Chapter 4
Brax
APetrov stands in front of me, and I just bowed my head like he's actually royalty.
That detail sits in my gut like a stone, heavy and obnoxious.
Petrov is the kind of name you learn to hate before you learn to speak.
And I knew Valentina was trouble the moment I laid eyes on her.
I never considered she could be an Abruzzo, but I should have with that Italian accent and killer look in her gaze.
It makes everything about this entire predicament worse.
Petrovs and Abruzzos don't dine with O'Malleys.
In my world, they either cross the street on opposite sides or end up in the ground.
Standing in front of two of them, without any backup, isn't smart.
So I wonder again how Sean's father ever created this demented secret world I've been forced to entertain.
Kirill's scar twitches over his jaw. It's the worst imperfection I've ever seen on a man's face.
How did he get it?
He thinks he's going to threaten me?
He's got another thing coming.
My laugh comes out hotter than I want. "You think you're the first to try and recruit me? Don't flatter yourself."
"I know all about the gangs on the street who wanted the homeless boy who refused to join them," he replies in a flat tone.
My gut coils. How does he know anything about me? Valentina didn't seem to, so how does he?
Kirill threatens, "Don't confuse choice with illusion. You can't run from the Underworld."
I snarl, "Don't dress your threats in velvet."
"Brax," Valentina warns through gritted teeth.
I don't look at her, and now I'm glad I didn't fuck her.
She's an Abruzzo.
Kirill moves closer. "You misunderstand power."
"You don't own me now. Nor will you in the future," I declare, standing taller.
Sympathy appears on his expression. He lowers his tone. "The Omni have given their orders. You fall in line or fall in blood. Take your pick."
"You think you scare me?" I fume, stepping closer.
Valentina jumps between us. She puts her hand on my chest and sparks burst under her touch, making me loathe myself. She asserts, "You're acting rash."
I scoff, "Rash? Nah. I'm the only sane one in the room."
Worry fills her hazel gaze. I want to kiss her and push her away.
She's the enemy.
Kirill interjects, "I'm giving you a 24-hour pass so you can get your senses back. Valentina will mentor you."
My eyes dart between him and her.
Valentina's jaw tightens. She opens her mouth, but Kirill speaks first.
"You will train him. He will learn. You will live," he finishes, pointing at me.
Chaos fills my chest, reminding me of how hard it was to breathe in the other penthouse. I ask, "Do you know what happens when you force someone to be your project?"
No one speaks.
I don't take my eyes off Kirill's and add, "You end up regretting it."
His lips twitch. "We'll see about that. Like I said. I'll give you 24 hours to choose your role in the Underworld or death. It'll be up to you."
The same alarm I felt when I got caught watching Sean fight seeps into my bones. I sniff hard and ask, "Anything else you need to tell me?"
Kirill peers closer, then shakes his head. He steps back. "You're free to go."
"Great. Where's my shit?"
He points to a black bag on the table. "In there. But you don't get it back yet."
I vibrate with anger. "You're not keeping my wallet and shoes."
Arrogance washes over Kirill. "You will get them back when you take this seriously. Now leave on your own, or my guards will escort you out." He points past me.
I spin.
Four men with deadly scowls and built like brick houses stare at me.
I decide it's best to go quietly and not look back. I pass the guards, get on the elevator, and curse as it stops at every floor.
When I get outside, the cold gusts of wind nearly knock me over. I instantly regret not taking the hoodie out of the SUV, but luckily for me, my anger keeps me moving. Plus, it's not the first time I've walked in cold weather with barely anything on.
The déjà vu of my childhood comes roaring back. All the hustling, days of no food, nights spent in rain and snow, and every gangster face who wanted me as theirs are memories clawing through me.
I push past pedestrians, stomp around the corner, and the smell of rot in the alley makes me nauseous.
Two blocks down, a man wearing a thick coat and a gold chain yells, "Kid, come over here."
A scrawny boy about twelve cautiously approaches him.
When I get closer, I warn, "Careful, kid. You're his cheap labor or bait."
He pins tough, wide eyes on me.
"Mind your own business," the man threatens.
"Go to hell," I snarl, and keep moving.
It's all the same playground, just different predators. And I refused to be owned then, and I won't be now.
Then why do I feel cornered?
I didn't survive hell to kneel in another man's kingdom.
Sean's building appears before I realize I was heading toward it. I slip into the lobby when a group exits, and take the stairs, two at a time.
