Chapter 12
Luka
Leon’s official office sits in the back room of one of his casinos.
It’s opulent and lavish and the place where he makes all his legitimate business deals.
His unofficial office is located three stories below.
It’s where the family business takes place, and only a few people know of its existence.
I make my way downstairs and down the long, dimly lit hallway and barge into the room, not bothering to knock.
“Uncle, to what do we owe the pleasure?” I grit out, plastering a fake smile.
“I’m handling it,” I respond.
“I’m not sure he is.” The asshole addresses my brother, not bothering to even look at me.
“I said I’m handling it.”
“Are you?” He turns to me now, huffing a laugh that makes spots of red appear in my vision. “Because as far as I can tell, Liz’s man betrayed us and both him and Liz are left standing proud.”
My brother glances at me now, as if checking if that’s true and I grind my teeth to keep calm. I could strangle him on the spot. But that would only bring more trouble to my grieving family.
I glare at my uncle. “Liz is loyal to us. And the guy who did it… well, I’m sure the Russians already killed him.”
He snorts. “Leaving them to do our job? What kind of message does it send?”
“I sent them a fucking message!” I roar, my calm quickly slipping away from me.
“Maybe, but you have shown Liz and his man they have free rein to fuck us over whenever they want.”
I stalk closer, and his apes enclose him. As if they could stop me if I actually planned on hurting him.
“Liz did nothing. He’s been loyal to our family for over ten years. He doesn’t deserve to die because a silly kid made a dumb mistake.”
“Pfft. Debatable.”
“That’s not how our family does business! We gain loyalty with respect, not fear!”
“He’s right,” my brother butts in.
“That might have been the case… earlier. Because they respected your father.” His mouth turns down in fake sympathy. But everyone in this room knows he couldn’t stand him. And the feeling was mutual. “Now, the family’s running around like a headless chicken.”
“Meet the head.” I gesture dramatically at Leon.
He sighs. “I worry people aren’t going to take a couple of kids seriously. And I’m just trying to protect Matej’s legacy.”
My heart beats loudly in my chest, my rage consuming me. Leon and I are both over thirty and well respected in our circles, much more than the leach standing in front of us.
He uses our silence to continue spewing bullshit. “What about Landers? Have you even made any headway with him?”
“We’re working on it,” Leon responds, and I suppress a groan.
“Maybe he needs more motivation. I’m sure a finger or two would do the trick.”
“We gave him a week. We still have three more days,” Leon says.
Uncle Toma sighs again. “I just hope you’re right. Before our reputation is tarnished forever.”
With a shake of his head, he leaves the office, his apes in tow.
Leon runs his hands through his hair, the silver streaks in it suddenly more pronounced. My typically put-together brother looks like death. Dark circles adorn his eyes and the half-drunk bottle of rakia doesn’t look too good either.
My fingers wrap around the bottle, and I take a big swig before slumping down into the tall leather chair in front of his desk. Alcohol burns its way down my insides in a familiar, soothing rhythm.
“If we don’t handle Landers soon, Toma’s going to become a problem,” my brother says, staring at his black marble desk. This office is as opulent as the upstairs one, with expensive materials covering every inch, but the color scheme is pretty much all black.
“Become? Contrary to the lovely addition to the family he is now?”
Leon lets out a breath. “I’m not kidding. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we have a mutiny on our hands.”
“I’m the one on the streets every fucking day. So yeah, I noticed. And I sent the Russians a fucking message. There’s no need to kill loyal people to do that.”
“I know.” Another long breath escapes him. “And I agree with you. But the power-grabbing asshole who calls himself our uncle doesn’t. And while we’re out there, running damage control, he’s leading a political campaign, turning our men against us.”
I down another drink. “We need to get Landers as soon as possible.”
Leon lets out a self-deprecating chuckle. “Yeah, we do.”
“What’s up with that, anyway? Did he get our message?”
“There’s no way to know for sure. We have no idea of his location. We’ve put it online through channels he must have seen, but he still hasn’t reached out.”
I dip my chin, remembering every time I mentioned Sophie’s father to her.
My bet would be that they’re not on the best terms. But a parent must try to save his daughter, right?
Ours would have moved the Earth for us, burned the world to watch us rise from the ashes.
And they took him away in a blink of an eye.
Moisture pools in the corners of my eyes, but I clear my throat, desperate to escape it.
“We’re going to find him,” Leon says with conviction.
“I know.” We have to. He has to pay for what he did.
The Russians may have pulled the trigger, but he’s the one who handed them a loaded gun. He’s the one we put our trust in, and he sold him out.
My fists clench around the bottle. “Have any more of these?” I ask, lifting it in the air.
“Sure. Ask Dom to open you a crate.”
“Thanks,” I say, rising from the chair and heading out. Leon’s personal guard stands in front of the office, his shoulders the width of the doorframe.
“Dom, my man. I need you to hook me up with some booze.”
He glances at me and, without a word, heads to the crates lining the wall. The long hallway is lined with miscellaneous goods on both sides. Using a crowbar, he opens a crate, and I find it full of bottles with see-through liquid. My eyes light up, the corners of my lips turning up.
