I admittedly don’t know much about the Morozovs. We’re neutral toward them. Not allies, not enemies. We’re on entirelydifferent sides of the country, and we don’t typically cross paths when doing business. But the Morozov Bratva is big. As big and powerful as we are, if not more. Anton is the Pakhan, and if his daughter was attacked…something has seriously gone wrong.
Silence echoes around the room, though I know a dozen questions are being held back.Half deadis not good.Half deadis code for should be dead. If the girl didn’t have a Pakhan father with endless connections and a team of doctors, she probably wouldn’t have a fighting chance at surviving.
Dad can’t hide his frown, looking deeply uncomfortable as he continues, “You’re likely going to hear rumors about the things that happened to her in the coming days. Not all of the men who did this have been caught, and some of them have big mouths.”
“Which is why we’ve called you all in here,” Uncle Cesar chips in, voice thick with tension. “We’re all on high alert until the last of them has been hunted down and killed. Anton hasn’t put an official hit out to try and shed his daughter from this becoming the latest news, but our mutual acquaintances have put us on notice.”
“We have names and faces,” Dad says, opening a white folder and tossing it across the desk. Nico is the first to snatch it up. “If any of them are spotted in our territory, I expect you all to act accordingly. No questions, no mercy.”
“No mercy,” Cesar emphasizes, echoing his brother in a perfect mimic.
Though my uncle is almost a decade younger than my dad, they’re very similar. Not particularly in looks, but in the way they speak. Dad is more polished while Uncle Cesar is wilder, and still, they’re always a united front when it comes to business and family.
“Is she going to be okay?” I ask, no longer able to bite my tongue.
Apollo pins me with a dark look. “She’s going to live.”
I hate the way that sounds and I hate that I know what he means.
Anya Morozov will continue to breathe today, but she won’t be okay.
She might never be okay again.
“Do we know why this happened?” Elio asks, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort. “Was this about the girl? A targeted attack against the Bratva? Who are these men?”
Uncle Cesar and Dad share a slow, silent glance. And apparently, they come to some kind of agreement in a matter of moments.
Our father opens his mouth to speak first. “Anton’s estranged wife set it up as revenge for being cast out as a traitor. She wanted to hit him where it hurt, and used her daughter’s trust in her to do it. The men are all bottom of the barrel scum who will do anything for a check.”
Uncle Cesar growls, barely waiting for Dad to finish talking. “Including tearing a fifteen-year-old girl open from the inside out.”
She’s only fifteen?
Nausea churns in my gut and my hands feel suddenly clammy.
Any age is too fucking young for what I think we’re talking about, but Jesus Christ.Fifteen?
“Hermotherset this up?” Armani asks, sounding as disgusted as I feel.
Uncle Cesar dips his head, curling his lip up in anger. “Set it up, watched, filmed it, and sent it to Anton. She’s also missing. We’ll have a photo of her too, but it’s unlikely that she’ll make her way toward the East Coast. Anton has reason to believe she’s fled the country.”
“Gesù Cristo,” Elio swears under his breath, shaking his head.
“I can set up surveillance alerts for their faces,” Remo offers quietly, taking his turn to flip through the photos. “Facial recognition isn’t perfect, but it could help monitor the areas around us. I could probably set it up for the Morozovs too, if they wanted.”
Our uncle softens just a little bit. He’s always liked all of us, but Remo and Nico especially. “I’ll extend the offer.”
“I get that we’re trying to be tactful given that this involves a fifteen-year-old girl,” Nico starts, actually attempting to lighten his dull tone for once. “But what are we talking about here? I need to know what they actually did so I can punish them accordingly. Did they torture her? Rape her? More?”
Apollo answers, short and clipped. “Yes.”
Bile burns the back of my throat. I’d already assumed, but everything in me wished that I was wrong.
Dad’s fists flex at his sides and he breathes out harshly. “Three men haven’t been apprehended. Anton and his sons already killed four. Whatever you think happened, I assure you, it was worse.”
Seven men against a fifteen-year-old girl.
Seven men hired by that very same girl’s own mother.
