Chapter 13
VIKTOR
Sergei brings the updated intelligence briefing just after noon. I lead him to the control room so Anya won’t overhear us. We sit down in front of the monitors, both distracted by the movement happening on the street.
The crease in his forehead reminds me just how much I’m stressing him out with all of this, but he’ll never say as much. He lays out the facts of Mikhail’s most recent escalation in the same monotonous rhythm he’d give me a shipping report.
The gist is, the Grinkov soldiers are moving farther and farther inland.
Brighton Beach has long been ruled out as a possibility, but they’re still terrorizing the territory like they think she’s there.
Their only goal now is to scare the families into turning on each other.
Mikhail wants chaos, so he can rise victorious out of this whole situation and keep Brooklyn held in an iron fist.
Really, Anya’s disappearance is the best thing that could have happened for him.
He’s gotten to escalate his violence in a way he’s probably wanted to for years, all with a valid justification.
When this is all over, he’s betting there won’t be a single Bratva who wants to take him on.
He thinks he’ll have full control of Brooklyn if no one challenges him.
“The worst thing is, he’s putting pressure on Ivan Malenkov too,” Sergei tells me gravely. “He thinks he’s just backed out of the deal and is hiding her somewhere.”
“That’s not bad for us,” I say.
“It’s bad for Brooklyn,” he answers decisively. “Ivan is the only other person besides you who could challenge Mikhail. Now he’s going to do anything in his power to find his daughter and bring her to that bastard. Your list of enemies is growing by the day, my friend.”
“It’s not like Ivan was ever an ally.” I shrug.
“Maybe not, but he’s a powerful enemy with heavy resources. Once he’s on the board, there’s no way you’ll be able to stay here.”
I know he’s right. Sergei has lived through enough Bratva wars to tell stories for hours.
He’s lived long enough to collect scars.
Mikhail is a once-in-a-generation threat.
Pakhans like him have existed before, and they’ll probably exist again, but that doesn’t make him any less dangerous.
It means he’s going to use every opportunity to leave his mark on Brooklyn.
This is his chance to wield absolute power, and he’s going to take it.
“What’s your recommendation?” I ask, giving him the highest authority I can possibly bestow. “What would you do?”
“The die have already been cast,” he says seriously. “At this point, returning her isn’t going to change what’s already been set in motion.”
“I wouldn’t anyway,” I remind him.
“You wouldn’t anyway,” he agrees. “So, that leaves you only two options: You plan for war or you plan for retreat.”
He looks at the monitors for a moment, seemingly lost in thought.
“How long has that car been circling the block?” he asks, pointing to one of the screens.
I stare up at it, watching for a moment. It’s a black SUV, not particularly exceptional, though that’s probably what makes it stand out so much.
“This is its second time around,” I answer mildly, not too worried about it. My team wouldn’t let any of Mikhail’s crew within a three-block radius. It’s probably just an Uber driver.
“It’s only a matter of time before he sends someone here,” Sergei grunts.
“Tell me something I don’t know.” I sigh. “But, seriously, give me information I don’t have.”
He sighs back heavily and pulls out a folder. I watch as he scans over reports that I don’t need at present.
“We lost one of our dock crew last night,” he says methodically.
“Dead?” I ask.
“Not dead,” he clarifies. “At least, we haven’t gotten his body. He’s missing, though. He didn’t report to his last shift and he’s not answering his phone.”
“Can we track him?” I ask. “Make sure he’s not just taking a sick day.”
“Already tried, and his phone is off. We’ll probably have a solid answer in a few days.”
“That’s too long,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Our guys can’t just be disappearing.”
“Unless he’s compromised,” Sergei says carefully.
“In which case, he’s our problem to take care of,” I groan. “But a dock worker is no threat to our present situation. What’s next?”
He slides a few printed photos out of his folder and lays them on the table in front of me.
“These are the men Mikhail put on the street this week,” he says. “They aren’t soldiers, they’re investigators. They get people talking then send in a clean-up crew to handle the rest if anything interesting comes up.”
“We’ll keep an eye out,” I say, recognizing one of the men vaguely. “What kind of pressure are they putting on people for information?”
