When the text comes through, I’m standing in the middle of a frigid warehouse in the Lower East Side, surrounded by nineteen armed and dangerous Russians.
I hope it’s my girl. I need something good tonight.
Ignoring the chiming from the inside pocket of my overcoat, I continue.
“Shut down everything immediately. Nothing gets through unless it’s ours. The ports, the borders, incoming flights and scheduled shipments from everywhere to everywhere. I want them to feel the pressure. Make it impossible for them to do business. When the money dries up, they’ll be more amenable to another meeting. Then we’ll let the hammer drop. Get the word out to all your captains and soldiers that we’re at war. Peacetime rules are suspended.”
I look at each man in the circle in turn. All of them lethal. All of them loyal. Every one of them ready to kill or die, depending on the word from me.
Though the orders are issued from Max, I’m the one who dispenses them. The king’s hands and mouth, I rule in his absence.
And I rule with an iron fist.
“What happened on Christmas Eve is a wake-up call. Our partnerships with the other families have been going too smoothly. It’s made them bold. It’s time to remind them who we are, and why we’re in charge.”
I direct my attention to one of the men standing across from me. He’s burly, with a shaved head and a scar that runs from his left eyebrow down to his jaw. The head of the Chicago Bratva, he’s unfailingly loyal. And as vicious as they come.
“Pavel, there’s a big shipment of Asif’s livestock headed your way. Make sure it doesn’t arrive.”
He nods, not needing to be told that the cows he’ll be hijacking have up to a hundred pounds each of Asif’s cocaine carefully packed in their intestines.
I turn to another member of the circle, an older man with a long beard, crazy eyes, and discolored teeth. His real name is Oleg, but everyone calls him the Cannibal due to his fondness for carving open the chest of every man he kills and taking a bite of his bloody heart.
They don’t call him that to his face, of course.
No one is that stupid.
“Oleg, Zhou’s containers arrive at the docks in Miami tomorrow evening. The police should get there first.”
“I’d like to keep one of the girls.”
The men around the circle exchange looks, but I don’t take my gaze from Oleg’s leering face.
“No. We don’t touch the merchandise.”
“Pavel gets to keep the cocaine! What do I get?”
“To keep breathing. Disobey me on this, and you won’t.”
He bares his teeth, hissing. But I know he wants to stay head of the Miami family more than he wants one of the kidnapped container girls, so we won’t have a problem. I move on.
“Ivan, Rodriguez has a dozen body packers on a flight into LAX from Mexico City. I’ll get you the details. Pick them up as soon as they clear customs.”
“And after we extract the product?”
He wants to know what to do with the bodies. “Make sure Rodriguez sees his dead drug mules on the evening news.”
Everyone chuckles. Not only do they enjoy the idea of pissing off the arrogant head of the Sinaloa cartel, they can’t wait to see what grotesque display Ivan will make with the bodies.
He’s got a reputation for creativity in that respect.
“Aleksander.”
“Yes, Pakhan?”
I pause, caught off guard by the honorific.
Everyone else is surprised, too, shifting their weight from foot to foot and glancing at each other, waiting to see how I’ll respond.
There isn’t a choice, however. As long as Max is alive, I’m not Pakhan, the “big boss.” He is.
I’ll be sending a clear message that I’m disloyal to our leader and intend to take the throne for myself if I accept Aleksander’s mistake.
Unless it wasn’t a mistake.
Maybe it was a test.
And maybe the test originated from someone much smarter than Aleksander.
My stare freezing and my tone deadly soft, I say, “On your knees.”
He doesn’t hesitate.
In a five-thousand-dollar silk suit, handmade shoes, and an overcoat spun from the wool of baby Tibetan antelopes, he silently sinks to his knees on the cold cement floor of the warehouse.
Then he waits, along with everyone else. Clouds of steam from his breath turn white in the frigid night air.
“Empty your pockets.”
He swallows. Digging into his overcoat pockets, he produces a cell phone and a folded wad of hundred-dollar bills. He tosses them to the floor, then reaches inside his suit jacket. Soon, a handgun, a folding knife, a ballpoint pen, and a small comb follow the money and phone to the floor.
The last thing he takes out is a pair of pliers.
He’s about to toss that onto the pile, too, but I say, “Wait.”
He freezes. His gaze flashes up to mine.
I see fear in his eyes, but also resignation.
He already knows what I’m going to ask him to do.
“One of the front ones. And don’t get it fixed. I want your disrespect to Maxim to be visible to everyone.”
He exhales. He looks at the pliers in his hand.
Then he clamps the metal prongs around one of his bicuspids and tears it out.
It’s a prolonged, bloody process. The other men watch with varying degrees of boredom and interest. Pavel checks his watch. Oleg licks his lips. When it’s over, Aleksander is panting and the breast of his suit is soaked in blood.
I gesture for him to stand.
He does, spitting blood onto the floor.
“As I was saying. Our Armenian friend, Mr. Kurdian, has a freighter packed with AKs and ammo arriving into the Port of Houston in two days. The arms will go onto a train headed for Boise. Derail the train. The bigger the explosion, the better.”
He nods. His face is pale and he’s sweating, but he won’t make a peep of pain or show disobedience in any way.
Normally, that would please me. Right now, it just makes me tired.
After spending a week in Natalie’s arms, this life I lead tastes sour.
