Alexei taps one photo with the tip of his finger. “Golden Sinners.”
Dmitri snorts. “Idiots.”
I grind my molars, staring at the grainy image of the two men who smashed Natalya’s shop. The same ones who terrified her into tears. The same ones whose blood I’m going to spill.
“They’re new,” Alexei continues. “Bottom-feeders who think Boris Popov’s death left a power vacuum.”
“They think wrong,” Dmitri mutters.
Alexei nods. “They’ve been extorting smaller businesses. Pushing their luck. Trying to see who reacts, who doesn’t. They want attention. Reputation. A seat at a table they don’t deserve.”
“And they thought starting with a florist shop was a good tactic?” Dmitri scoffs.
My jaw clenches so tight my teeth ache. “They chose the wrong shop.”
Alexei leans back in his chair. “I reached out. Their leader agreed to a meeting. We’ll get answers tonight.”
Good.
Because words will be the last courtesy I give them.
While the others talk logistics, I take out my phone. My thumb hovers over the screen for a moment before I dial.
Andrei picks up on the first ring.
“What happened?” he demands, voice sharp, already on edge.
I give him the short version. The break-in at the shop. The threats. The damage and the Golden Sinners’ involvement.
Andrei is silent at first. Too silent.
“Is she hurt?” He asks after a while.
“No.”
He lets out a long exhale. Not relief exactly; more like controlled fury. “Where is she now?”
“At home. Guarded.”
“Good.” A slight pause. “Viktor…Thank you. I’m in your debt.”
I don’t say anything to that.
He knows.
He’s always known.
“Viktor,” Mikhail’s voice echoes calmly through the line. “Listen…I’m ordering my jet fueled.”
“Mikhail—”
“We’ll be airborne in twenty minutes,” he cuts in smoothly. “Six hours, and we’re back.”
“You don’t need to rush.”
“Yes. We do.”
His voice leaves no room for argument.
