Chapter 24 Petyr
PETYR
The warehouse smells like oil and rust. It’s a familiar scent, one I’ve grown up with for as long as I can remember. Tangy, metallic, a bite with every breath.
The place is dim except for a few overhead lights casting long shadows across stacked crates. Mikhael is pacing near the center, boots echoing off the concrete, jaw tight enough to crack. Ivan leans against a crate with his arms folded. His gaze is fixed on me like I’m the one with answers to give.
Lev comes up as I arrive. “Thank fuck you’re here.”
That does little to improve my mood. “Give me the status update.”
That’s when Mikhael stops pacing. He stomps near, eyes dark as he spits, “The shipment’s gone. How’s that for a fucking update?”
I wait for him to smirk, to say he’s kidding. Mikhael is famously terrible at reading the room.
But tonight, his face remains serious. “Gone,” I echo.
“That’s what I said.”
“Vanished, to be more accurate.” Ivan stands, his tone flat. “Truck, driver—nothing. It’s like they disappeared into thin air.”
Heat builds in my chest, slow and dangerous. “To be clear, we’re talking about the weapons for the Italians.”
“Why? Are there any other vital shipments leaving tonight that you didn’t tell us about?” Mikhael snarks.
I take a deliberate step towards him. “Since you’re feeling so fucking funny, explain to me how this happened.”
“Excuse me?”
“A truckload of weapons is missing. Last I checked, things don’t vanish on their own.” I stare him down hard. “So explain to me how the fuck that happened.”
His eyes widen. “You’re putting this on me?”
“I’m putting this on anyone who thinks it’s acceptable to crack smartass jokes in my face about it.” My gaze turns icy. “Because clearly, they didn’t take their job seriously.”
Mikhail grinds his jaw. I can tell he wants to lash back. Hell, I’m waiting for it. I could use a punching bag right now, and meat and bones always make way more satisfying sounds than lifeless leather.
“We don’t know yet.”
We both turn to Ivan. “You don’t know?” I ask, a dangerous edge to my tone.
“There was no word from the driver,” Ivan says. “No chatter on any of the usual channels. It just went dark on us.”
I ball up my fists. “And the decoy?”
“Untouched.”
Blyat’. The most important shipment of my reign, gone. Dropped off the face of the fucking Earth, just like that.
It’s exactly the kind of problem we can’t afford right now.
“Find it,” I snarl. “I don’t care what you have to do or how many fingers you have to break. You bring that shipment to its destination.” I pop my knuckles. The sound echoes off the bare walls. “And you bring the driver back to me.”
“Petyr,” Ivan cuts in, “maybe we should—”
“No! I snap, slamming my fist into the wall. “I want answers. And since no one here seems to have a fucking clue what went down, I’m going straight to the source.”
“Are you even hearing yourself?” Mikhael butts in again. “You want to know who’s responsible for this? How about you take a look in the fucking mirror, cuz?”
My jaw tightens. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t play dumb.” He closes the space between us, close enough that I can smell tobacco on his breath. “You’re not acting as a leader. Hell, you’re not even acting as a halfway decent stand-in. You’re too busy playing house with your shiny new toy.”
My breath halts. “Say that again.”
“I’ll say it however many times you need to hear it.” He throws his hands up. “You’re thinking with your dick, man. Fucking pussy-whipped, if you ask me.”
I don’t tell him that no one fucking asked.
Until now, I’ve been playing nice with Mikhael out of familial loyalty.
He’s my late uncle Grigoriy’s son—the former heir apparent.
In his shoes, I would have been tempted to throw my shit at the wall, too.
It’s the only reason I haven’t put a bullet in his brain for his insolence yet.
Now, the well of my patience is running dry.
Mikhael takes my silence the wrong way. His lip curls into an ugly sneer. “Admit it. You’re losing your edge. Everyone sees it. They’re just too scared to call it.”
“Is that what you think?” I say. “That I’m not focused enough?”
“I know you aren’t,” he spits. “You’re in your goddamn honeymoon phase. Wining and dining that bitch of a wife instead of keeping your eye on—”
Before I know it, I’ve got his lapels in my fists. “Do not,” I snarl, “call her that.”
A flash of fear darts through his eyes. But he recovers quickly, replacing it with arrogance. “Or what? You’ll put another one of us in the grave?”
“That’s up to you,” I growl against his face.
Every instinct is screaming at me to throw my cousin against the wall. Punch his teeth in, remind him what happens to anyone who crosses the line with me, family or not.
But the rational part of me is whispering, He’s right.
I did take my eye off the ball. I spent the day pampering Sima, taking her shopping, wining and dining her at the most expensive restaurant in the city. I’ve been treating our marriage like it’s real, but it’s not.
It’s a means to an end. Nothing less, nothing more.
And I need to nail that to my goddamn skull.
She is not mine. She is not real. She is nothing but leverage against my enemies.
And when the time comes, I will use her to ruin her own family.
I press Mikhael’s back into the wall. Whether he’s right about this isn’t the point here. I’ll be damned if I let this snotty brat disrespect me in front of my own inner circle, family or not.
“You want to challenge me, Mikh? Go right ahead. But do it with steel, like a goddamn man. Because if all you’ve got for me is words, it’ll be over before the first one leaves your fucking lips.”
Mikhail’s throat works. The bravado is already bleeding out of him. “You don’t want a war with me.”
“No, you don’t want a war with me.” I crush him harder against the wall.
His hands are trying to claw at mine, but he’s not strong as I am.
He didn’t train his whole life to be the pakhan’s muscle.
I did. “Because you’re right: I will put another one of us in the grave, if that’s what it takes to secure my father’s legacy. Now, tell me you understand.”
His lips press into a stubborn line.
“Tell me you understand.”
“I understand,” he mutters finally.
Only then do I let him go.
He drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He doesn’t land gracefully. His leg twists under him, and he yelps. “Ow! You fucking—”
Ivan steps in between us to silence Mikhael before he says more shit he’ll come to regret.
“Find the truck,” I order as Ivan helps Mikhael up. “No more excuses. I want those weapons, and I want them yesterday.”
“Yes, pakhan,” Lev says from the door.
Trust him to be the only one smart enough to keep thirty feet away from the drama.
I stride out and go back to my car. As the wind whips my face, I remind myself of what really matters: finding those weapons, securing my position, and stomping down the ambition of rowdy upstarts like Mikhael.
Nowhere on the list is there room for Sima’s name.