Page 46 of The Bratva King

I pull up as close to my new building as I can. Two fucking fire trucks are parked across the entrance. Hoses run from the hydrant to the backside of the building. Half my crew is standing around in hard hats, doing nothing, which is the most expensive thing a construction crew can do.

I get out and spot Frank.

"Electrical fire," he says. "Third floor, north wing. Contained fast. Nobody hurt."

"Then why are they still here?"

"Inspector's saying there might be a wiring issue throughout that whole section. Won't sign off until they re-clear it."

I look past him and to the fire captain, who’s talking to one of my electricians.

"We already passed inspection on that wing," I say. "Three weeks ago. We are long past electrical inspections.”

"I know."

"So why are we doing it again?"

Pasha's car rolls up behind mine. He gets out and takes one look at the trucks. He knows what happened: He sent me a text while I was dropping off Gabby and Luke.

“After a fire, we have to go through another round,” Frank says.

“Why?” I ask again.

"You know why," Pasha says.

Frank takes that moment to disappear into the fray.

"They keep finding new ways to cost me money,” I say.

"They keep finding new ways to remind you they're still here."

The fire captain breaks away from my electrician and walks toward me.

“Mr. Sokolov, I explained it to your foreman, but I’ll tell you the same thing. There’s got to be another inspection.”

“You and I both know there’s nothing wrong with the wiring,” I tell him.

He shrugs. “There’s a report. Can’t pull it back. Maybe you can make a call.”

It’s always about making a call. Shove a little money this way or that way. Grease the wheels.

“We’ll take care of it,” Pasha says.

I walk back to the car.

Pasha falls into step beside me. "Where are we going?"

"I feel like meatballs."

He sighs. "This should be interesting. I’ll follow you. Don’t ditch me. I know how you get.”

I get into my SUV and drive to the east side of the city. I only check once to see if Pasha is behind me. He’ll roll right through anyone that gets between him and me.

I reach into the center console and check the Glock I keep there. It’s always loaded. One never knows when it will be needed.

The restaurant smells like garlic when I push through the door with Pasha on my heels. It’s an old mob establishment. They’ve never bothered to update the place. It still has the same ugly red leather booths. White tablecloths. A Sinatra song plays overhead.

I notice everything.