61. Arsen
61
ARSEN
A MONTH LATER
When I walk into my office, I’m glad I stopped to wash the blood from my hands. Because the moment Dominik turns to me, his eyes go looking for it.
“Where’ve you been?” he asks coldly.
“Cleaning up another mess.”
Dominik sighs as I take a seat. “You’ve hunted The Skulldraggers into extinction, Arsen. Don’t you think it’s time you stopped with this vendetta?”
“They’re the reason you were in the hospital for a month.”
“Actually, the Italians are the reason I was in the hospital for a month,” he reminds me. “They’re the ones who put a bounty on Laila’s head. I was collateral damage.”
I ignore his point. Mostly because it’s only been a few weeks, and he’s still healing. I don’t want to fight. Between combing the streets to find any person even quasi-connected to that idiotic motorcycle club so I can give them the agonizing execution they deserve, Marie’s tears and pleas every time I go to visit her, and the stony silence of Laila refusing to answer any of my texts and calls, I’ve done more than enough fighting the last few weeks.
“I have a plan for the Italians,” I tell him when he won’t stop looking at me, waiting for a response. “It’ll take time.”
“A war,” he summarizes quietly. “That’s what you’ve decided, then?”
“It’s what the Italians decided the moment they put that fucking bounty on my wife’s head. You really think I can let that go unanswered?”
“They’re calling you The Butcher. Are you aware of that?”
I am, actually. I finally cornered Cranium last week. He’d evaded capture by hiding out in an old brothel, literally quivering under the skirts of the madam. I left him in her room, holding his own bowels in his hands. Then I killed her for protecting him.
The Butcher is fitting.
“Let’s hope Alessandro Calcagno is aware of it,” I grit out. “ He should know what’s coming for him.”
Dom shakes his head. “This isn’t you, Arsen. You don’t go on murder sprees across the city. You’re being sloppy. You aren’t thinking clearly.”
I arch a brow. “You gonna accuse me of behaving like Yeremy, too?”
“If the shoe fucking fits!”
“I am the pakhan, and I’ll do as I please. I don’t need you to agree, but I do need you to follow. Or did that bullet make you forget the oath you took?”
Dominik’s jaw tightens. “It’s easy to forget, since you don’t demand the same obedience of all your vory .”
I shuffle things around on my desk, trying to hide the shaking in my hands. Rage is bubbling so close to my surface these days that I can barely control it. One wrong word and it’s liable to come erupting out of me.
“I haven’t dealt with Jasper yet, but I will.”
“Sure you will,” Dominik scoffs. “The man has been holed up at the Berkeley safehouse for weeks now?—”
“He’s getting clean. Matvei has been with him twenty-four-seven, making sure he stays sober.”
“And what happens when you let him off his leash? Or do you plan to keep him your little pet for life?”
I rise from my chair. “Bitterness doesn’t suit you.”
Dominik leans back with a wince, reminding me why I can’t hurl him across the room. “What are your plans for the Italians?”
“The fewer people who know, the better.”
“You think I’d leak anything? I’m your closest vor . Your right-hand man.”
“This has nothing to do with not trusting you?—”
“Then tell me the plan!” he explodes. “I’m healing. I can be of use.”
“I’m not questioning your abilities.”
“Then—”
“Your wife is days away from having your baby,” I bark. “She suffered enough while you were in the hospital. I’m not going to add any more stress right now.”
“If I didn’t know my wife any better, I’d think maybe you have a heart, after all.” Dominik sighs and his chin droops to his chest. “But I know the truth. She scared the shit out of you.”
For the first time in weeks, I almost smile. “I believe our last conversation ended with her calling me an ‘arrogant asshole’ and flipping me off.”
“She’s a strong woman.” He not-so-casually cleans his nails before adding, “Not unlike your wife.”
I drop my gaze and pretend again to sift through the files on my desk. “Which is why I know Laila is fine.”
“How would you know? You haven’t spoken to her since she left.”
