Chapter 9
Kazimir
The Zvezda waits quietly at dock, its namesake—a star—painted in bright white on a dark hull. Behind dark glass on the second, third, and fourth decks, my men are clearing each room. Making sure this competitor hasn’t bugged or planted anything before my arrival.
I step out of the SUV, scanning the marina.
It’s sparse; only two other yachts are docked at the long pier.
The dockmaster’s hut at the end is staffed by the uncle of one of my men.
Across the bay are smaller, more compact piers with little fishing charters and weekend wake boats jostling in the water.
“Ready?” Nika asks, his voice tight in the earpiece.
I nod, knowing he can see me from whatever deck he’s supervising the men on.
“All clear,” he confirms. “Eight minutes until arrival. Inessa confirmed that his crew just turned east on Bryant.”
“Good. Keep me updated if anything changes. I’ll see you shortly.”
Moving toward the gangway, I board the yacht and check with Davis that everything is in place. A light meal on the flybridge, surveillance from the nearby Regency Hotel’s rooftop just in case he decides not to respect boundaries.
The bartender and butler are both certified killers in dress clothes, ready to pull hidden knives or choke someone out if needed. But hopefully, this new blood isn’t stupid enough to try anything in my territory.
Minutes later, a bright white Eldorado pulls into the marina. I go still at the railing, staring.
“Is this a joke?”
None of the men on the line utter a response; it’s a rhetorical question. The cars that follow the Eldorado are inconspicuous, but newer. A Camry, an Accord, a minivan with six men inside. They’re all stone-faced, watching as their leader gets out of the Eldorado with an older man at his side.
Anger threads through me. Clearly, this new blood doesn’t take our world seriously. He has on baggy beige shorts that fall below his knees. He looks overly comfortable in his unbuttoned floral shirt and sunglasses. He looks like a tourist.
That’s how I’ll treat him then.
Stupid enough to set foot on my dock and come after my ports.
“Bring him up,” I growl, eyes locked onto the man called Hinto as he swaggers happily toward the pier. He’s gesturing, chatting away. At least his companion has the decently to appear composed and respectful. Closer to me in age, he wears dress pants and a button-down with a tie.
Hinto is escorted onto the Zvezda. His exclamations can be heard before he even reaches the flybridge.
“—private terrace!? Wonderful! And the sunroof, I’ll have to remember that when I buy my first yacht.”
His laugh irritates me to the point where I can’t sit still in my chair, shifting and clenching my jaw, wanting to down a drink. But this meeting is best done sober. I have a feeling that Hinto makes himself look like more of an idiot than he is; or else he wouldn’t have made it this far.
He steps onto the bridge, grinning from ear to ear, sunglasses reflecting my hulking figure at the table that’s been set for us. My eyes narrow.
“Mr. Baranov! How exquisite to finally meet you in the flesh. I’m sure,” he grins, holding out a hand, “I need no introduction.”
It hits me that this might all be some kind of play to get a reaction out of me. Taking his hand, I don’t shake it, but squeeze it. Slowly and firmly until his grin widens.
Then my eyes look at his companion.
“Douglas,” he says dismissively, not bothering to look at the man who stands a few yards away. “My operations manager.”
I say nothing, but appreciate that he is very clearly a capable man. Douglas’s eyes look vacant while taking everything in. Finally, a small smile forms on my lips.
“A pleasure. Please. Sit.”
Abram, the server, takes a place silently next to the table. “Coffee,” I say, pinning Hinto with my gaze. He takes the hint, the grin ever-present on his face, and asks, “What are the chances you have Mezcales Unicos on board?”
Without saying anything, Abram steps toward the bar. I don’t deign to comment on Hinto’s choice; a top-shelf liquor that I, of course, do stock.
“I’m told,” I say slowly, not bothering to touch the food before us, “that you and I need to have a conversation. So you understand who owns what and where not to step foot unless you want to lose one or several appendages.”
“Clear sights on the men,” Nika says quietly in the earpiece. “I’m in with the captain, Kazimir. Liev is receiving real-time updates on the conversation.”
I settle deeper into my chair, content. Back at Baranov Tech, Liev will be listening in and strategizing with the rest of our team. Figuring out just how big a threat Hinto really is; how badly he wants my territory.
The younger man doesn’t bother answering, not until his drink arrives moments later and he takes a sip. He hums appreciatively, gesturing to Douglas as if to offer him one; the slightest shake of his head and Hinto chuckles.
“I could get used to it here,” he murmurs, gazing back toward the city.
It’s mid-day, the streets busy, a horse-drawn carriage passing one of those pedal-bars as a group of tipsy women laugh and pedal furiously.
Fishing boats are coming in from early morning charters to offload their catch into waiting vans full of ice.
Shipments are arriving, though only certain people would know what to look for: weapons and tech sold to the highest bidder. All are absent from the manifests and ready to be shipped out on my jets.
Hinto’s smirk drops when he turns back to me, and an ice-cold feeling drips down my spine. When he removes his sunglasses, his eyes are flat and empty. Soulless.
“Let’s not pretend that I don’t know who you are, Mr. Baranov. And what you control. Let’s not pretend that you don’t know what I want.” He leans forward, flicking a piece of sashimi off the plate. In the background, Abram shifts.
“We do not necessarily do business in the same… industry. But I see that as a positive, Kazimir. Can I call you Kazimir?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “All I need are two ports; a dozen places for my boats to dock and offload. We can negotiate, or I can take them by force. It’s up to you.”
