I lean down until I’m an inch from Abram’s face, close enough to smell the fear-sweat beading across his forehead.
“I’m going to find out exactly what happened,” I seethe. “And when I do, this—“ I tap the pick, making him scream again. “—is going to feel like a goddamn massage.”
I straighten and head for the door.
My father’s voice follows me, edged with fury. “This isn’t over.”
“No,” I growl. “It’s not.”
I take the stairs two at a time, scanning the main floor for her, pushing through to the bar where Oksana’s mixing drinks.
“Where’s Evelina?”
She startles. “She felt sick. I sent her home in an Uber.”
“Fuck.”
“What’s wrong? Did something happen upstairs?”
I don’t bother answering. I’m already heading for the back exit, phone pressed to my ear. I’m going to follow her to Brooklyn, but first, I need to hear her voice. Need to know she’s okay. The call goes right to voicemail. Fuck.
My phone’s not even back in my pocket when it buzzes again, this time with Matvey.
“What is it?” I snap.
When Matvey doesn’t bother to ask what crawled up my ass, I know it’s serious. “We pulled something you’re going to want to see off Konstantin’s phone.”
“I don’t have time for this shit. What is it?”
“He built a database of our assets. Real estate, shell companies, offshore accounts, shipping routes, you name it. And not only us. The Italians, the Triads, the Irish, the Yakuza. Swiss bank accounts, shadow corporations, shit that nobody outside the inner circle should know exists.”
My blood turns to ice. I lean back against the brick wall of the alley, rough surface digging into my shoulders.
“They know where all our money is.” My voice is flat. “Which means they can steal it, freeze it, or hand it to the feds on a silver platter.”
“Exactly.” Matvey’s voice is grim. “The Ghost recruited Konstantin as an intelligence operative. He’s been compiling intel on every crime family in New York.”
“If the Ghost has this kind of intel on all of us, they take everything we’ve built. Call a meeting with the heirs for tonight. Tell them I have proof the Ghost is coming for all of us, and if they want to hear about it, they’ll be there within the hour. I’ll head to the warehouse now.”
I end the call and pull up my messages, thumbing a quick note to Miron with one hand.
Keep eyes on Evelina 24/7. Anything out of the ordinary, I want to know immediately.
I swing onto the Ducati and peel out of the alley, heading toward the warehouse instead of the only place I want to be.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
KIRILL
The abandoned meatpackingplant in Hoboken is the kind of place you come to make bodies disappear, not forge alliances between blood enemies, but it’s as neutral ground as we’re going to get.
I tried calling Evelina three times on the ride over. She didn’t answer. Miron confirmed she made it home safe, confirmed she’s in her building, which means she’s choosing not to pick up. Whatever happened in that poker suite, she’s not ready to talk about it.
I’ll find out eventually. But first, I have to deal with this shit.
Inside, Matvey’s already set up, arranging chairs around a makeshift table that’s a sheet of plywood balanced on sawhorses. Dem’s running security at the door, collecting weapons from each crew as they arrive. The heirs of New York’s underworld filter in one by one, tension crackling between them like they're waiting for someone to throw the first punch.
