Chapter 2
RANSOME
“That’s a lot of zeroes,” Baron says as we both stare at the tablet in front of us.
Those zeroes follow a number showing our profit, a profit that has quadrupled since the El Paso deal launched.
“I can’t believe we are really pulling it off,” he says as we walk back into the main warehouse where the trucks are docked.
There are four here right now. Two unloading, their hot engines emitting tired exhaust from the heavy run, and two ready to go back out.
The shipments are nonstop, no breaks between pick-up, drop-off, and distribution. Hence the zeroes.
“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when an outdated leader steps down and a new man takes his place.”
“I gotta say, things have been much smoother since you became pakhan, cuz,” he grins as we watch workers unload hundreds of blocks of cocaine.
“Again, knowledgeable leadership is everything.”
And he’s right. Ever since my dad was forced to step down (for more reasons than one), things have been running much smoother.
Not to mention more lucratively. The Chadovichs have gone silent, hiding in the sewers like the rats that they are.
No one questions my decisions or challenges my authority.
My father is no longer calling meetings at all hours of the day and the night, so I am finally able to compartmentalize my two jobs.
Although, I’m not going to lie, the help could be better.
“How’s the new assistant?” Baron asks as if he can read my mind. Hell, sometimes I’m pretty sure he can. Ever since the shootout six months ago, he’s stepped up even more, filling the role of my best friend. Cousin, right arm, wingman. If he made good coffee, I wouldn’t need a new assistant at all.
I frown at the mention of Vera. “She got my coffee order wrong. Again.”
“Yikes. I guess not everyone can be…”
“Don’t. Say. Her. Name.”
“I wasn’t going to.” Baron puts his hands up defensively.
Almost saying her name is still an inch too close for me. The reality is that she’s gone, and I am making do.”
Even if my coffee isn’t the right temperature and my dry-cleaning is always late.
“Listen, boss. I know you don’t like talking about the past—”
“I don’t. So end your sentence there.”
“But have you kept tabs on her and her siblings at all?”
“I said we aren’t talking about it,” I bark out.
But Baron doesn’t know when to quit. When he is concerned about something, he doesn’t stop until it’s resolved. He’s always been annoyingly detail-oriented on the logical side of things, ever since we were kids.
“I’m just saying. You told her to get lost, right? To leave and never come back. And so far she hasn’t.”
“Which means for once in her stubborn, hot-headed, unruly life, she followed orders. And I suggest you do the same and shut up.”
“I just think that if you don’t know where she is, that in itself could be dangerous.”
“She’s somewhere out west,” I tell him. “I tracked her that far. After that, she and her bratty siblings went dark. If I had to guess, she knows how beneficial it is to keep her mouth shut. She was afraid the last time we spoke, and she should be. As far as I am concerned, loose lips lose fingers. And there are no exceptions to that.”
“Yeah, alright.”
It’s a temporary surrender, and I know it. Baron isn’t going to let this go. Which is why I have to crush his efforts every time he brings up the subject.
She didn’t exactly leave here on good terms with me.
I told her to get lost enough that no one could ever find her.
And from the looks of it, she did exactly that.
She went dark. Dark enough that in three months of hunting, I wasn’t able to locate her or her brother and sisters.
Obviously, if I really wanted to find them, I probably could.
But if that’s the amount of effort it takes, she’s gone enough.
I also sent her off with a substantial severance check.
A check I told her I wouldn’t clear without an NDA.
Granted, HR took care of that, not me. All I know is that, after a few stubborn hours, the NDA came back with her digital signature, and I released the money.
It’s enough for her to live on for a while.
Enough to get them a decent rental and whatever else they need for new identities. Enough to safeguard me.
It has nothing to do with my feelings for her. Because after everything that happened with Tristan—after watching Maverick being wheeled unresponsive into the back of an ambulance—I have no feelings. Not as far as she is concerned.
Maverick survived the gunshot wound. Somehow, it went straight through his shoulder and missed everything that mattered, though he did spend a week in the hospital and another couple months in rehab. He didn’t want to, of course, but I gave him no choice.