I give the rest of the men their instructions. When that’s done, I dismiss them. They vanish into the shadows of the warehouse, headed back to their families and territories, spread out all across the US.
Except one that I keep aside.
Mikhail is the youngest member of the Bratva leadership, and also one of the most aggressive and ambitious. He was the underboss for Boston’s family leader, but was promoted last year when his boss was assassinated.
Resting a hand on Mikhail’s shoulder, I say, “I’d like your help.”
I see the surprise in his eyes. It’s quickly followed by pride.
“Thank you. Anything.”
“I discovered an unsanctioned online gaming operation based in Lake Tahoe. They’re one of ours, but haven’t been tithing.”
“What do you need me to do?”
I wave Stavros forward from where he’s been standing, waiting, near the door. He comes hesitantly, wringing his hands.
“Get an accounting of total revenue going as far back as they’ve been operational. They owe half to Maxim. Have them send it to me no later than Monday next week. Then put them on a monthly schedule of twenty percent going forward.”
“And if they can’t come up with the money?”
I hesitate. This would be so much easier if Stavros wasn’t involved with Natalie’s friend.
If that were the case and he couldn’t produce the money, I’d cut off one of his fingers and toes for each day of delay until he did.
And if it went past ten days, I’d start cutting off other stuff.
“Don’t worry about that now. Just make sure he understands what the consequences will be if he fucks up again.”
It’s not like he doesn’t already know, but it never hurts to underline these things.
I send Mikhail off to meet Stavros. Then I head out of the warehouse to the car waiting for me outside. As soon as I’m inside the Bentley, I reach for my cell phone.
Miss you already. XOXO
My wish was granted: the text is from Natalie.
An image of her smiling face flashes through my mind. Then another image surfaces, a memory of her naked and flushed underneath me with her eyes closed and her lips parted, a bruise from my greedy mouth darkening a spot on her slender neck.
A steel band winches itself around my heart. Exhaling a heavy breath, I murmur, “Miss you too, baby.”
As my driver steers the car out of the deserted parking lot and onto the main street, I dial her number, waiting impatiently for her to pick up.
On the third ring, she does.
“Hi!”
She sounds happy to hear from me. The winch tightens.
“I hear you miss me.”
“It’s strangely dull around here without a bossy Russian barking orders at me. Go figure.”
“You like it when I bark orders at you.”
“Only when we’re in bed.”
I picture her blindfolded and restrained, sucking my dick and rocking her hips as I slide the vibrator in and out of her soaked pussy, and almost groan out loud with want.
My voice drops. “I’m ready to give you a few orders right now. Get into bed.”
She laughs breathlessly. “I would, but Sloane’s here. That could be awkward.”
“She’s back from her trip.”
“Yeah. She broke it off with Stavros…but you probably already know that.”
I didn’t, but I’m glad I do now. Makes things less complicated if he doesn’t come up with the money for Max. “You’re having a girls’ night?”
“We ordered pizza. Opened a bottle or two of wine. So yes, I guess that means we’re having a girls’ night. What are you up to tonight?”
I drag a hand through my hair, lean my head back against the headrest, and close my eyes. My voice soft, I say, “Wishing I had my face buried between your sweet thighs.”
She must hear the longing in my tone, all the longing and desperate need, because her voice grows worried. “Are you okay?”
I answer truthfully. “No.”
Her voice rises. “What’s wrong?”
“I left something in California.”
“What?”
“My heart, baby. My cold, dead, worthless heart, which didn’t even beat before I met you.”
There’s a period of silence, then she whispers, “I’m in love with you.”
Now I do groan out loud.
She just shot an arrow through my chest. I’m fucking dead.
“I didn’t say it when you were here because…well, mostly because you were telling me to. Demanding, actually. You know how you get—”
“Say it again.”
Her laugh is soft and warm. “See? Demanding.”
“Please. Please, say it again.”
She must hear the pain in my voice, because all the laughter and teasing is gone when she speaks next. Her voice is solemn and quiet.
“I’m in love with you, Kage. I love you. Hopelessly. I thought I knew what it meant to be in love before, but it was never like this. It’s like the lights go out when you walk out of the house. Like my lungs only work when you’re with me. I’m…kind of lost, actually. I don’t know how to handle it. All I want is to be with you all the time—”
After a short pause, she comes back on the line, sounding contrite. “I’m sorry. It’s the wine. I swear I didn’t mean for that to be so…so…”
“Perfect,” I growl, my throat as tight as my chest.
This is never going to work.
I can’t be away from her. I can’t concentrate. My head is full of nothing but her, when it’s supposed to be focused on everything else. I’m leading my men into war, and I hardly care what happens.
Nothing means anything anymore.
Except her.
The woman who’d pay with her life if our two worlds ever collided.
The woman whose sweet love would turn to burning hate if she discovered my duplicity.
The woman I can’t live with, but I also can’t live without.
We’re quiet for a moment, until she says softly, “It’ll be here, waiting for you. Your heart, that is. I’ll take care of it while you’re gone. But you need to do me a favor.”
“Name it.”
“You have to take care of mine, because you took it with you when you left.”
After I recover, I murmur, “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Tell me you love me again.”
I hear the smile in her voice when she answers. “I love you, bossy man. You’re my life now. Come back to me soon.”
I have to disconnect without answering.
I can’t.
Because for the first time since I was a boy, I’m fighting back tears.
