Chapter 23
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
KIRILL
The abandoned meatpacking plant in Hoboken is the kind of place you come to make bodies disappear, not forge alliances between blood enemies, but it’s as neutral ground as we’re going to get.
I tried calling Evelina three times on the ride over. She didn’t answer. Miron confirmed she made it home safe, confirmed she’s in her building, which means she’s choosing not to pick up. Whatever happened in that poker suite, she’s not ready to talk about it.
I’ll find out eventually. But first, I have to deal with this shit.
Inside, Matvey’s already set up, arranging chairs around a makeshift table that’s a sheet of plywood balanced on sawhorses.
Dem’s running security at the door, collecting weapons from each crew as they arrive.
The heirs of New York’s underworld filter in one by one, tension crackling between them like they're waiting for someone to throw the first punch.
Elio’s already here when I walk in, which surprises me. After the pier catastrophe, I half-expected him to tell Matvey to go fuck himself when the meeting was called. But even Elio can see the situation we’re in.
Vincent Wu from the Red Dragon Triad arrives next.
He’s in his late twenties, American-born, ruthlessly ambitious.
He’s been pushing into territories everyone thought were locked down, and his old man’s too sick to stop him anymore.
Vincent doesn’t smile when he enters, doesn’t acknowledge anyone.
Just catalogs every face, every exit, every potential threat before choosing his seat.
Marcus Doyle represents the Irish, tall and broad with the kind of easy smile that makes people underestimate how many bodies he’s personally buried.
His family controls the docks and most of the labor unions, which makes him critical to any operation involving shipping or logistics.
He winks at me as he takes his seat, sprawling back in his chair like he’s at a pub instead of a war council, one ankle crossed over his knee.
“Never thought I’d see the day when a Baronov asked for our help,” he says, that cocky grin still in place. “Must be bad.”
“Desperate times,” I admit. “But I’m not asking for your help, Doyle. This is different.”
Yuki Tanaka from the Yakuza is the last to arrive, strolling in unhurried and utterly composed like she’s got all the time in the world.
Her family’s organization handles high-end smuggling and gambling operations across three states.
She’s in her early twenties, rumored to be more vicious than her father ever was.
She’s dressed like the badass she is in a long black leather coat, her dark hair swept over one shoulder.
She pulls out a compact mirror and touches up her lipstick while we wait, taking her sweet time, clearly enjoying making us all sit here and watch.
“Let’s get this over with,” she finally says without looking up. “Some of us have actual responsibilities.”
“Ouch, Yuki.” I lay my hand over my heart. “You wound me.”
“I don’t believe that for one second.” She smirks, snapping the compact shut.
We all graduated from St. Augustine Prep, and while we don’t exactly reunite for alumni weekend, there’s a grudging familiarity between us.
We grew up in the same world, learned the same brutal lessons, sat in the same classrooms pretending we were normal kids while our fathers ran empires built on blood.
Once everyone’s seated, I get right to the point.
“You’ve all been hit,” I say, keeping my voice level.
“We all have. Warehouses burned, shipments hijacked, men killed. The Ghost has cost every family in this room millions, and they’re not slowing down.
” I pull out the tablet Dem prepped and slide it to the center of the table.
“This is what we pulled off one of their operatives. A database of all of our assets—shell companies, offshore accounts, shipping routes. Everything you’ve spent decades hiding, laid out like a fucking blueprint. ”
The tablet makes its way around the table. Vincent’s expression goes flat and cold. Marcus lets out a low whistle. Yuki’s lips twist in displeasure.
“How the fuck were they able to get this information?” Marcus spits.
“It doesn’t matter. They’re good. Really good. And unless we want to watch everything our fathers built get burned to the ground, we need to stop fighting each other and start fighting them.”
Vincent leans back in his chair, fingers drumming a slow rhythm against the plywood. “And you’re suggesting what? That we work together? Our families have been enemies for decades.”
“I’m suggesting we put our differences aside long enough to take down the Ghost. Because if we don’t, there won’t be anything left to fight over.”
Yuki laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Your father and my father would rather die than sit at the same table. You know that.”
“Which is exactly why we’re here and they’re not,” Elio cuts in. “The old men are too proud, too stuck in their ways. They’d rather watch everything burn than compromise. But we’re not them.”
“Speak for yourself,” Vincent says coolly. “Some of us respect tradition.”
“Tradition won’t mean shit if we’re all dead or broke,” Matvey counters. “We can’t wait for our fathers to figure this out. By the time they agree on anything, the Ghost will own this city.”
The resistance in the room is palpable—decades of bad blood, territorial disputes, bodies buried on all sides. But the evidence on that tablet is undeniable.
“Let’s say we work together,” Marcus says, propping his boots on the edge of the plywood. “What’s the plan?”
“A trap. One operation, staged to look too good for the Ghost to pass up.” I lean forward, palms flat on the table. “The Baronovs and Valentis pool resources. We plan a combined shipment, something high-value that the Ghost can’t resist.”
Vincent’s eyes narrow. “You want to fake a joint move?”
“I want to bait a trap. We’ll make them think they have inside access to our communications again, like at the pier, but they won’t.”
Yuki reaches into her jacket and pulls out a slim silver cigarette case, selecting one and lighting it with a matching silver lighter. She takes a long drag before speaking, smoke curling from her lips. “And then they walk into an ambush.”
I straighten. “Exactly. We need every soldier you can commit. We coordinate the response, converge from multiple positions. The Ghost won’t see it coming because they’ll think they have the advantage.”