When I get to his apartment, I don't knock. The door's unlocked, and when I step inside, another round of rage hits me. "Jesus Christ."
Sean moves his head off the sofa pillow and winces.
I shut the door and assess him. One eye is swollen shut. The other has a small slit. Both are purple and yellow. A blanket is half over him, and the rest of his body displays similar bruises and swelling.
He sighs in relief. "Thank God you're alive."
"You got a lot of talking to do," I state.
"You shouldn't have followed me," he asserts.
"Little late for that now," I point out, then add, "You look like shit."
A broken chuckle escapes him. He winces again.
I lift the blanket, asking, "Your ribs broke?"
"Don't think so."
"You sure?"
"Nope."
"I don't know how you kept going, to be honest," I admit.
"How much did you see?" he asks.
"The last nine."
"Should have seen the first four when I had all my energy," he jokes.
I chuckle, and it feels good.
Sean's voice drops. "Seriously, Brax. You shouldn't have followed me. Now you're in this mess, too."
I drop into the chair across from him. "You should have told me what was going on."
He shakes his head slowly. "You don't get it, Brax. I couldn't talk then, and I can't now. You stepped into something that doesn't forgive curiosity."
I stare at him. "Don't play that game with me. I was there. I spent the rest of the night into the early morning learning about laws and rules of whatever it is your father started. How the hell did you get involved in this?"
His swollen face barely moves. "Doesn't matter how."
"The fuck it doesn't," I snap.
"Listen to me, Brax. Stop asking questions and take whatever they say seriously," he asserts.
I hurl, "You dragged me into a blood circus."
"I didn't drag you anywhere. You put your nose where it didn't belong!"
"To protect you because you're like my goddamn brother!"
"I don't need protecting!"
"You sure about that?" I challenge.
Tense silence builds.
Sean's voice comes out way too calm for my nerves. "You don't talk about it. Not here, not anywhere."
My pulse spikes. "You're protecting them! They own you, don't they?"
His eyes flick toward the ceiling, then back at me. "I'm protecting you, idiot. Just because you know about things doesn't mean you can discuss them."
"Easy for you to say. You don't have a Petrov and an Abruzzo trying to secure a leash on you like you're their new pet project," I burst out.
His face pales even with the bruises. "What... No. Don't say anything else. It's dangerous."
It hits like a punch. For a second, I forget to breathe. Then I erupt. "You better start talking, Sean!"
"Brax, you didn't trust me before when I told you to mind your own business. I'm telling you again, but this time, you need to listen and adhere to my words," Sean warns.
Fury curls in my chest. "Are you telling me you joined something that wants to own us like property and you're okay with it?"
He slams his hand on the table. A crack ripples through the room. The wince on his face is unforgettable. He seethes, "Shut up! I'm not going to tell you again."
I scowl at him, and it hits me. Sean O'Malley doesn't buckle for anyone. Not our uncles. Not the cops. Not God himself. I accuse, "You're scared of them."
He takes a painful breath, then declares, "All I'll say is this. I don't know what we're involved in. But I've been warned about keeping my mouth shut. And these people aren't playing games, Brax. So do me a favor and don't get yourself killed."
"Fine. Keep your secrets to yourself." I rise, grab my spare key out of his kitchen drawer, and move toward the exit.
"Brax!" he calls out.
I stop but don't turn back.
"You're my brother. That's not changed. If I could talk to you, I would," he claims.
"Sure. Get better," I spit out, slam the door, and leave the same way I entered.
A new level of anger hits me, and the cold welcomes me like a punishment. I keep my head down, ignoring anyone I pass, the sting in my feet, and the burn of rage under my ribs.
When I finally get to my apartment, I take a shower, put on fresh clothes, and make two ham-and-cheese sandwiches. I scarf them down, then go into my home office.
There are six computer screens on the wall. Sean's uncles, Declan and Nolan, also took me under their wing. At an early age, they taught me how to hack, access the dark web, and find things others never will.
I turn on the power and mutter, "You want to hide your secrets? Then I'll come find them."
I crack my knuckles and start typing.
Kirill Petrov.
I hit enter, then go out to the kitchen and grab a beer from the fridge. The cold feels good sliding down my throat. I take it to my office and sit down, watching the green letters move too fast to read.
The dark net isn't accessible to most. It's not monitored like Google or social media. It's a network of backdoor trails, half-deleted files, government warnings, blacked-out dossiers, and encrypted data nodes labeled "Redacted."