I exchange a look with my brothers. We haven’t told anyone outside our inner circle about the Ghost. As far as our soldiers know, we’ve had to slow operations because of increased police surveillance and supply chain issues. Better they think we’re being cautious than admit we’re getting beat by a phantom.
I’m done talking. I walk to the table lined with tools, grab a hammer, and bring it down on his left kneecap. The crack echoes through the room. His scream is loud enough to make my ears ring.
I grab Petr’s hair and wrench him up so he’s looking at me. “Last chance to tell the truth before I use this hammer on your face. Who were you meeting?”
“My cousin, Konstantin.” His voice is wet and broken.
“A family reunion at two in the morning behind a drug warehouse?” I circle behind him. “Do you think we’re idiots?”
“It’s the truth, I swear.” His eyes are wild and desperate. “I’m not working for anyone.”
I pull a knife from the table and test the edge with my thumb. Sharp enough. I press the blade against his throat, just enough pressure to draw a thin line of blood.
“I’m going to count to three. If you’re lying, I start cutting pieces off. Starting with your ears, then your fingers, then your cock. One.”
He spits blood. “We were stealing.”
Matvey steps closer, his shadow falling over Petr. “Stealing what, exactly?”
“Product from the warehouses. Small amounts from different shipments. I cut it with lactose powder, repackage it so the weight stays the same, and Konstantin sells it on the street. We split the profit.”
“Prove it,” I say.
“Test the product,” Petr begs. “You’ll see it’s cut. That proves I’m telling the truth.”
“All that proves is someone’s cutting the supply.” I lower the knife but don’t put it down. “Doesn’t prove you weren’t also selling information.”
“I wasn’t! I swear on my mother’s grave. Give me my phone. I’ll let you look through everything. The only person I evercommunicated with was Konstantin. It’s all there. He’s the one who organized the street side.”
Petr’s remaining fingers shake as Matvey unties one wrist and shoves the phone at him. It takes him three tries to unlock it, blood making everything slippery. Dem grabs the phone and starts scrolling. The only sound is Petr’s ragged breathing and the occasional click as Dem navigates through screens.
After what feels like forever, Dem looks up. “Messages are all about cutting the dope, pickup times, street prices. Nothing about our operations. Nothing about shipments or security. Just him and Konstantin running their little side business.”
“This cousin, Konstantin,” I growl. “What does he do?”
“Works for some tech firm. He’s the smart one.” Petr’s voice cracks.
The pieces fit together. He’s a tech guy with access to Petr’s inside knowledge about our operations. What if Konstantin wasn’t just selling drugs on the side? What if he found a more lucrative buyer for the intel his cousin was handing him?
I meet Matvey’s eyes. He’s thinking the same thing.
“Where does Konstantin live?” I ask.
“Brighton Beach.”
“Where,svoloch? I need an address.”
The light drains from his eyes. He knows how we deal with anyone stupid enough to steal from us. He closes his eyes and whispers his last words.
“Little house on the corner of Brighton Sixth Street and Brightwater Court. Blue shingles, white trim.”
I raise my gun and end his miserable life.
Two days later, my phone buzzes at four in the morning, pulling me from a dead sleep.
I press the phone to my ear and mumble, “What?”
“Konstantin just pulled up,” Matvey says. My brother’s been on watch duty all night, parked outside the house. We’re keeping this tight, only the three of us, to make sure word doesn’t spread. “He stumbled out looking like he’d been on a three-day bender.”
