The Enforcer’s Widow (The Orlov Dynasty #2)
Chapter 1 Sergei
SERGEI
Delicate bones snapped underfoot. One more step back had my shoe sliding on the slick blood of the prostitute’s hand. Unsteady with the wetness, I corrected my slant to the side, preventing a fall as I retreated from the grisly scene of unexpected death.
Death was guaranteed in any life cycle.
But it was something I delivered frequently—with accuracy and force—no matter the circumstances that called for it.
“You all right?” one of the soldiers asked, watching me closely as I moved further from the guts and blood splatter.
I didn’t bother replying, careful not to ever make the stupid mistake of giving my enemy my back.
Or rather, I’d never repeat that mistake.
Months ago, I’d gotten too sloppy and thought I was in the clear after a fight with the Popovs.
One lucky motherfucker had gotten me good on my side, just missing my ribs.
Ever since then, a twinge of tight pain would kick back up to bother me.
Like it did now. Resisting a cringe that threatened to cross my face at the exertion of this spontaneous fight I hadn’t anticipated being involved in tonight, I dismissed the ache that flared up at the site where I’d had surgery.
“I’m fine now that—”
As I spoke, I flinched and turned toward the slight movement from the pavement.
The whore I walked over wouldn’t complain.
She was dead with my gunshot to the head.
It seemed like her pimp wasn’t calling it quits yet.
Bloody, mangled, and with shattered ribs from the last kick I’d delivered to his side, he pushed up enough to aim his gun at me.
On my feet, albeit unsteadily, as I sought the clear side of the dark alley, I was faster. One twist of my wrist had my firearm pointing at him, and I added another clean shot to his head to match the gaping exit wound of the other bullet on his neck.
“—now that these idiots won’t bother us anymore.
” I finished my remark with an impatient drawl, already sick and tired of dealing with messes like this.
Even though it was literally my job. My “career” was a dark and morbid one, operating as the highest-ranking enforcer for my uncle, Mikhail Orlov, the boss of the Orlov Family.
Lately, though, this bullshit was starting to seem endless.
The soldier, a new one my cousin Andre had recruited recently, blanched and gave me a sheepish cringe. I kept my lips pressed together tightly in disapproval at the slight close call.
“I, um. I thought he was dead.”
Obviously.
“My bad,” he added with a bigger cringe.
Obviously. Instead of lashing out and losing my temper on him, I sucked in a deep breath and continued backing up over the carnage I truly hadn’t thought I’d leave in my wake tonight.
We’d come out here to this club just to check on a spy from Niko Popov’s organization, but we’d ended up in the crosshairs of a couple of strung-out pimps and their equally wasted whores.
They started the fight, thinking we were undercover cops out to get them when we walked out of the club.
They attacked first, coming at us with guns blazing and attitudes sky-high with whatever they’d used to get intoxicated.
It hardly mattered who they were or what they wanted.
If anyone came at any member of the Orlov Family, we would defend each other to the death.
But it couldn’t always be me handling this violence on the frontlines. It couldn’t always be my brother, Roman, or my cousin, Andre. Nor could it always be our boss, Mikhail, in charge. Our strength came in numbers with all the loyal and trained soldiers and spies who made up our team.
The need to help foster another generation and line of soldiers and spies was what had me finding some small scrap of patience for this new guy who’d been assigned to assist me and tag along as backup.
“Next time, make sure your hits are truly dead,” I advised as I stepped away from the mess and gestured for him and the other two Orlov men to start cleaning it up.
They nodded, approaching the four corpses that we’d need to remove before any slacker from the police department interfered. We operated with our own system of law and order and it would be foolhardy to allow any investigation of a death we’d caused.
Even though we’re doing you a fucking favor, eliminating these morons from the city for you.
I backed up more, unbothered by how far the blood had sprayed from the pimps and whores who made the mistake of even speaking to us. I had no time for solicitors or idiots who wanted to act tough. The scum of society was too beneath someone of my position to warrant my attention.
What peeved me was how much this ache in my side persisted. The others noticed as they began calling for cars to come and get the bodies.
“Yo, Sergei,” one older soldier, George, said as he tipped his chin up to get my attention. “You all right?”
I nodded, annoyed that I’d look weak at all.
“Yeah, I’m good.” I just hadn’t expected to be in such a physical fight tonight.
My recovery from the surgery wasn’t going so well when I never allowed myself to fully rest and sit still.
Idleness bothered me on a fundamental level.
I was too used to being on the streets, handling every bit of hell that came with being my uncle’s enforcer.
But hell. This wasn’t healing fast enough yet.
“Maybe Claire can check it out when we’re back,” George added as he pointed at the dead man’s other foot, indicating for the green recruit to get his hands dirty and drag the body out of the center of the alley where we’d been jumped.
“No.” I rolled my eyes, rotating my arm to flex my shoulder that was tight as well.
“Claire doesn’t need to check anything.” My uncle’s fiancée was a former emergency doctor, but that didn’t mean I should inconvenience her for any little thing.
She was more than willing to help any of us, but I hated the guilt of pulling her from Mikhail and his daughter, my cousin, Anya.
