“Blyat,” I snarl, wiping blood from my knuckles. Mine or the other guy’s, I’m not sure. “Get the car. Now.”
We pull up to the warehouse. Erik’s waiting outside, face stony.
He’s wearing a tailored Armani suit that probably costs more than most people make in a year. Fucker always did have expensive taste.
“Nice outfit,” I grunt, eyeing him. “Fashion show go well?”
Erik’s lips twitch, a hint of his usual smirk. “Better than your fight, from the looks of it. You forget how to duck?”
“Fuck off,” I mutter, but there’s no heat in it. “What happened?”
Erik’s face turns serious. “Sasha found it when he came in for the morning shift. Place was a wreck. Security systems were offline, cameras looped.”
I clench my fists. “Inside job?”
“Looks that way.” Erik nods. “We’re checking everyone, but…”
I nod, a silent understanding passing between us. We move away from the men toward a rusted metal door tucked behind a stack of crates.
Erik glances around, making sure we’re not followed, then punches in a code on the ancient keypad. The lock clicks, and he heaves the door open with a grunt.
“After you,” he mutters, gesturing inside.
I step through, my boots echoing on the concrete floor. Erik follows, pulling the door shut behind us. The sound of it sealing us in is like a coffin lid closing.
We descend a narrow staircase, the air growing thick and damp. At the bottom, another door awaits. Erik enters another code, and this time, the heavy steel door of our storage room groans open.
The stench of burnt sugar and spilled vodka hits me like a freight train as we enter the distillery. Fuckers really did a number on the place.
“Yob tvoyu mat’,” I growl, kicking a piece of charred wood. “How the fuck did this happen?”
Erik’s beside me, his face a mask of calm. But I can see the tension in his jaw. “Whoever did this knew our system inside out. It’s not just some random hit.”
As he speaks, he’s tapping away at a tablet, his fingers flying over the screen. Blueprints of our security system flash by, followed by lines of code that mean fuck-all to me. Erik’s brow furrows as he scrolls through the data.
“Look at this,” he says, tilting the screen toward me. “They used Yuri’s access codes to bypass the main firewall, then looped the camera feeds. This wasn’t some amateur job.”
I lean in, squinting at the gibberish on the screen.
“Yuri? He can’t be the rat.” I want to rip someone’s throat out. Preferably whoever’s responsible for this clusterfuck. “Give me names, Erik. I’ll make them wish they were never born.”
“Easy, D,” Erik says, his voice low. “We need information more than we need blood right now.”
I snarl, but he’s right. Fucking hate when he’s right.
We walk through the wreckage. Millions in product, gone. Our international deal, fucked. And somewhere, somemudakis laughing.
“We need to talk to Luka,” Erik says.
The name sends a jolt through me. Luka. Which means Sophia. Which means…
No. I’m not thinking about her. Not now.
“Why? This is our mess to clean up.”
Erik gives me a look. “Because whoever did this isn’t just after our vodka. They’re sending a message. To all of us.”
I know he’s right. Again. Fucking Erik and his logic.
