21
Gavriil
I don’t getany sleep that night after pleasuring myself.
In fact, it feels like I’m being punished for my indiscretion as I watch smoke curling into the dark sky as out-of-control flames eat away at what’s left of one of my warehouses.
Another loss. One I earned.
And I knew exactly why.
While I’d been thinking about getting her mouth on my skin, someone else had been thinking about how to gut me.
My ears ring as I stare at the damage from the backseat of one of my SUVs, my stomach twisting and turning at the damning sight. Hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of products and cash are gone now because of a bomb planted right under our noses.
Despite all the work we’ve done on our defenses, we still failed to prevent another attack on our own territory. I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong, and that terrifies me more than the fire eating my empire alive.
“Reports of incoming cops, sir,” Matvei says from the passenger’s seat.
I pinch the bridge of my nose as pain radiates between my temples. Saying this has all been a headache is a severe understatement. This is fuckingkillingme.
“Have you heard back from Daniil and Rodya?” I ask him. “They left the warehouse only an hour before it was bombed.”
Matvei checks his phone. “Not yet. They should’ve dropped the cash off and reported back by now.”
I scrub my hand over my face, dread weighing down on my chest. Something feels off. Like not all the damage has been done yet.
“Between the bomb and the fire, all the evidence is probably gone,” I mutter as I look back out through the window, watching the rest of the warehouse structure succumb to the flames and collapse. “Just in case, call our law enforcement contact and make sure they don’t trace anything back to us.”
“Yes, sir,” Matvei replies. “We should probably leave before the cops get here.”
“Go,” I say, ripping my eyes away from the damage.
I don’t know what the Irish bombed the warehouse with, but it was powerful enough to shake the whole damn block and set off all the car alarms on the street. Our cameras only picked up masked men and a van without a license plate. Nothing to go off of.
But it must be the Irish. They’re the ones behind the other attacks.
Simeon drives us away from the scene, flying past a few cop cars with their lights flashing and their sirens wailing.
Matvei’s phone goes off. “It’s Pyotr.”
“Answer. Put it on speaker.”
Matvei taps a few buttons on his phone. “Do you have an update?”
“Not a good one,” Pyotr replies with a heavy sigh. “We followed their usual route and found the van crashed into the side of the building. Bullet holes in the windshield.”
My stomach drops. “Daniil and Rodya?”
“Dead.”
I grit my teeth and lower my head, shielding my face from sight. The darkness outside helps.
“Fuck,” Matvei breathes out. “Warehouse bombed. Daniil and Rodya dead. What the fuck is going on tonight?”
“Our enemies shouldn’t have known about the cash move,” I say, my narrowed eyes lifting. “Someone leaked that information.”
“Only so many people knew about it,” Pyotr agrees.
