Chapter Eleven
In which the standoff continues.
Alexsey…
The next day…
Liria was crying last night when I passed by her bedroom. The sound was muffled like she had her hand over her mouth, but I have excellent hearing.
Crying hopelessly. Big, gasping sobs. As she should be. But not for the luxurious life in Boston she was probably mourning. Liria should be mourning the men my family lost, or the damage done to the survivors. For the pointless harm done by her fucking family.
After hearing her, I went to the gun range in my basement and emptied a clip from my Magnum .357, shooting with my right hand.
My aim is still shit.
Same with the Glock. Rifle accuracy is good, but that's because of the way I can hold it.
The gun stock makes it easier to fire, the action is more deliberate.
I was first in my class as a sharp shooter at the Ares Academy.
The sun was starting to rise when I went back upstairs to get a couple of hours of sleep.
I left early today, before Liria came out of her room. When I arrived at work, I got a text from Danyl, her bodyguard, who said she'd asked to go out to breakfast and see her mother. My lips tightened.
Liria will be fine; long days of shopping, occasionally hitting the gym. I know she'll probably find lots of idle rich girls to hang out with, and my sisters-in-law with their ridiculously soft hearts have already reached out. I'm sure she'll be kept busy.
I'm in my office at the Morozov International office building, trying to focus on the specs of the ship my team and I are going to board when it tries to slip into the New York Harbor tonight.
It's carrying a shipment of high-grade military drones that I've been wanting to get my hands on- My hand on, I think bitterly, for the last month.
Going back to the cargo ship specs, I find their blind spot on the starboard side, no cameras or radar reception.
It'll be easy to board there. I drum my fingers on my desk, grinning.
This is just what I need, a little bloodshed, an expensive cargo seized, to get me back in action.
I may have lost my ability to paint, but oh, my blood lust is still very much in place.
Looking at my watch, I groan. Tolya, my Vtoroy, my second in command looks up from the aerial scan of the dock area we're using tonight. "Who are we going to kill?" he asks, eyeing my expression.
"I have an appointment at the clinic," I growl, pushing my chair back.
"The killing would have been more fun," he mumbles as we head for the car.
Tolya is a man with an unconquerable sunny nature and a deep love of expensive suits and murder.
"You look like you'd rather fill the clinic with C4 and blow it sky high.
Like you're trying to choose between arson or a functioning hand and it looks like it's a dilemma for you. "
Tolya is one of the only people I'd ever let talk to me like that, we've worked together since our years at the Academy and he knows me better than anyone, aside from my brothers.
"I need to get fitted for my prosthetic so I can get back to work and stop letting you have all of the fun. You've had to carry everything this last month, which is bullshit."
"And I enjoyed every minute of it," he says graciously. "That said, it's good to see you back in action.”
"If I'd ever thought of taking a month off, it would be spent traveling through Europe, hitting every museum and art gallery…
" I shake my head. "No. I'd lounge in a beach house in the Cayman Islands with half a dozen pretty girls to share it with me.
A hospital bed and rehab," I say sourly, "was not what I had in mind. "
Mother is in the hallway at her clinic, talking to one of the visiting doctors.
The Morozov Bratva runs a boutique mini hospital/medical clinic for families in organized crime.
A gunshot wound can be treated quietly here, all the suspicious wounds that would require a police report at a regular hospital.
"There you are," she says, giving me a kiss on the cheek. "I knew you'd show up." Mother always grins when she sees me, a huge smile, as if she's genuinely delighted that I'm her son.
"You're not going to be hovering while I'm fitted, are you?" I ask.
"The way you favored your left arm last night," she says, balancing a load of medical charts, "made it look like the current prosthesis is uncomfortable. With this new one, we can reconnect some of your nerve endings. It's going to be so much – "
"Mother, I'm here because I have to, and I will get fitted." I interrupt her as politely as I can. "I haven't agreed to the surgery yet. I've seen enough of operating rooms."
She smiles, it's a sad one, but not pitying. I'll never get that from her, thank God. "Try it out, moy syn," she says. "That's all I can ask for."