“So all you need from us is firepower?” Marcus asks, tracing the jagged wood grain of the table with a calloused thumb.
“That’s the deal,” Dem confirms. “We all commit enough soldiers to end this once and for all.”
“And how do we keep the Ghost from hacking into the comms again? Word is you had a spot of trouble with your last operation.” Yuki smiles like the cat that ate the canary.
Elio must have told her—the two of them have always been close, probably the only reason she showed up tonight instead of telling us all to fuck off.
“We’ll need someone who can match the Ghost’s capabilities,” Matvey says. “Someone who can secure our real communications while feeding them false intel through a compromised channel they think they’ve hacked.”
Marcus shrugs. “And who the fuck might that be? We’re not exactly swimming in NSA contacts.”
“I’ve got a former military contractor on my payroll,” Vincent offers. “But bringing him into something this big, with this many families involved, he’ll only want to deal with me directly.”
Elio rolls his eyes. “A lot of fucking good that does us. How can we trust him if we can’t even talk to him?”
Yuki taps ash onto the floor. “The Yakuza has connections to cyber specialists in Tokyo. They won’t come to the US though. Remote support only.”
“Not ideal,” I say.
“The Irish have got fuck-all in terms of tech,” Marcus drawls. “We’re old school. Guns and fists.”
“Those are some shit options,” Matvey mutters, raking a hand through his hair.
Marcus flips him off. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
But there is someone. Someone whose face has been flashing through my mind since the moment we started talking about tech.
A gorgeous fucking computer science nerd who scored in the ninety-ninth percentile on her MTI admissions.
A woman I’ve been trying to keep away from my world, trying to protect from exactly this kind of shit.
Still, the clock’s running out. And thirteen days isn’t enough time to find someone else.
Thirteen fucking days until Katya gets handed over to Elio and I get locked into whatever arranged marriage my father’s already negotiating behind my back.
Thirteen days to eliminate the Ghost who’s always three steps ahead, who has intel on every family in this city, who just hijacked our last operation and made us all look like amateurs.
And tonight, sitting at that poker table watching my father work the room, I know he’s not just testing whether I can eliminate the Ghost. He’s testing whether I have what it takes to wear the crown after him. Whether I’ve got the stomach for the kind of brutality that built this empire.
“I might have someone,” I announce. “I need a few days to sort it out with her. At the risk of being presumptuous, does this mean you’re all in? We move forward together or not at all.”
Marcus swings his boots off the table and slams his palm down on the plywood. “Fuck it. Yes. I’m sick of being fucked up the ass by this invisible menace.”
“The Triad is in,” Vincent confirms. “But if any of you betray this alliance, if one word of this gets back to our fathers or leaks to the Ghost before we’re ready, I will personally skin you alive. We’re trusting each other because we have to, not because we want to.”
“Lighten the fuck up, Vinny.” Every eye turns to Yuki.
She takes her time finishing her cigarette, stubbing it out, letting the silence extend while she clearly enjoys making us wait.
When she finally speaks, there’s dark amusement in her voice.
“I’d prefer not to work with a bunch of testosterone-poisoned men who think with their dicks instead of their brains.
But it seems I have no choice in the matter. ”
“We reconvene in a few days,” I say. “I’ll have the tech solution by then, and we’ll finalize positions and protocols. Until then, not a word to anyone.”
“Only trustworthy soldiers,” Dem adds. “All information is shared on a need-to-know basis. We can’t risk a leak.”
The meeting breaks up. I shake each person’s hand, looking them in the eye, sealing whatever fragile trust we’ve managed to build in the past hour.
This partnership won’t last. The moment the Ghost is dealt with, we’ll probably go back to trying to kill each other. Old grudges don’t die just because of one common enemy.
But for now, we’re united.
The others file out into the night, but Elio hangs back. Matvey and Dem drift over once the door closes behind Yuki.
“So who’s this tech genius you’ve got up your sleeve?” Elio asks, arms crossed.
I exhale slowly. This is going to sound insane. “Evelina Panova.”
Matvey’s eyebrows shoot up. “The blonde server you’re obsessed with?”
“I don’t obsess over women, asshole.”
“Sure.” Dem snorts. “Like you haven’t obsessively checking the security feeds every time she’s on shift.”
I ignore that. “She’s a tech genius and she’s the only option we have that doesn’t involve trusting Vincent’s mystery contractor or relying on remote support from Tokyo.”
Elio frowns. “A student? You’re talking about bringing on a fucking student for an operation this big?”
“If you have any better ideas, let me know.” I meet his eyes. “But we’re out of time and out of options.”
Elio mutters Italian curse words under his breath and shakes his head. “You Russians are batshit crazy,” he grumbles, seeing himself out.
“He’s right about that,” Dem mutters. Then to me he says, “You sure about this, brat ?”
“No,” I admit. “But I’m out of better ideas.”
“Why is our father blowing up my fucking phone looking for you?” Matvey squints down at his screen. “Did something happen?”
I press my tongue against the back of my teeth, remembering the ice pick through Abram’s hand, the way my father’s face went dark with rage. “Yes, something fucking happened, but I don’t have time to get into it right now. Just tell him I need time to cool off if he asks.”
Before either of them can push the issue, I head for the back door and push outside. The air is crisp and smells like rain. I pull out my phone and check my messages. A missed text from Evelina pops up:
Evelina: I’m fine. Just need some space. I’ll be in touch when I can.
I’m tempted to ignore her request and show up at her apartment anyway, but it’s nearly four in the morning, and she’s probably asleep by now.
I swing onto the Ducati, twist the throttle, and tear into the night.