“Take as many as you need,” Dom says, and my palms press together.
I fill my arms with as many bottles as I can carry and make my way to the car, dropping them all in the passenger’s seat.
There’s no news from Landers, and I have no drop-offs today, so I get back to the club, itching to get started on it.
There’s no doubt we have bigger fish to fry at the moment, but it’s comforting to feel you’re doing something.
I’d love to shut the place down and gut it, but it needs to stay open because of our little dungeon guest. My men and I going in and out of a sex club makes sense, but any fool would question if we were to frequent a deserted place.
It would be obvious we were hiding something here. Or someone.
Still, I want to tackle something. I enter the office, slipping my hands into my pockets.
My eyes trail the room, my face scrunched.
Leon’s office is dark and masculine. You sense he’s a leader from a mile away.
This place is anything but. The only thing you can sense here are the bodily fluids that probably cover every inch of the room.
I extract my phone from my back pocket, unlocking it and dial one of the top contacts.
“Da, ?efe,” Ivan’s voice rings through. Yes, boss.
“I want to get started on the club.”
“Are you sure it’s the right time?”
“Are you saying we should hide out until it’s over?”
“Fuck, no,” he responds.
It’s also another way to draw the bystanders away from the fact that there’s a hostage in our basement.
“Then we’re starting. I want the office gutted.”
“And where will you work out of?”
“I’ll manage.”
“As you wish, ?efe.”
I end the call, massaging my temples.
Better check on the hostage.
My footsteps echo in the narrow hallway as I make my way downstairs. I use my key to unlock the door and enter without knocking. This is my house, after all.
Once again, I find her and Marko sitting at the small table, playing chess.
“Having fun?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
She averts her gaze, but the soft giggle she let out as I was entering the room told me she was.
“I think you’re free to go now,” I say to Marko.
He dips his head and rises from the chair, before collecting his things and leaving the room.
Sophie studies the board, and I can practically see the wheels turning in her head.
I drop into the chair across from her. She’s still wearing that hideous sweatshirt, even though I got her new clothes. Actual clothes, this time.
“Is that a new plan of yours?” I ask, and her eyes lift up to mine. She looks better, as if she finally got some rest. The bags under her eyes are less visible, making her thick, long lashes stand out.
“What do you mean?”
“Befriend my men to get out of here.”
“Are your men so easy to manipulate?” Her face is emotionless as she stares straight into my eyes.
“I hope not.”
She simply shrugs in response, shifting her gaze back to the board. Her fingers work to put the pieces back into starting position. Without looking up at me, she asks, “You playing?”
I move a pawn to D4, noticing the corners of her lips pull up a fraction. She moves her pawn to E5.
“How come you’re playing black?” I ask, taking her pawn.
“More realistic.” Once again, she shrugs before moving her knight to C6.
“What do you mean?” I slide my knight to F3, and she places her queen on E7. I protect my pawn.
“White has the first move, right?” she asks, moving her queen to B4.
“Check,” she says, not lifting her head from the board, before continuing, “White sets the game.” I slide my bishop to D2.
“Black has to play with what it gets.” She takes my pawn.
“It doesn’t really get a choice.” I move my bishop to C3, and she responds by moving hers to B4.
“So you, boss-man, are white.” My queen slides to D2.
Her bishop takes mine, and I take hers with my queen, thinking about her words.
She lifts her queen to point at me, before setting her onto C1. “Checkmate.”
I stare at the board, scrambling to find a way out, but she’s right. She bested me in eight moves. A thrill runs through me, my competitiveness blooming. Coming to terms with my defeat, I realize what she said. “Boss-man?”
“Oh, it’s what I call you. In my head.” Her voice is shaky, her cheeks tinting.
A deep rumble pours out of me, the laughter surprising both of us. I laugh through setting the pieces back into starting position. “How about this? You beat me again and I’ll tell you my name.”
“Deal.”
Ten moves later, and she wins the bet. At least I lasted longer this time.
She eyes me expectantly, biting the inside of her cheek.
I grit my teeth, my pride decimated. “Luka.”
“Luka,” she repeats, and I almost don’t recognize it. It’s a sweet, singing sound, so unlike the rough gravel I’m used to.
“Where did you learn to play like that?”
Her eyes drop to the side, any playfulness gone. “My dad taught me. A long time ago.”
The hair rises on the back of my neck at the mention of the man responsible for all this. A fire starts in the pit of my stomach, making its way through my limbs. “I see. Well, mine taught me how to protect the people I love. He also taught me not to be a treacherous bastard.”
Her eyes widen, her hands moving to her lap. “Did he make contact?”
“No, mila. He didn’t. Because treacherous bastards don’t have anything to protect. Anything but themselves.”
She stares at me as if I slapped her, her face unmoving, except for the rapid blinks of her eyelids. I push myself away from the desk, the chair scratching loudly across the floor.
The door slams on my way out, and I’m barely conscious enough to realize she’s left without a guard. I bark at Ivan to get down there and march straight into my office to open a bottle of rakia.
The scent of ethanol grounds me as I lift the bottle to my lips. I told her the truth. Father taught me everything I know. And now he’s gone.