To my irritation, Choi is there along with a vivacious woman in her twenties.
Sally has a relentlessly perky personality and a ponytail that sways every time she bounces with excitement.
Which is often. "Mr. Choi and I were just talking about your prosthesis," she says happily.
"We're so excited to show you the new test findings!
" Choi does not look excited. He looks like he'd rather be lighting up another one of his revolting, hand-rolled cigarettes.
Sally shows me a video extolling all the significant medical advances of this new device, test subjects manipulating the fingers of their prosthesis through neurostimulation, the hand curling into a fist. There's a cheerful montage of people using their prosthesis to pick things up.
The items are all light. I wonder how it would handle the heft of a submachine gun.
Enduring the initial measurements, I stare in silence at the thing she slides onto my arm.
She's eager to break the silence. "Once we attach the nerves and tendons, you're going to be amazed at how much more seamless it can feel."
To me, it looks like another piece of flesh-colored plastic and metal. An alien something attached to my body. "I'll contact you when I'm ready to set a date for the procedure," I say.
Sally's happy smile droops a little at the corners. "Of course." She brightens instantly, "We're both here if you have any questions!" Her relentless good cheer puts me in a foul mood after I leave the clinic and I'm eager for nightfall so I can tear into the cargo ship.
A call comes through from Roman and I almost let it go to voicemail, but tap it at the last minute.
"Hey, brother, you need to save me from the females taking over my house," he says.
There's a lot of talking and laughing behind him and I can hear the high tones of Violet's twin sisters, cackling over something they've done to another innocent man, no doubt.
Rose and Iris are only eighteen, but they have carved out the ability to make a man lose his will to live within hours of association.
"Please," I snort. "You lost the battle the day you brought them there."
"Violet and the girls want to know if you can bring Liria over for dinner," he says.
"They're excited to get to know her." I hear him shut the door and in a lower tone, he asks, "Liria. When I saw her last night… She’s the girl from Boston, isn't she?
From the museum. How the fuck does that happen? Did you ever give your real name?"
"No," I say. "She slipped out the next morning before I could talk to her." I give a humorless chuckle. "I'd thought about going back to Boston more than once and finding her."
"That's the most fucked up bit of serendipity I've ever heard of," he says. "Back to Violet, she's fucking relentless. Please tell me that you two can come to dinner tonight."
"I'm busy tonight," I say. "That shipment of military drones comes in at 11pm and I'll be there to take them."
"Really?" Roman's tone is noticeably more eager. "Mind if I join you? I've heard a lot about these, they're the long-range explosive models, right?"
"Yes, they are," I smile darkly. "And I have plans for them."
"You know I love it when you get all weird and mad scientist-like," Roman says approvingly. “Send me the meeting point and time. I'll be there."
"But what about family dinner?" I ask in a sickly-sweet tone.
There's a short silence and I can tell he's wrestling with his devotion to all things Violet versus blowing shit up with me.
After another moment, blowing shit up with me wins out.
"I'll let Violet know that we have something to do tonight.
She never holds sudden disappearances against me.
" His tone softens. "You haven't spoken to Liria all day, have you? "
"Did you bug my loft, brother?" I rotate my left arm, trying to ease the ache. "It's not your fucking business. Do I ask you about Violet?"
"All the time," he shoots back. "Maybe text Liria so she at least knows you're alive?"
"I doubt she cares any more than I'm concerned about her well-being," I say. "I instructed Danyl to take her wherever she wants to go. She's got a chase car with two more bodyguards, so she's well covered."
"Until we're sure there's no more fuckery from the Krasniqi handover, that's a good idea," he says approvingly.
"I know you don't want to hear it, but Ava and Mother are planning to throw a party to introduce her to New York society, and by default, the crime world.
They want to make it clear she's under our protection. "
The thought of having to escort a Krasniqi around the room and introduce her to friends and foes as my wife is about as appealing as getting my other hand shot off. My grip tightens on the phone. "We'll see," I say shortly. "I'll see you tonight. Dock Nineteen."
"I'll be there," Roman promises.