Chapter 3 - Aleksei
The lush material of the Persian carpet muffles the sound of my heavy footsteps—ones that grow in frequency as I pace around my Manhattan penthouse. It’s now well into the evening, so when I get the notification from Grigor that Akim has been found and that they’re on their way, I can’t help but walk around to ease my pent-up irritation. There are still no new leads on Maksim at this point, something I’d anticipated with his talent of disappearing during his benders, but it causes a well of irritation to boil over in me that I’m more than ready to take out on Akim when he arrives.
The moment the elevator dings open I find the repressed irritation rising to the surface.
“Where the fuck have you been all this time? You missed Anya’s memorial.” I snarl at Akim. It’s not something we do unless absolutely unavoidable, but it’s not merely about Anya—it’s what it means to us as a family. I head in their direction, Grigor already positioning himself between us, and I feel all the muscles in my body tense as I try to restrain myself. I come to when I feel Grigor’s stern grip on my shoulder, and I send him a glare.
“Wait, brother. He has intel,” Grigor starts, and it’s only then that I begin to calm, inspecting Akim a little closer. His dark brown eyes are framed by growing swollen purple splotches with a still-bleeding busted lip.
“Start. Talking.” He finally looks into my eyes, having let his eyes wander everywhere around the foyer but me a second ago. He scoffs bitterly.
“The Rossis,” he spits out, a cold expression forming on his bruised face. He glances up, as if he just woke up from a trance. “You got any whiskey here? Would really help with the pain.” He points up at his black eye, and I nod. Pushing the fact that the Rossis have become a household name with how often they’ve been pestering us to the back of my mind, I attempt to humor Akim.
He used to get in trouble often, even as a kid, and I always had a soft spot for him back then. When we got older and his antics continued, I tried to reprimand him appropriately to not enable his foolish behavior, but sometimes I still find that old tenderness I held for him flare up. So, I turn my back to him as I start on the small walk to my personal office. This one is nowhere near as grand as the one back in our headquarters in Queens, but it serves well on the few occasions I need to use it. The soft echo of the footfall behind me means Grigor and Akim are following closely behind.
I pull out a heavy crystal bottle and a tumbler from one of the shelves, quickly unplugging it and pouring him a shot. He chugs it with ferocity as soon as his bruised hand meets the cup. I pour him another one, raising my brows at him expectantly. He needs to start talking. Placing back the bottle, I back up a few steps to lean against the desk, hands gripping the edge of the table. He finally gets the message and takes a seat in one of the armchairs.
“You sent me to check on one of our branches. Well, I noticed a familiar car in front of the casino, and I couldn’t help it. My curiosity got the better of me.” He looks down as he sighs. “Old Rossi had his bastards sent to our branch. I wanted to know more and found myself at the docks—where we handle our shipments .”
“And?” I huff, already pissed at the reminder of their constant interference in what is very clearly our part of town.
“He paid one of the men there off. We’ll have to look into that.” He trails off, looking dazed.
I shake my head, realizing he probably wasn’t informed that we caught the man already. “I sorted out the snitch this morning.”
He nods his head in acknowledgment, eyes focusing back at me, continuing—almost as if to state the facts back to himself. “They’re the reason we always get less than the amount we agreed for when the shipments come.” Grigor is taking it all in but also clearly lost in his own thoughts.
“But that’s not all, Aleks,” he starts. The shortened version of my name catches me off guard —it’s what he used to call me when he was young. I’m used to the respect that my full name implies, but his slip us isn’t inherently disrespectful—it feels more like a brotherly gesture of appreciation for finally listening to him.
“He handed him a wad of cash, and I saw the bastard load a part of it into his trunk.” I rub at the stubble on my jaw, feeling the rage rise up again but trying to keep my head cool to strategize.
“So they’re paying off one of our own, thinking we’re not going to figure it out. Stealing from us and disrespecting us on our own fucking turf. Trying to gather intel and steal. How brazen.” I finish for him and laugh bitterly. The empty tumbler scatters everywhere when I throw it against the wall. The way it broke, splitting into a thousand little shards, does little to quench my need to destroy. “Get your ass up, Akim. We’re gonna call Dmitri and find that bastard. The snitch has been dealt with, but now it’s Rossi’s turn.”
I don’t turn to see if they follow, but the heavy footsteps are confirmation enough. My body is ahead of my mind, my finger already hovering over the phone screen to call Dmitri. He picks up almost immediately.
“I looked some more into the situation,” Dmitri starts, voice stoic as always. “Rossi’s men are at Inferno. They’re celebrating their success in some dingy VIP room down there. We’re dealing with the loose ends on our side. He’s currently replaced our friend who was here just this morning, telling us all about his little deal with Rossi, isn’t he?” It’s then that I hear the clinking of metal in the background, and a groan from someone. “Our friend over here told us all about Rossi’s men celebrating in the shithole today. And we really appreciate his honesty. So, Aleksei , what do you say we send a body over to the Rossis to remind them of the consequences? I’m sure they won’t misbehave as much after that.”
“Sounds good,” I affirm, ending the call as the elevator doors close.
The moment we’re in the garage, I go for the car closest to us—a jeep—and drift onto the road moments later. The drive to the club is quick, though I huff as I spot the endless line in front of it. The wait wouldn’t be an issue—the men at the front know of me and know when to pick their battles—though the sheer amount of people inside will be annoying.
Just as we’re about to enter, I grab my phone as I feel a message buzz through.
Didn’t have time to mention it over call, but Rossi’s daughter is there too.
My eyes unfocus for a moment, and I feel myself freeze just as Akim bumps into my back.
“What’s up?” he questions tentatively, sensing me freeze. I don’t respond at first, feeling my entire body shake. A rare form of anger overtakes me, almost murderous in intent, before I school my inner turmoil back into a state of forced calm. Collect yourself, Aleks. Not now.
Most of the strangers before me part, probably sensing I am not to be messed with right now, though a few that are drunk enough to be completely unaware of their surroundings —those find themselves shoved aside as I make my way deeper into the mouth of the beast. The music is already loud and overwhelming at the entrance, making me realize just how long it’s been since I’ve been in someplace like this. A club full of inebriated, overgrown children—it’s not exactly my scene.
When we make it to the bar, three shots materialize in front of us, making me laugh in the lanky bartender’s face. He looks at us cautiously before murmuring, “This one’s on the house.” Funny that even this establishment is aware of who we are. I turn to Grigor, whose question I answer even before he gets the words out.
“Rossi’s kid is here too,” I spit out. His demeanor immediately changes, face hardening.
“What do we want to do?” he queries, straight to the point.
“I’ll have a look around.” I down the shot before proceeding. “You and Akim find the Rossi minions. Teach them a lesson.”
He inches closer, disclosing a few vague phrases meant to describe her appearance. The one that sticks the most is a redhead—that shouldn’t be too hard to find, even under the flashing lights. Grigor finishes and nods before turning to Akim, both of them disappearing into the crowd.
It’s not long before I spot her. She’s more to the side with fewer people huddled together and swaying to the music, eyes closed and hands traversing her body. I decide to get closer and observe for a moment, soon finding myself amidst the sweaty bodies only a few feet away from her.