“They’re paying cash,” he says. “Lots of it. Mikhail’s playing a lot of angles with this. When violence doesn’t work, money talks.”
“We always knew he was smarter than others gave him credit for,” I say, handing back the photos. “Our guys are well-paid. They aren’t going to turn for a few bucks.”
“We’d better be one hundred percent certain, Viktor, or you’re going to be on the run for a lot longer than you had planned.”
He’s not wrong. I’ll admit I didn’t think this all the way through when I took Anya. All I’m doing by staying underground is making myself look guilty, and Mikhail is smart enough to figure that out. How long will it take him to squeeze the information out of one of my men?
“Does anyone suspect me?” I ask.
Sergei hesitates, which, in itself, is answer enough.
“There are whisperings,” he finally admits.
“Especially among the smaller families. They’re saying you’re the only one ruthless enough to gun down three of Grinkov’s men in the street and leave the bodies for him to find.
They’re saying Malenkov doesn’t have the stones for that kind of public insult. ”
“They’re panicking,” I say. “They have no proof, so they just have to point the finger somewhere.”
“Normally, I’d agree. Except you did do it. So, in this one case, they’re right.”
“Is anyone else taking as heavy of losses as I am?” I ask.
He looks down at his notes to confirm. “Just you and Ivan,” he answers. “No one else has the manpower to spare. The smaller families are going underground, hoping this all blows over soon.”
I nod at this. They’re wise to batten down the hatches. It’s been decades since Brooklyn has faced such a threat. Mikhail, Ivan, and I are the three biggest players in the game, which means Mikhail is going to set his sights on me as soon as he realizes Ivan didn’t double-cross him.
I think through the board. If Mikhail is aiming his narrative at Ivan, then he wants this to be a familial dispute. He wants everyone to take sides, knowing most of them will choose him out of fear. As far as I know, he’s ruled me out completely, and he’s hoping I stay out of it.
That’s such a best-case scenario, it’s probably delusional. If Mikhail isn’t already watching my movements, I’d be shocked. I can almost hear the timer ticking down on me, and I know what has to be done.
“How long do you think we have for a relocation?” I ask him.
“Ideally, a week. Realistically, three days.”
I nod once, thinking through what needs to be done to get us ready to move in three days. The hardest part will be convincing Anya. She’s not going to like this one bit, but she doesn’t get a say in the matter.
“Start the preparations,” I tell him. “Which safehouse is our best bet?”
“Do we stay in the borough?” he asks. “That limits our movements considerably.”
I nod. “I don’t think we can cross the bridge now. I’m sure he’s got people watching”
“Dyker Heights then,” he echoes what I was already thinking. “That place is basically a fortress, and the neighborhood adds security on its own.”
“Prepare the transfer,” I tell him.
“That’s the easy part.” He chuckles to himself. “You’ve got to tell the girl.”
I don’t laugh back. Anya is going to be pissed that we’re leaving, and it’s not going to be pretty.
He leaves to start planning the move, and I stay in the control room a few minutes longer, cycling between feeds.
The SUV is gone now. There’s nothing on the street to suggest any level of danger, which is unsettling in itself. I suddenly feel exposed here.
I check the interior hallway feed outside of Anya’s door and see that it’s shut. She’s been locking herself in her room since her failed escape, so that’s nothing new. It’s the mental lockdown that’s been concerning.
I sigh and leave the control room, ready for a fight.
When I reach her door, I knock once, but don’t wait for her to answer before I enter.
She’s sitting on the bed with her knees drawn slightly toward her chest. There’s a book in her lap, but she isn’t reading it.
She’s staring out the window, lost in thought.
“What?” she asks, not turning her head toward me.
“We’re moving,” I tell her. “As soon as possible.”
She doesn’t ask me any questions. She doesn’t even look at me.
“Fine,” she says noncommittally. “I’ll be ready.”
“You’re not going to argue?” I ask, surprised.
She finally meets my gaze, and her eyes seem hollower than I’ve noticed them being before.
“What’s the point?” she asks. “We’re going to do whatever you want us to do.”
I nod, resigned to her indifference. She’s gotten used to being told what to do, and I can’t change that. I have to maintain complete control if I’m going to get us out of this alive.