He finishes the mezcal and locks eyes with me.
“I think it’d be in both our interests to avoid a territory war, don’t you? You’ve been quite comfortable here since your uncle passed, haven’t you?” That damn smirk, like a coyote. “You’re due for a challenge. If you insist.”
My knuckles crack when I roll them. The tension in my body doesn’t ease, but I try to shift it to something useful. “Perhaps you haven’t done your research. I didn’t get this territory by giving things away.”
“No, I don’t imagine you did. But you didn’t have to fight for it, either, did you? It was an inheritance of sorts.” Hinto leans forward again, those eyes dead despite his smile. “Me? I had to claw my way up out of the streets of Colombia. And now, here I am. In beautiful Savannah.”
He glances back toward land, a thoughtful look on his face. “After this, I’m meeting with a realtor to view a penthouse or four. Do you have any suggestions for where I should settle in?”
Ignoring the question, I turn instead to hard facts.
“My reach goes far, Hinto. Not just in Savannah but outside of this state to the north, and across the ocean to Europe. I have friends who would gladly come to my aid, if only to ensure their shipments arrive on time. One call and a bounty placed, and I’m not sure how easy it would be for you to find one place to dock one boat, much less a dozen. ”
“You might be right.” He laughs, tipping his head back toward his man.
“Douglas has had our team look into you. It’s impressive, your client list, and it doesn’t overlap much with mine.
Unsurprisingly, my goods tend to make it into the gutters and the junkie’s veins, not the palaces of the elite.
But there’s one thing you should know, Baranov.
Douglas is very good at finding weaknesses, and yours involves root beer. ”
Jerking upright, I hit the kill button on the earpiece, shutting down the entire system.
Hinto continues, his eyes finally lighting up with something like chaos, “…three nights a week, and a rather busty bartender.”
Images flash through my mind: the men I noticed only days ago outside of Common Soul; Aly at The Foundry, the way the light there softens her features; her laughter at dinner; the way she moaned as my fingers pressed against the very core of her.
No.
“If you so much as touch her—”
“Oh, I won’t, but that doesn’t mean she won’t go missing.”
Seething, I stand, ignoring the plates shattering to the deck as the table rocks under my palms.
Hinto stands as well, slower, smoother, gesturing for Douglas—who has adjusted his stance to one of readiness, as has Abram—to stand down.
“It’s just a suggestion,” the twisted Hispanic says mildly, sunglasses dropping back over his eyes. “Think on it. Let me know within the next few days. I won’t set a deadline, but…” he shrugs. “If she goes missing, you’ve waited too long.”
It takes everything in me not to launch across the table, wrap my hands around his throat, and kill him in broad daylight.
I can’t.
With three dozen men between us, it would put more blood on my hands than I’m comfortable with.
Hinto saunters to the stairway, doubtless seeing my restraint as weakness.
But my mind is whirring. Figuring out the next move.
Calculating.
I won’t let this man bring drugs into my city and my ports. I won’t compromise my operations just because he wants to make money off of death and addiction.
And I won’t let him touch Alyona.
Not as long as I’m breathing. And even then, I’d tear my way back from the dead to save her.
“What the fuck was that?”
Liev’s voice is flat as I pace the hidden room at my home, two stories underground and known only to a handful of my men.
Nika stands stock-still near the door, gaze ping-ponging between us.
They both know it was no accident that I cut the feed. They both know that there’s something I didn’t want them to hear.
The pressure builds in my body until I feel choked, until the muscles in my shoulders are ropes of steel. I can’t do this without them; without him.
“It’s Aly.”
I stop and turn and face my best friend.
My brother.
“He threatened Aly.”
Liev’s face drains of color. He stares at me across the room, chest slowly heaving under the t-shirt he’s wearing. Despite his age—our age, as he’s only a handful of years younger than I am—the muscles in his arm bunch, veins popping as he barely contains himself.
“Chto za khuinya, Kaz?”
What the fuck? It’s a valid question. I’m still reeling from Hinto’s threat, caught off guard by him knowing my secret.
Seven years I’ve kept it close.
“I don’t know,” I grit out. “But he’s found out that she’s connected to us somehow.” I avoid looking at Nika, worried that they’ll both be able to see it in my eyes; that Liev will sense the betrayal and kill me right here.
“Maybe the night at the restaurant,” Nika steps in quickly.
Some of the pressure lifts. Briefly.
“That was less than a week ago,” Lev says. “Less than a week ago, this man decided on a whim to hope that a young woman we were with would be enough of a bargaining chip for you to give up territory, Kaz?”
We stare at one another, neither willing to back down. Decades lie between us—bodies we’ve buried, crimes we’ve committed, an empire we built on blood and charred bones.
“It doesn’t matter.”
When I say the words, I don’t say them as his brother.
I don’t say them as his friend.
I say them as Kazimir Baranov, Pakhan, ruthless tech innovator who isn’t afraid to kill to get what he wants.
I say the words as the man Liev Demsky swore to protect and obey the day my uncle died.
I say them knowing that if it comes down to it, I’d make him disappear if it meant saving her.
“Alyona is in danger. We need her safe before I can move against Hinto, and that means figuring out how to ensure he’ll never lay a hand on her.”
The veins in Liev’s arms are pounding with blood, his breathing harsh in the quiet room. But he doesn’t disagree.
Which means there might be just enough sense behind his blind anger to make him consider the plan I’ve been forming since I left the yacht.
The one that makes Aly mine. At least until I can burn this obsession with her out of me.