15. Emil #2
The control panel behind him can disable all active cranes in the yard. Emergency alerts can also be activated here, the alarms loud enough to silence the entire dockyard and scare away the fog.
Access into this room is extremely restricted. Only twenty men in my Bratva have the keys into this room, and yet Alexander is here, swinging around on my chair, his cockiness already crawling under my skin.
“Are you going to tell me how you got in here?” I ask, ghosting my hand over the knife.
Alexander swivels around in the chair, tapping his nose like this is a game.
I’ll win the game by pushing him into the bay. I guarantee he’ll lose in under a minute.
“What fun would that be?” he says, the control panels flashing at his back. “Relax,” he sighs. “I’m not here to blow up your dockyard.”
Of course. How else would this bastard be able to take over?
I fold my arms over my chest, exhausted from the games. Alexander’s face displays similar feelings of exhaustion. The dark circles under his eyes look more like storm clouds, dragging down his entire face. Alexander has always been cursed with a long, flat face, lacking a lot of structure.
Old age is making him look even more depressed.
The bastard has been lacking fulfillment his entire life, my success the only thing he’s ever been counting on.
The failure shows more on his face each time we meet, his cheeks more sunken than the ships he’s lost over the years, his soulless eyes barely resembling a human, or anything living for that matter.
“A ceasefire?” I snort. “Why would I agree to that when I find you in my operations room, treating this place like your own?” I look down at the man, amusement toying with the corners of my mouth. “You’re a walking joke.”
“Who has access into a highly restricted part of the dockyard,” says Alexander, winking.
He twirls around in the chair, an orange hi-vis strung over the back of it, which he should consider wearing if he wants to own this dockyard.
Everyone has to pull their weight at some point, understanding what it means to be a leader.
Success is never handed down on a silver platter, it’s earned, and Alexander strikes me as the kind of man who has never worked a day in his life.
For someone of his age, his hands should be weathered, full of cracks and scars. My lower grade lieutenants have been in more fights than him.
Alexander Kuzmin comes from a wealthy family in Moscow who knows everything about generational fortune and networking events, but nothing about the real world.
And the real world is fucking gruesome.
“Tell me how you got in here.”
“Like you don’t already know,” snorts Alexander. “Keep your enemies close, but your comrades closer.”
“Will you tell me who sold information to you, or will I have to pry the answers out of you myself?” I slip my knife, teasing it over Alexander’s sunken face. Some plastic surgery with this blade might make him look more appealing.
The door bursts open, revealing two of his men, hidden behind black balaclavas. They each have a gun at their hip, standing perfectly still, perpendicular to one another like trained soldiers.
I narrow my eyes down on them, noting their rigid shoulders.
“You run a tight ship, Alexander. Your soldiers should loosen up a bit.”
“I don’t want my soldiers loose. I want them ready.”
“For what exactly?”
“Good question,” chuckles Alexander, rising from the chair.
He’s an entire foot shorter than me, but that doesn’t faze him as he walks over to me, taking confident steps, holding eye contact the entire time.
“While you were cozying up to your little plaything, sticking your cock into something warm and forgetting about your troubles, one of your men was feeding me data about your latest shipping reports. We all lose eventually, and your reign is coming to an end,” says Alexander, challenging me with his soulless eyes.
“You had a second chance, Emil, but you refused to take it.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Yes, indeed we will,” chuckles Alexander. “If you were a true pakhan, you would have abandoned Fia in that hospital, taking her amnesia as a sign from the gods to focus on the things that she caused you to lose sight of.”
Alexander tilts his head to the side, assessing me.
“Who are you without power?” A smirk crawls onto his face.
“I’ll let you answer that question in your own time, the next time you’re losing yourself in pussy instead of being the man your father wanted you to be.
” Alexander keeps looking at me. “I’m glad that man crashed his car right into her, weakening her forces, and yours, because now you’re back to square one, running after a girl who wants answers again.
And second chances are extremely hard to come by in this world.
There’s only so many times a young woman can walk through a dangerous dockyard and come out unscathed… ”
I shove Alexander into the control panel, anger bursting at the seams. Loud clanking booms through the dockyard, metal scraping like a domino effect until an eerie silence washes over the expanse, the howling wind the only movement.
Alexander turns to me, a spark in his eye. “Congratulations on disabling the cranes. You’re closer than you think to handing the power over to me.”
“The power would obliterate you,” I sneer, sliding my blade under Alexander’s chin, ready to see blood.
The two soldiers jolt into action as if powered by a remote control. They’re half my size and age. Disarming them is too easy. I fling my arm around both of their necks, squeezing until they have no other choice but to drop the weapons.
I release them, taking a step back. “You still want that ceasefire?” I say, staring dead into Alexander’s cold eyes.
“It involves you standing down.”
“You might want to rethink your definition of a ceasefire, then.”
“You’ll be the one begging for it when you continue acting recklessly and cause harm on Fia and the twins.”
Rage burns through my veins, my blood turning to steam. “How the fuck do you know she’s pregnant?”
“You underestimate me, Emil. I’m more resourceful than you think,” says Alexander, taking a step forward. He tips his chin, challenging me again with all the confidence in the world. “Threaten me or any of my men with your knife again and Fia faces the consequences.”
I clench my hands into fists. The initial anger passes, making room for a sudden realization to dawn on me. “You said a man crashed into Fia. How do you know this?”
“Like I said,” Alexander says, smirking. “I’m more resourceful than you think.”