“I already lost a brother,” I snapped at him that day. “I don’t need to lose a friend.”
After that, he gave in. Besides, it’s a perk if he’s not completely useless when he comes back. His shoulder needs to be able to rotate. Otherwise, he’s a sitting duck, and I have no need for him in my ranks.
“Have you heard anything about Tristan?” I ask Baron, changing the subject.
“Nope.” Barons shakes his head. We are both watching the white bricks move assembly-line style from the truck to the loading dock and down. “But if I’m being honest, I have a hard time believing he’s just gone.”
“I do too,” I admit. “He’s lurking somewhere. Even if he is licking his wounds, you know he’s watching. Waiting to pounce.”
“And when he does, we’ll crush him.”
I nod. “Yes, we will. That’s the difference between the old way and the new way. There is only room for one pakhan now. And that man is me.”
That makes Baron grin. It’s the one thing we can both agree on.
We make our way out to our cars. Baron calls over to me. “You want to grab a drink? It’s been a long week; I think we deserve a little R&R.”
As much as I want to say yes, I don’t. “Not today,” I tell him.
“Duty calls?” he asks with a hint of a smirk, and it’s a good thing he’s on the other side of the car or I’d knock it off his face.
“Always,” I say dryly.
“Well, if you do decide to come out, I’ll be at Oliver’s.”
He’s referring to a whiskey bar downtown on the line that separates Rozanov and Chadovich territory.
Honestly, it’s ours. Most of the city is now.
But I’m not stupid enough to think they’re gone completely.
Their residual presence will forever have me sleeping with one eye open, especially with Tristan being completely M.I.A.
“I won’t. But while you’re there—”
“I know. Keep an ear to the ground. Always, boss.”
“He’ll strike eventually,” I remind him.
“And we’ll cut him off at the knees when he does.” He smirks again. “Can’t wait.”
Snarky or not, Baron is a good man. More than that, he’s family. And I never take a good man—or family—for granted.
Especially when they can be taken so quickly.
I park my car in the front of the estate under the awning. I have a garage with enough space for it as well as my other two vehicles, but I like to keep this one in the drive, ready to go at a moment’s notice.
I hate living in the estate, if I’m being honest. This is the main house, my father’s house.
He has since purchased another estate on the other side of the city where he and my mother attend parties at all hours of the day and night, ignoring the current affairs and simply living off their profits. Typical behavior for a retired pakhan.
The penthouse has been sold. I got rid of it as soon as I got rid of her. And my personal estate, the one I was living in, is empty. As much as I’d rather be there than my father’s house, sometimes you have certain compromises to keep the peace, as well as face. Unfortunately, this is one of them.
I make my way inside and head towards the scent of stroganoff wafting from the kitchen.
I’m not used to homecooked meals, not like this anyways.
I’ve always ordered precooked dinners that I heat up as needed or eat at meetings.
Gourmet food cooked in the kitchen of the home I live in has been another one of those compromises, an adjustment that feels forced. Even if my stomach does like it.
“Just in time.” Our family cook Julia smiles over at me, her accent thick. “It will be ready in five minutes. Don’t be late or it won’t be hot.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. She’s a likable old lady, though she is a bit ridged around the edges. Maybe that’s why I like her. She’s no nonsense and to the point. She’s also phenomenal at the stove.
“Good. Now wash up. You smell like kokain.”
I almost smile at that. I also ignore it and walk into my office.
After pouring myself two fingers of imported vodka, I sit down and exhale for the first time today. The clear liquid hits my lips, crisp and clean. Typically, I’m a whiskey man. But days like today, I need something with a bite.
Just as I swallow, the familiar velvety voice snakes its way into the room, wrapping itself around me like the tail of a cat wanting to be pet.
“Hello, Mr. Rozanov.” Jenica stands in the doorway, dressed as if she’s going somewhere that calls for satin and heels, though I know she isn’t.
My eyes meet hers, a mutual understanding of the situation between us. The terms we both came to accept. The life we had to agree to live to make it where we are today.
“Hello… Mrs. Rozanov.”