Whoever this Justin guy is, he’s getting bold.
It’s time to let him know the difference between a gang and a mafia.
“Should we send him a message this time? He should feel the fire he’s playing with,” Sergei suggested.
“How many packs did he send him to take this time?”
“Fourteen packs, boss. He took two from seven different packages.”
“A nice attempt to be clever,” I commented, turning away from the confined guy. “Any info on his current location?”
“He said they met just outside St. Petersburg. He and the other guys hand him the stolen goods, and he settles them. They don’t hear from him until he has another job for them.”
“We won’t just send him a message. Sending a message means they are big enough to send a response. A small fly like him is too small for us to communicate with,” I pointed out.
“Yes, boss,” he answered, nodding earnestly, already knowing the direction I was headed.
“We’ll give him a message he can’t mistake. A gift he can’t miss,” I told him, gesturing towards the tortured man. “He can easily replace him; there are jobless guys everywhere. So, ask your guys to send his body in pieces to the Justin guy. With a note that he won’t live to see the result of his next attempt.”
“Done, boss.”
“Get it to him before the end of today,” I instructed.
“Okay, boss.”
I went back into my office, or rather, the space I only used when I really needed to: when any of my brothers came around, or I had many things to document at the same time.
But as much as I didn’t enjoy paperwork, I hated loose ends even more. And that was the main reason I never left things to chance when it came to intel.
Taking off my leather jacket, I settled into the chair behind my desk.
I opened the file Sergei had compiled earlier in the day. It was a file on Vitya Morozov.
I was almost half-done going through the papers when Viktor called.
“Konstantin,” he said, his voice level.
“Brother.”
“You’ve heard about Vitya’s arrest, right?” he inquired.
“Yes,” I let out. “Mikhail told me when they laid hands on him yesterday.”
“Intel isn’t in the wrong hands, yet,” he said. “What we have to do now is tie up loose ends from the outside. Clean things up quickly.”
“Seizing his accomplice and getting information from them?”
“Precisely,” he confirmed. “The most tenable outlet, based on the information I’ve received, is his lover, Alina Sokolov. She’s in St. Petersburg. He had continued contact with her right up to his arrest.”
“I’ll find her.”
“It has to be a smooth cleanup. Get information from her or end her if she won’t talk.”
“Yes,boss,” I teased. “How’s my nephew doing?”
“Fine,” he answered, his voice calmer.
I didn’t need him to explain it to me; I knew Viktor couldn’t stand Bratva betrayals. While he wouldn’t tolerate killing a woman or a young person, he didn’t care about gender or age when it came to someone who betrayed the Lobanov Bratva.