“Oh? Apparently, I’m not the only one Gedeon’s sending updates to.”
“Gedeon’s not the one giving me updates. Laila is.”
“So she hasn’t forgotten how to use her phone,” I respond coldly. “Good to know.”
After I visit Marie every day, I send Laila an update. Nothing extensive. Just enough to let her know her mother is fine. Laila never responds, but I can hear her furious thoughts in every unanswered message. It doesn’t take a genius to imagine all the things she isn’t saying.
“Nina can hold her head up on her own now,” Dom informs me, lobbing the emotional grenade with precision. “Did you know that?”
I clench my teeth until they groan in protest. “I know they’re safe. That’s all I need to know.”
“Arsen,” he breathes, “bring her back. Laila belongs here.”
“She belongs where I say she belongs,” I snap. “If you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.”
Dominik follows me outside and all the way to my car. “Where are you going?”
“I’m heading over to Hotel Calcagno. There’s a fireworks display there that I’m just dying to see.”
Dominik stops short. “You’re not really— Jesus, Arsen.”
“I told you it would be worth the wait.”
“That hotel is Alessandro’s pride and joy. It’s newly renovated and—I’m sure you don’t need me to remind you—heavily populated.”
“Casualties are expected in war, Dominik. It’s the price of the game we play.”
He grabs my car door before I can close it. “I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
He scowls. “I’m healthy enough to watch a building be torn down. Either I come with you or I follow you. Your choice.”
There is no choice. Either I keep Dominik close so I can look after him, or I risk him being collateral damage to my bullshit once again.
“Get in,” I growl.
As soon as we clear the gates and turn onto the main road, I see a black SUV tearing down the road towards us. The second I realize it’s in our lane, Dominik braces himself against the dash. “Arsen, he’s not slowing?—”
I turn, but they smash into the tail end of my Bugatti, sending us into the tailspin of our lives. The world melts and implodes into a million mismatched shards.
“Hold on!” I roar above the screech of the engine, struggling to get the car back under my control.
Before I can, we ram into a light post, deploying the airbags.
There are stars in my eyes, but I glance over my shoulder and spot the car turning around in the road, preparing to finish the job it started.
“Dom, can you move?”
He beats back the airbag with his fist. “Yes.”
“Then get out,” I order. “Now.”
We roll out of the car and into the grass seconds before the SUV plows into my Bugatti, leaving behind nothing more than twisted, blue shrapnel.
I pull out my gun and rise from the grass. The driver of the SUV and I make eye contact for the briefest of seconds before I put a bullet in his forehead. He deflates like a balloon, blood drenching the headrest behind.
I put two more bullets into the front tires, then a fourth into the shoulder of the passenger. Charging around, I rip open the door and drag the mudak to the dirt. I drive my heel into his wound, pinning him to the asphalt as he grimaces in pain.
“You good, Dom?” I call over my shoulder.
“I’m good!” he yells back, the smoldering body of the Bugatti still between us.
Blood spurts out of my captive’s arm. He’s bellowing, begging for his life.
I aim my gun at his face, maxed out on long, drawn-out murders for one day. “Fuck you, asshole.”
Then I pull the trigger.
Dominik jogs over to me as the man’s body goes limp. “Did you question him? What did he say?” he pants.
“I wasn’t interested in what he had to say,” I snarl, sheathing my gun and walking around the car to make sure the driver is dead.
One quick examination is all it takes. The man is worm food. I’m busy searching the car for evidence when Dominik interrupts.
“Arsen!” His voice is laced with panic. “I found something in his jacket pocket. You’re going to want to see this.”
When I make it back around the car, Dominik is kneeling next to the passenger, something pinched between his fingers.
As I approach, he holds it up to the light. It’s a photograph. A black-and-white candid that I took myself.
Of my wife.
TO BE CONTINUED
Arsen and Laila’s story continues in Book 2 of the Adamov Bratva duet, SCARRED QUEEN .