Chapter 59 Ransome
RANSOME
I’m walking into a trap.
I’m not stupid. I know that’s what this is.
Tristan wants to duke it out, not in the way our dads would do it.
Not over drinks with agreements of truce and big words and heavy stares.
Tristan wants a fight. He used bait, lured me in, and I know that walking through the doors of the warehouse where he is holding Gianni hostage is idiotic.
It’s dark, unfamiliar, and I am at a complete disadvantage.
But I have to get to him. I know what it’s like first hand to lose a brother, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let Amara feel anything even close to that in her lifetime.
I walk into the open space of the building.
It’s an old, abandoned warehouse on the waterfront, smack in the middle of Chadovich territory, and it smells like fish and cocaine.
They must process here. It’s empty and dark, except for a flickering light in the distance hanging over a wilted silhouette.
Gianni.
I walk at a steady space, my eyes sweeping the room methodically as I do.
I am aware that he is probably lurking in the shadows.
His men might be with him, waiting for me to cross a certain line so they can jump me or take out a kneecap with a well-calculated bullet.
But I reach the flickering light unscathed.
Gianni is tied to the chair, hunched over. He’s bound, gagged, the usual. I place a hand on his back and he jumps so hard, the chair nearly falls over. Every muscle in his body flexes as he prepares to fight.
“Easy, kid. It’s just me. Are you hurt?” My voice is low, but not low enough not to echo. It doesn’t really matter though. It’s not like my presence is unknown.
I pull the gag from his mouth and watch as Gianni chews on the nothingness for a minute. Then I wipe the sweat from his brow.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says.
“Neither should you. You also shouldn’t be dealing with Tristan. He’s bad news, obviously. But none of that matters right now. I’m going to get you out of here.”
“No.” He shakes his head and the lights pound on over us, section by section, until the entire room is lit up. “You need to leave, Ransome. Make sure my sisters are okay and—”
“Rozanov.”
Tristan’s voice echoes through the room.
I turn to see him standing in the distance casually, a smile on his face and a pistol in his hand.
He’s using the end of the barrel to scratch his leg.
I reach for the gun tucked into the back of my slacks, but before my hand even circles my waist, he aims his at Gianni.
“I wouldn’t,” he says.
I stop and bring my empty hand back to where he can see it.
As he saunters towards us, sights still on Gianni’s head, he talks. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite a predicament, Rozanov. I don’t know how you thought you could keep such a huge secret from us. From me.”
“What do you want, Tristan?”
I have my hand on Gianni’s shoulder to keep him calm. To keep him from doing anything stupid. But Tristan motions side to side with the gun, prompting me to step further away from the kid.
I do it.
“Like you don’t know? I want what I’ve always wanted. To run things my way, with you and your family out of the fucking picture.”
“You have no right becoming a pakhan,” I growl as he closes the space between us.
“How do you figure?”
“You’re reckless. Thoughtless. Greedy.”
“You say all of those things like they’re bad,” he smirks. “At least I’m not stupid enough to put my heart into things. You have feelings for that little secretarial slut of yours.”
I grit my teeth but I don’t say anything. As long as he keeps talking, that’s more time Gianni keeps breathing. Tristan’s weakness always was his tendency to monologue. He likes the sound of his voice far too fucking much.
“And now,” he continues, “your motives are swayed. It works perfectly for me, honestly, because you don’t care about the El Paso deal if it means me blowing this kid’s brains out and going after your girl.”
“El Paso can be negotiated,” I say calmly. “That was my father’s deal, and I honestly don’t like the way a lot of the details are hemmed together. It can be worked out.”
I’m lying, obviously. And he knows it.
“What are we talkin’?” His finger fidgets with the trigger. Gianni’s eyes are on it. He’s whimpering quietly, terrified out of his fucking mind.
I keep my eyes on Tristan’s.
“Let the kid go, unscathed, and stay away from Amara and her family forever. And I’ll cut you in. We can run the operation together, two fresh pakhani with new rules and a new way of doing things.”