We all witnessed how Claire struggled to fit in with the family, and the last thing I wanted to do was make it more complicated with her having to nurse me.
George shrugged, knowing me well enough not to push the topic.
Most men in the family would avoid arguing with me since I had the least amount of willingness to suffer fools.
But I appreciated the concern, nonetheless.
Watching over and supervising the cleanup, I sighed and tried to stretch out of the discomfort.
“Maybe I just need to work out more,” I joked back belatedly.
George grunted a weak laugh. “Yeah, right. Like you don’t spend enough time at the fucking gym already.”
“It seems like you’ve got some tenderness on your side,” the new soldier commented, pointing at where I was still rubbing near the surgery site. Realizing I was massaging the tight skin, I stopped and scowled.
“He was hit a couple of months ago,” George said as cars pulled into the alley. Headlights flashed, blinding us, as more Orlov men arrived to dispose of the body.
“I’m fine,” I repeated, more than sick of the topic.
I didn’t need any reminders about how vulnerable I was.
How vulnerable we all were. It wasn’t every day that we lost too many men, but with how we walked dangerously on a thin line between life and death, it was a sobering lesson to know none of us were immortal nor untouchable.
Once the cleanup was underway and more soldiers efficiently moved the bodies into the trunks, I sighed and tried to imagine how the rest of the night would go.
In the aftermath of the short-lived adrenaline rush of the fight, and the twisted high that came with knowing I’d killed others, nothing else would fill in the idleness.
Mikhail didn’t have anything pressing for me to follow up on. Andre hadn’t been asking for any assistance in anything he was working on. Roman was probably off with a few women, adding more conquests to his long list as our infamous playboy.
It wasn’t often that I felt this restless and without purpose, but I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of not having a place. Of missing a sense of direction.
Or someone to go home to.
Finished with the cleanup and knowing that Popov spy was long gone, I dismissed George with the order to supervise the two new recruits for the remainder of the night.
I furrowed my brow as I continued walking further from the alley where the fight had happened.
Strolling into the part of the city that we considered unclaimed—not part of the Orlov territory, nor the land of any other crime family—I tried to shed this stupid sense of being alone. Of being listless and untethered.
Because George had a point, one I wasn’t ready to confess aloud.
It would be nice to have someone check on me. Not Claire. She was Mikhail’s. Not even a nurse or anyone in the medical field. I wasn’t wishing for actual medical follow-up from my surgery. I just couldn’t dismiss this wish to have… someone.
For fuck’s sake.
Get a grip.
Shaking my head as I wandered toward the glowing and flickering neon lights that announced a bar up ahead, I tried to shut off all the stupid thoughts clogging up my head.
Being grumpy about not having anyone special in my life was a waste of time.
Moping about how alone I would always be—committed to only my job for my uncle—was a pathetic misuse of my energy.
Having a couple of drinks wouldn’t solve anything. I’d be just as listless, glum, and alone as I was walking into this bar as I would be when I left to go home.
But, hell, it wouldn’t hurt to pass the time in a different place for an hour or so.
I entered the bar, scoffing at the cheesy name. The Diamond Mirage? No sparkle of opulence shone in here to resemble a rare gemstone. There wasn’t anything exotic or special about this hole in the wall to induce the feeling of a mirage.
Sighing at the dim and bland setting of the smoky and crowded bar, I took a seat at the end.
Squeaky vinyl gave friction against my pants as I settled on the stool and glanced at the grimy mirror.
As I lifted my arms to rest them on the wooden bartop, I made a face at the stickiness that shone on top of the polish.
I hadn’t planned to drink here, or anywhere else, but with how dingy this place looked, I wondered if I’d be better off finding another dump to have a couple of drinks to pass the time.
Loud music drowned out the chatter, laughter, and arguments that rose up in a clash of a cacophony. TV screens blared overhead, projecting different games and talk shows.
Among all the distractions, though, the sight of the distressed bartender snagged my attention.
She paused near me, her lips moving as if she were mouthing multiple orders to herself so she’d remember them all.
“Hey! Move your ass,” another bartender yelled from the opposite end. Maybe he wasn’t her coworker, but her boss. Because she flinched at his voice and hunched her shoulders as though she were caught red-handed underperforming.
“I am. I am,” she replied, furrowing her brow as she reached toward the drafts she’d just filled. She moved her hand too quickly and knocked one over. Beer spilled. Her brows shot up and she mouthed fuck as she hurried to mop it up.
Glancing up at me with her brow pinched and anxiety clear in her green eyes, she gave me a source of unlikely commiseration.
Yeah, life sucks, huh?
Her unguarded eyes gave a strong hint of misery. Nervous and moving a rag with trembling fingers, she lowered her gaze.
“Natalie, stop fucking around,” the man shouted.
She didn’t look up again, focusing on cleaning up the mess and avoiding her boss. Like a skittish nobody, she hurried and seemed to be on the verge of breaking down under the pressure, looking like she needed someone to give a shit about her, not berate her.
I exhaled a long breath, oddly sympathetic to this stranger. Because in her harried expression, I felt a kindred longing.
A wish that I could have someone special to give a shit about me.