Roman catches me, holding me to his chest.
CHAPTER 52
ROMAN
Two days later…
The television is muted, but I don’t need the sound.
CPD OFFICER ARRESTED IN MULTI-STATE CORRUPTION CASE
I watch the footage with relish.One of the officers in the hall of some low key motel a few states over ad his body cam on. Beige carpeting, bad lighting, cheap art on the walls. It’s the kind of place men like him hide out when they’re trying to outrun consequences.
There’s commotion, the camera shaky as guns are drawn when the officers burst into the room. There, they encounter a shocked Max Russo, shirtless, a towel around his waist, fresh out of the shower where he’d just shaved his head and beard. He’s shocked to see them. He throws his hands up immediately in surrender.
Within seconds, the officers have him pinned to the bed, cuffs on his wrists.
I grin.
A knock sounds at the door to my office at Barinov Holdings. I turn away from the TV. I’ve seen enough.
“Come in.”
Andrei enters, closing the door quietly behind him. His arm is in a sling, suit jacket draped over his shoulders, posture confident as ever.
I nod toward the sling. “How is it?”
He shrugs with his good shoulder. “Just some deep bruising. Pride took more damage than the shoulder. I can’t believe I let that prick get a shot off on me.”
I allow myself a small smile, then cross the room and clasp his good shoulder firmly, looking him square in the eye. “You saved my son. Again. Thank you.”
He holds my gaze. “And I would do it a third time. And a fourth.”
“I know.”
For a moment, neither of us speak. We don’t need to. Men like us don’t waste words on sentiment. But we recognize loyalty when it’s standing in front of us.
“You are taking a vacation. And that’s an order.”
He laughs, shakes his head. “That’d be a punishment. I’d die of boredom.”
“Go climb a mountain, then,” I reply with a small grin. “You’ve earned it. And more.”
He snorts in amusement. We’ll discuss the matter later. “Anyway,” he says. “They’re ready for you.”
“Then let us not waste another moment.”
The conference room windows stretch from the floor to the ceiling, the city sprawled out beneath us. It’s Chicago at midday, the city alive, indifferent. Around the table sit the remaining heads of the Chicago Bratvas.
One chair is conspicuously empty. I allow myself a small smile at Garin’s absence. It will be discussed.
The men rise as I enter and make my way to the head of the table. I nod. They sit. I remain standing.
“Gentlemen,” I begin. “We are here because one of us forgot the code.”
No one interrupts.
“And we are here because the Garin Bratva is officially over. The organization no longer exists.”
