Chapter 27
ROMAN
“I should rally the men and stomp the fucking Syndicate out for good.”
My father turns away to pour a drink at the bar cart. I glance at Stepan at the same time he glances at me, shaking his head almost imperceptibly as if to say “just keep quiet.”
Usually a wise choice when it comes to my father during one of his rants.
Obviously, shit has hit the fan in the last few weeks in the wake of Dasha's disappearance.
…Thanks to Val.
On the one hand, what he did was supremely fucked up and beyond reckless. But on the other?
He did it for me.
The upside is that I’m no longer marrying a woman I have zero interest in, who similarly has zero interest in me.
The downside?
“It will be total fucking war!!”
Yeah, that.
My father whirls, slugging back his drink before he jabs a finger at Stepan. “If I wanted to attack tomorrow, what would be our best option for an easy target?”
Stepan frowns, sighing. “Pakhan, none of my intel channels suggest Vaughn Bancroft had anything to do with Ms. Lukashova’s disappearance.”
Papa scowls at him. “Fuck your intel channels.” He beats on his own chest. “I’ve been in this game my entire fucking life, and my gut tells me Vaughn is behind this. And even if he isn’t?” He smiles darkly. “Chaos breeds uncertainty. Uncertainty makes men sloppy. Now is the perfect time to strike.”
Stepan’s brow furrows. “Boss, all respect, but as your number two, I cannot advise—”
“Fuck your advisements, Stepan,” Papa grunts. “Grow some balls!”
I clear my throat. “I think Stepan's right, Papa. The Obsidian Syndicate is powerful in ways I don’t think we truly appreciate. European allies, Russian allies…” I frown. “A war with them would be suicide.”
My father glares at me silently, saying nothing. Slowly, he finishes his drink and sets the glass down on the corner of his desk before he walks over to me.
“Papa—”
I grunt when the back of his hand suddenly crashes into the corner of my mouth, sending fireworks through my vision as my head slaps sideways.
“What the fuck did you do, eh?!” he roars at me when I turn back to look at him, my teeth bared. “Why did she run?! Caught you fucking around?!”
He jams a finger into my chest.
“I told you, don’t get caught, you dumb little shit! And if you do, you remind your woman who she belongs to! You remind her of her place!”
“Fuck—”
A strong hand lands on my shoulder as I step towards my father. I whirl to see Stepan glaring at me.
“Respect your father, Roman,” he rumbles.
“Da,” Papa snarls, jamming a finger in my chest again. “Respect. Little shit.”
He turns away. When he does, Stepan squeezes my shoulder. I glance back at him and he shakes his head side to side, mouthing “please” and looking at me with kind, determined eyes.
“Not when he’s like this,” he murmurs under his breath as he dips his mouth to my ear and pats my shoulder.
“I didn’t do anything,” I growl, turning back to my father.
“No? She just ran off?” he snaps, whipping around to glare at me.
“It would appear that way, pakhan,” Stepan says. “The Lukashov family is, suffice to say, fuming, and tearing the city apart. If they thought Roman or any of us was to blame, I’m sure we’d know.”
My father grits his teeth. “Da. Bogdan and I spoke earlier. He’s…” He looks away, his shoulders lowering. “He doesn't think it was us.” Papa peers closely at me again. “So it better not be.”
“It’s not, Papa,” I growl.
He watches me, his eyes cold. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you don’t seem too upset about any of this.”
“I didn’t want to marry her.”
He snorts. “Why not? Money, consolidation of power, enormous tits?” He scowls at me. “What more do you want?”
My jaw tightens. “Love. I didn’t love her.”
He barks a cold, chilling laugh. “Love?!” He sneers at me. “What are you, a sissy boy? A pidoraz? Marriage isn’t about love, Roman. It’s about power.” He walks around to the other side of his desk and sits. “On that note, it’s time to start playing this game more aggressively.”
Stepan frowns worriedly. “Pakhan?”
Papa pushes the intercom button on his desk. “Send them in,” he barks.
His office door suddenly opens. Stepan and I turn to see three surly, gruff, military types stride in.
It takes me a second to recognize the obvious leader, a heavily tanned middle-aged man with silvering, crewcut hair, a stocky build and a scar on his jaw, dressed in khakis and a black leather jacket. But when I do…
Fuck.
“You remember Gunner Krige, yes?”
There’s no stopping the sour expression that spreads over my face.
Yeah, I know Gunner and his men.
Papa hired the South African mercenaries who specialize in hunting down targets a couple of times: first, when one of his top avtoritets raided one of our trafficking houses and ran off with about two mil in cash and another two-point-five in coke.
The second time was when a girl Papa was seeing went AWOL with some diamond jewelry that wasn’t exactly hers to keep.
I was forced to witness the conclusions to both those “hunts”, and I’m not sure I’ll ever rid myself of those memories, especially the girlfriend.
I also know Gunner and his men via the Black Court, though he obviously never knew me as me there.
We hired him and his men to track down especially elusive people we’d targeted for trial by the Black Court.
But when our first “target” came to us missing an eye and fucking hand, we realized what a sadistic psychopath he was, and parted company with Gunner and his goons.
Stepan also clearly remembers who he is, and bristles as Gunner and his men come to a stop in the middle of the room.
“Pakhan,” Stepan growls, turning to my father. “If I may have a word—”
“You may not,” Papa grunts. “Dasha Lukashova is worth too much to not be found or to have someone else find her. You will give Gunner and his men free and open use of our resources, is that clear?”
When Stepan doesn’t reply, Papa walks over and gets right in his face.
“I said is that clear, Stepan,” he snarls.
“Da, pakhan.”
“Good,” Papa growls. Then he turns to smile at Gunner. “Welcome back to New York, my friend.”
“Ja, good to be here,” Gunner grins savagely. He pulls a pack of Dutch cigarettes from his pocket and slips one between his lips, lighting up without asking for permission.
“As I was explaining to my number two,” Papa continues, “you and your men have whatever you need at your disposal.”
Gunner nods, sucking on his cigarette. “To start, we need a base of operations for our hunt.”
Papa grins. “The old club is yours.”
I shudder inside. The defunct nightclub deep in Brooklyn is where my father made me watch Gunner “go to work” on the people he’d hunted for Papa.
The South African grins a toothy, gold-glinting smile. “I remember the place,” he sighs fondly. “Good memories, ja?”
Papa turns to grin at Stepan and I.
“We are going to be the ones to find your runaway bride, boy,” he snaps.
“And when we do, Bogdan will owe me for life. Between that and the marriage?” He smiles darkly.
“I will have Cosimo Sangrini’s ear.” I grit my teeth when he jabs a finger in my direction.
“That’s your future, Roman. An empire for the ages. ”
He walks over to me, clapping me heavily on the shoulder.
“This wedding will happen,” he growls. “Be a fucking man about it. Do not disappoint me.”