Scaroni nods so hard his gaudy gold chain smacks against his chest with each bob of his head. “You’re absolutely right,Pakhan. I understand. This won’t happen again, I swear on–on my life.”
I nearly roll my eyes.
As if your life is worth a damn thing.
I step forward, letting the soles of my shoes scuff across the dirty floor until I’m only inches from him. The stink of fear hits me like smoke, thick and sour, making my nose wrinkle. His eyesare wide, red, and bloodshot, teeth painted a sickening yellow from the cigarettes he likes to shove between his lips.
I don’t have to raise my voice when I speak to him. I never do. “That’s exactly what’s at stake. The next time someone cons you, I won’t waste a bullet on them. It’ll beyoubleeding out at my feet. Am I understood?”
He nods again, faster now. “Yes. Yes,Pakhan. Absolutely. I won’t… this won’t happen again.”
Lev stands just behind me, arms crossed, his gaze pinned to the body like he’s already calculating how long it’ll take to bleach the blood out of the concrete. Ironic considering I’ve never forced that man to clean up a single body since I’ve taken ownership over our Bratva.
“Do you want me to, uh… should I call in a crew?” Scaroni asks.
“You should’ve done that the moment we stepped foot inside,” I say, already turning toward the door.
“I… Yes, of course.”
“You’ve got ten minutes to make this warehouse spotless. If there’s still blood on the floor when I leave, I’ll assume you’ve gone soft. If that’s the case, I’ll find someone with a stronger spine to wear your shoes.”
I don’t wait for a reply.
I walk toward the exit,Lev falling into line beside me like a shadow. We step into the crisp afternoon air, the heavy steel door creaking shut behind us with a satisfying clank. A fresh dusting of snow covers the graveled parking lot, crunchingunder our shoes as we make our way over to the car parked closest to the door.
I catch the glint of metal in the air a second before the keys land in my palm. I toss them once, catching them again, more out of habit than anything. The heavy door creaks open under my hand as I pull on the driver’s side handle, the scents of leather and old cologne greeting me.
I slide behind the wheel and slam the door shut, letting the silence settle around me for a half-second before Lev drops into the passenger seat beside me with a sharp, bone-rattling slam of his own.
He doesn’t speak right away. He never does unless he has something worth saying. But today has tested the limits of both of our patience.
“What a fucking mess,” he finally mutters, rubbing a gloved hand down his face as I start the engine and ease the car away from the warehouse. “Fire after fire. What’s next?”
I grip the steering wheel, knuckles whitening for a beat before I force them to relax. “It’s becoming a pattern, it seems.”
My fingers tap against the leather, each strike in time with the chaos building in my head. He’s voicing what the rest of the Bratva has been too careful, or too afraid, rather, to say aloud. It’s exactly what I’ve been thinking for weeks but haven’t had the time, or luxury, to truly unpack.
This isn’t bad luck. It’s not a string of isolated incidents. This is entirely orchestrated.
Curated and designed to fuck with me.
Far too many things have been happening in close proximity to each other—fires at our warehouses, product interceptions at the port, low-level soldiers turning up dead, business partners backing out with flimsy excuses. Just last night, a trusted contact was found skimming off the top of our books and then found dead before he could be interrogated.
Coincidences don’t pile up like that. Not in my world. Not unless someone’s behind them.
But who would be stupid enough to do something this brazen? And more importantly,why?
I’ve chased down every thread that’s come across my desk. I’ve broken fingers, pulled teeth, and cracked open more than one skull hoping something would fall out besides more pleas for mercy. I’ve put my best people on it. Matvey’s been combing through financial transactions like a man possessed. Katya and Roman have been monitoring the streets and outside communications. Andrey’s been shaking down contact after contact to find out where our stolen goods are ending up.
But every trail ends the same way. Dead. Cold.
Just like the men we find at the end of them.
It’s like chasing shadows in the dark. Each step forward only clouds the truth even more. All the while, my attention is being pulled in every direction at once. Every hour of every day, I’m putting out fires.
Literal and metaphorical.
I can’t afford to sit still and investigate. Every time I try, another emergency explodes in my face. Another ambush, anothermissing truck, another backdoor deal someone didn’t clear with me.
