17. Kazimir
KAZIMIR
I've been pacing Timur's kitchen for twenty minutes while he sits at the bar with his laptop open and my phone plugged into a cable running from the side of his computer.
He hasn't spoken since he started and I've learned over the years not to interrupt Timur when he's working.
Not only will he not respond to me, but if it's distracting enough, he'd just bite my head off.
I should sit and relax, but the only position that feels comfortable anymore is upright.
That bat did a fight on my ribs and pacing seems to be the only way to alleviate both the physical pain and the mental torment I'm going through.
When I told Timur about that message from Roman, he snapped at me, asking why I didn't bring him the phone immediately and ignore the message. But how was I supposed to know?
"Stop walking," Timur says without looking up. "You're making the floor creak and it's distracting me."
"I can't sit still right now."
"Then lean against something and be quiet." He types a few keystrokes and tilts his head at the screen. "I've pulled the metadata on the text you received about the flight change. The one that said it came from Roman."
"And?"
"Obviously, it didn't come from Roman." He turns the laptop so I can see the screen.
I don't understand most of what's on it.
It just looks like strings of numbers and timestamps, but Timur points to a line near the bottom highlighted in yellow.
"The message was routed through a relay service that masks the original sender's number and replaces it with a number of their choosing.
In this case, Roman's. The actual originating number is buried under three layers of proxy routing and I'm still trying to trace it. "
"So someone faked a text from Ro telling me the flight was delayed?"
"That's exactly what happened." Timur unplugs my phone and sets it on the bar between us.
"And whoever did it knew Roman's number, knew when the American was arriving, and knew you'd follow instructions from Roman without questioning them.
" The way his forehead pinches together in the middle speaks loud enough that he doesn't have to shout.
He's pissed at me for not being smarter.
"Well, why would I question a text from my uncle?
He's the one who gives orders around here.
" I scrub a hand down over my face and sigh, wondering where we go from here.
Someone has gotten into my phone somehow and they're screwing with me.
It could've been anyone anywhere, at a fight or a bar, even the bank.
All they need is an RFID scanner and bam, I'm vulnerable.
"Exactly." Timur closes the laptop and crosses his arms. "This is the same signature as the bettor messages. Someone is fucking with us."
I finally stop pacing and lean against the counter. My ribs protest but I shift my weight until the pressure eases. "Can you trace where it came from, then?"
"I'm working on it. These services are designed to be anonymous and the good ones don't keep logs.
I've submitted requests through three different channels, but it could take weeks and there's no guarantee they'll cooperate.
" He picks up my phone and holds it toward me.
"In the meantime, you need to get rid of this. "
"Get rid of my phone?" I take it from him and scowl. My entire life is in this phone. I don't want to get rid of it. What a pain in the ass to transfer all my data and contacts over.
"Get a new one. New number, new device, new SIM. If there's a clone running on your current line, switching hardware won't kill it because the clone is tied to your number and SIM, not the device. A new number cuts the mirror and forces whoever's doing this to start from scratch."
"Okay, first of all, how the fuck did this happen?
And what if they just do it again?" I shove the phone in my pocket and make a mental note to stop by the store.
Not only is Timur acting leader and that was a direct order, but he knows what he's doing.
If he says a new number and SIM are required to stop this, then I trust him.
"They'd need physical access to it. Which means someone in your life is getting their hands on your phone when you're not looking." He holds my gaze. "Think about that, Kaz. Who has access to your phone? Who's around you when it's unattended? Who's been in your apartment, your car, your spaces?"
I won't even dignify that question with a response. This wasn't Zora. She's not capable of any of this. She's the woman I love and I'm not gonna let them make me doubt her.
"It could've been someone at the gym. Maybe we should take the security footage of who was in and out of the locker room while my phone was in my locker.
" My brain starts searching for any other logical suspect.
The only time Zora ever had access to my phone is while I was pissing right after we had sex.
No woman is that heartless to take my phone and steal from me right when we were done fucking.
"Kaz…" Timur starts, but I respond and he sighs as I speak.
"I'll get a new phone today," I tell him.
"Today, Kaz. Not tomorrow. Today." Timur stands and picks up his coffee from the bar.
"Ro's going to call when he lands in Spain, and I'm going to have to tell him what happened.
The American is gonna bow out, most likely.
His handler's dead. The police found the body in the parking structure and they're investigating, which means we've got law enforcement attention on top of everything else. "
"I know."
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, letting go of some of his frustration.