Tristan chuckles at that and starts to circle us like a vulture. I don’t follow him though. I stay where I am. He’s trying to distract me, and I’m not stupid enough to think we are here alone.
“That’s a cute offer, Rozanov. But the only cut I want is cutting you out.”
He stops in front of Gianni and presses the barrel to Gianni’s forehead, his eyes hard on mine.
“You run the trucks. No midway stop. Your name is on them, so if anything happens, it’s on you, not me.
But the trucks unload here. Every grain of that blow is mine.
Every penny of the profit is mine. You and your men work for me for nothing.
” He shrugs. “Well, not nothing. You agree to all that and I don’t put a bullet through the kid’s head. Or my dick in your girl’s mouth.”
“Don’t do it, Ransome,” Gianni blurts out.
Tristan’s smirk slants. His eyes go feral before he backhands Gianni in the side of the head with the pistol, knocking him to the floor.
Then he looks back at me.
“Is the kid worth it, Rozanov? You’re talking billions lost for some street kid and his tramp of a sister. A woman who, if I’m not mistaken, has been betraying you since the day you hired her. In fact…” he pulls out his phone and sends a text.
My phone buzzes with a notification. I ignore it for now.
Suddenly, behind Tristan, I see movement. In the corner, hidden in the shadows, are two silhouettes. I make no expression, but mentally outline them and recognize the stances.
Maverick and Baron.
“He’s not just some kid,” I say as Mav and Baron head towards us, unseen by Tristan. “He’s my brother. And the funny thing about brothers? They stick together.”
A side door opens, and Daniil and Yury bolt through.
“Tristan, down!” Yury calls out, and Tristan ducks just in time to miss a shot fired by Baron.
I pull my gun and duck behind a nearby pillar, staying low and covered as shots fly in every direction.
Gianni is panicking, trying in vain to rip his hands free from the bondage, but honestly, no one cares about him.
As long as no stray bullets hit him, he’s probably safe.
This is about me and Tristan and no one else.
Tristan is trying to get the high ground, maneuvering around the shots fired by Baron and Maverick as he works to get close enough to me for a clean shot.
Meanwhile, Yury and Daniil are trying to take out Mav and Baron.
Between shipment containers, trucks, and pillars, everyone has a place to duck and cover, making it hard for anyone to actually hit anyone else.
Bullets are ricochetting off the metal left and right. I keep my peripheral attention on Gianni to make sure he’s not getting hit. My life means a lot, but in Amara’s eyes, not as much as his.
I wonder when that started mattering. What’s important to her.
But I can’t kid myself anymore and pretend I don’t feel anything. That our arrangement is just about business or chemistry. If it was, I wouldn’t be here right now, risking my hide to save her little brother. To spare her the pain I felt when Nik was ripped from me.
Amara matters.
And Gianni matters too.
I slide across the polished concrete to grab the back of the chair and fling him towards the wall, out of the way.
“Boss!” Baron calls out.
I duck just in time to miss another bullet. It grazes my arm, but I don’t even flinch.
I want a clear shot of Tristan. I want to take him out right here, right now. His boys will run off, tails between their legs, and the Chadovichs will lose once and for all if I can just drive a bullet between those cocky eyes of his.
But just when I think I have it, another door opens and a voice fills the room, sinking my heart to the pit of my stomach.
“Gianni!”
No.
Amara is rushing across the room, unaware or uncaring of the gunfire and everything else. I see Daniil’s eyes lock on her, greedy for glory because he’s a stupid fucking kid that doesn’t know the weight of things.
His gun lifts.
I bolt and dive on top of her.
Maverick comes out of hiding and fires at Daniil. I don’t know if the bullet hit him.
All I see is Maverick hitting the floor.
With my body caged over the top of Amara, I watch as Tristan sees Maverick laying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. He barks out an order to his brothers, something I don’t process because the noise in the room has gone white.
Baron unties Gianni, pulling him away from the scene, and Tristan throws one last cocky smirk at me before running off.