Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
I head back to my office for the night. With the wedding and honeymoon looming, I need to tie up a handful of loose ends.
Papers sit in neat stacks on my desk, waiting for my signature. I sink into the chair and flip open the file Mikhail left earlier. Shipment ledgers once made my head swim, but after years of poring over them, they’re as calming as Sudoku. I savor the moment the numbers line up, always hunting for the slightest discrepancy.
I’m two pages into the ledger when the door opens without so much as a knock.
“Mikhail,” I say without looking up.
He shuts the door quietly and strides across the room, making a beeline for the bar cart. His sleeves are rolled, and a faint scrape mars his jaw. I raise an eyebrow but say nothing.
He pours himself a drink, takes a long swallow, then slams the glass down and pours another. While I’ve been neck-deep in wedding plans, his day clearly went to hell.
“The firearms shipment went through,” he says. “We moved the crates through the harbor to the warehouse in Bushwick. No delays.”
I nod. “Good. The money?”
“Clean. The laundromats in Hell’s Kitchen funneled everything as expected, and we slipped the cash into the club accounts just before close.”
“Also good,” I say, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He didn’t drop by to socialize. He has bad news, and he’s saving it for last.
He takes another long sip of his drink. “The only hiccup came at the drop point for the guns.”
I look up, pulse steady but alert. “What kind of hiccup?” I ask, keeping my tone even. I hate surprises. The drop was supposed to be routine.
He sets the drink down and sighs. “Two men showed up in an unmarked vehicle. They tried to take out our guys while they were loading the van.”
My blood turns to ice, inching through my veins. “How many men were there on our side?”
“Six.”
“Any injuries?”
“Two were grazed by bullets, flesh wounds at best. One man’s arm is broken, but no one died.”
I nod once, slowly. “What happened to the two men who attacked?”
“They’re subdued,” he says, purposefully vague.
“Subdued as in dead?”
He shakes his head. “They’re in the basement waiting for Ivan.”
Ivan is our enforcer. If anyone can pry the truth out of them, it’s him. Outside the job he’s perfectly pleasant, but when he’s working, all bets are off.
I stand and move to the window, jaw tight. The garden sprawls below, silvered by moonlight and the faint glow of security lights. Moments ago I was in a good mood.
This is why victories never last. There’s always fresh trouble lurking. Someone always wants what we have.
“What did they say?” I ask.
“Nothing yet. Ivan’s waiting on your orders.”
I exhale through my nose, slow and heavy. The thing about power is that it keeps a target painted on my back. I don’t kill to feel powerful, I kill so no one forgets that I am powerful. My reputation is everything, and if I let my guard slip for even a moment, my enemies will swoop in and take advantage.
“Have the attackers been scrubbed?” I ask. “Phones checked, clothes burned, weapons sanitized?”
Mikhail nods. “It’s already been handled.”
“Did they find any ID?”
“None. Not on them. But one had a tattoo. A rook.”
I turn slowly. “A chess piece?”
He nods. “On his lower left rib. Same as the last guy we caught sniffing around our storage yards two months ago.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger.
“It’s a message,” he says steadily.
“Tell the crew we’re on lockdown,” I say. “No side jobs, no late nights, no partying in known haunts. If anyone so much as feels something is off, I want to hear about it directly. No go-betweens.”
Mikhail doesn’t blink. “Understood.”
“And you know what else to do.”
He nods. “Yes sir.”
An unfamiliar heaviness settles in my bones as I ask, “Anything else?”
“Nothing we can’t handle without you,” he quips. “You’ve got to focus on your upcoming nuptials.”
“Most of my focus is on making sure the bride shows up,” I half-joke, tamping down worry over Katya’s antics. With luck, the vendor switch has taken some wind out of her sails.
“She will,” he says more confidently than I feel. “She might be acting bratty, but if she’s anything like her father described, she’ll show up out of a sense of duty.”
“What every man dreams of for a wife,” I quip, making him laugh out loud.
“It’s really going to be fine,” he assures me.
A soft knock sounds, as if summoned by our conversation. I know it’s Katya before the door opens and she pokes her head in.
“Can we talk?” she asks, looking between Mikhail and me.
“I’m all done with him for the night.” He smiles at her before turning to me and shooting me a shit-eating grin.
I motion for her to step in and watch as Mikhail leaves, shutting the door softly behind him.