, too. Maybe you feel the same way?”
“Feel?” I mutter, barely a whisper. “No, it’s not like that at all, Jess.”
“Don’t be so blind. You’re the psychologist,” she laughs. “My brothermore than has feelings for you,”she insists.
I shake my head, too scared to believe it, because if I do, it will hurt more when it’s confirmed that she’s wrong.
“It was just…physical,” I smile, trying to sound okay with it. “Really. I would know if he felt something for me. Like that.”
Jess laughs and shakes her head. “Alright. But I’m not blind. And I know my brother better than anyone,” she says, shrugging one shoulder before changing the subject for my sake. “Now, tell me how the exams are going.”
Chapter 17 - Kristopher
“Again?” I snarl in anger. “What the fuck is going on? Where was security?” I’m shouting, my temper lost. This is the fourth attack in the space of two weeks, and it’s seriously pissing me off.
Not only has it taken time away from being at home with Georgie and Jess while she’s visiting, but it’s confusing the living hell out of me. Jess has already been here a few weeks, and I’ve hardly seen her because of this bullshit.
“Sir, the security team was deployed at the larger warehouse where we were receiving that big shipment,” Leonard says, as concerned as I am about the constant irritation of these attacks. I’ve been getting home late, unable to sleep while I toss and turn, trying to figure it out.
“For fuck’s sake. How would anyone know that, though? How would they know this venue was on minimal staff?” I huff. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Do you think…do you think it’s your father and Koskos?” My head of security knows my concerns about my father. He’s the one leading the team investigating everything.
“This isn’t his MO.” I shake my head, pushing my hand through my hair. It really isn’t. It’s not him and it’s not Ali. “This method seems very familiar to some of my allies. The smaller Bratva groups I work with in this city. People who are meant to be on my team.”
“Why wouldtheyattack?” Leonard asks, his brows furrowing deeply.
“That’s exactly what’s worrying me. Have they switched sides?” I ask.
“It wouldn’t make sense. No matter what your father could offer them, it can’t be bigger than the power you hold in this city,” he says thoughtfully. “It would be an incredibly risky move for them. The reward would have to be substantial.”
I let out a long, slow breathe, trying to reign my anger in, but it’s no good. I spin towards Leonard. “Fucking figure it out. What the fuck do I pay you for?” I snarl, then storm off, marching towards my office in the back of the warehouse to see what inventory we had on site. I need to add the calculations to the total loss incurred this week.
Four attacks. Two of them involved significant damage from explosives, and the other two involved loss of product. Luckily, none of my men have been killed, but there have been a few serious injuries, and it’s only a matter of time before I do lose men.
On edge, I sit in my office chair, my leg bouncing with nervous tension. My mind is racing, trying to figure it all out, but I can’t get a grip on anything.It does not make sense.
A knock on my door pulls my thoughts outwards. My assistant is standing just inside my office. “Mr. Ilyin, can I bring you a cup of coffee?” she asks, taking another step towards my desk.
“Do I fucking look like I fucking want coffee?” I shout.
Her eyes shoot wide, and she scuttles backwards in fright. “Sorry, sir. I just thought…”
“You thought wrong. Get out.” She runs from my office on the verge of tears.
People should know by now to steer clear of me when shit like this is agitating me. Why is every single one of my employees so incompetent?
Picking up my phone, I start dialing numbers. Someone has to know something. I don’t know who I can trust or who I can rely on, but someone has to have information for me.
I can’t have lost all my inner-city alliances. Impossible. But the idea burns anxiety into the pit of my stomach, spreading up through my chest like acid.
I make one call, five calls, ten calls. It grows dark outside and I keep calling. Everyone I speak to plays it cool. I can’t read them over the phone, and no one is giving away a damned thing.
By nine, I’m exhausted, and the phone is hot against my ear from hours of use.
It has been a long, tedious, and utterly unsuccessful series of conversations. I know nothing more than when I started.
“Fuck,” I shout angrily into the empty office, hearing my voice echo through the door and into the warehouse.