"None of this is your fault. We all get that.
But we can't let this shit keep happening.
We have a problem inside our club or our organization somehow.
" He still narrows his eyes at me like he wants to question Zora but won't say the words. He knows it'll piss me off.
"I'll figure it out."
"You'll get a new phone and you'll start being careful about whom you let near it.
" He walks around the table and gives my shoulder a push as he walks past, making me wince.
Then pours himself a cup of coffee from the coffee pot on his counter.
"Ro's gonna be pissed, but he’ll understand this isn't your fault.
We just can't let it happen again. You have to do the right thing and protect yourself. "
I start for his door knowing this conversation is over and I have shit to get done today. But he calls me.
"Kaz." He waits until I turn around to continue. "Whoever's doing this… They're not just playing around. It could be dangerous."
"I hear you."
"I need you to really hear me." He narrows his eyes at me in a stern expression. "Don't let the temporary things blind you to your responsibility to protect this family."
I know what he's saying and what he's not saying but insinuating.
As I walk out to my car, I let my thoughts stray back to Zora and whether she may be capable of something like this, but I know her.
I've listened to her talk about her life and her brothers and how she wants more.
She's so sincere with me, encouraging me, interested in me—not my status in the family.
I just can't make myself believe it could be her.
I'm halfway home when my phone buzzes and I use my handsfree unit to answer.
"It's Kaz," I say, my mind snapping to the thought that I have to get a new phone right away.
"This is Yuri Federov." He's the primary investor behind the American's Russian debut—put up the money for the travel, the venue, the promotional campaign.
Roman snagged him and it's my job to keep him happy, and his tone tells me I've failed at that.
"I'm calling because I want you to explain to me how a fighter I invested twenty-three million rubles in is laid up with a shattered knee. "
"I understand your frustration, Mr. Federov, and—"
"Frustration doesn't begin to describe what I'm feeling.
" Papers rustle on his end, and he's breathing heavily like his chest is heaving.
"I invested in this operation because Roman Kuzin gave me his word that his organization could deliver a world-class event. He can't even fight in his condition."
"Yes, I know, but we were ambushed. There wasn't a way we could plan for—"
"And whose responsibility was security?" This fucker keeps cutting me off and I'm starting to get pissed. I suck in a deep breath and grip the steering wheel harder before I respond.
"Mine."
"Then this is your failure, Kazimir. Not the attackers'.
Yours." He pauses like he's waiting for me to respond, but I don't want to start talking again and get cut off.
Besides, I'm furious and sort of ashamed I let this happen.
"I vetted this deal personally and put my name on it.
You were supposed to do better than this.
Do you understand what that means for the money I've invested?
For the promotional deals we had lined up? "
"I understand what's at stake," I grumble, but I’m backed into a corner. I don't know how Roman would talk this man down, but I know it'll cost us more than just the money he put into this. Our reputation will take a huge hit now.
"My trust in the Kuzin name was clearly misplaced." He grumbles a few words I can't hear and then says, "And I still backed you after hearing about that betting catastrophe. When they all wanted to pull out, I urged them to trust my gut. And maybe I was very wrong about that too."
"That wasn't me," I say defensively, but there's no way to prove that to a man who's angry and on a rant.
Federov exhales into the phone. "I don't know what's happening inside your operation and frankly, I don't care.
What I care about is my investment, which is now worthless, and my reputation, which is now attached to a disaster.
I'll be speaking to Roman directly when he returns and I'll be recommending that he reconsider who he puts in charge of high-value operations. "
"Mr. Federov, if you'll give me a chance to—"
"I've given you enough chances. I expect a full accounting of what happened within the week. If I don't get one, my lawyers will be in touch."
The line goes dead, which means he hung up on me, and he's so angry, there's no point calling him back to explain anything.
Ro is gonna kill me, and Timur is close to it as it is.
I know this fight ring is their baby. They've been at this maybe longer than I've been alive.
When I was born, Roman was already thirteen, out on the streets fighting to earn his keep.
Those early fights were just street scuffles, but today it's a multi-billion-dollar organization he runs meticulously with a tight fist, and forces outside my control are fucking it up.
I can't let this get in my head and throw me off my game because I still have the big fights coming up.
All I can do is replace my phone, buckle down, and make sure the rest of the things I've been tasked with while Roman is on his honeymoon go smoothly.
If not, I can kiss my place in this organization goodbye.
I'll be back to mopping mats and being the meathead bouncer at the night club.
And I'm not about to move backward.