22. Dave
22
Dave
T he Boston skyline looms through the floor-to-ceiling windows, cold steel and glass standing in sharp contrast to the dark wood and leather warmth of my office. The city stretches beneath us like an empire, vast and sprawling, yet somehow fragile from this height. The expanse of polished marble beneath my feet reflects the light streaming in, while the dark concrete accent wall is dotted with meticulously chosen memorabilia and artifacts—a silent display of our family’s power and influence. The office is a haven, but one where secrets linger and betrayals are dissected under the sharp scrutiny of those who understand what’s truly at stake.
My twin brothers Tommy and Shelby enter, displaying the same steely resolve that defines them. Tommy’s tailored black suit clings to his frame like armor, while Shelby, ever the calm observer with his understated intensity, adjusts his glasses as he sits in the leather chair across from me. It’s only the slight furrow in Shelby’s brow that hints at his concern. I lean back, hands gripping the armrests, trying to still the tension coiling tighter with each second.
Shelby scans me, his gaze unwavering, and finally asks, “So, has Alexia told you anything else about Igor?” His tone hints at an accusation, wrapped in his usual calm delivery.
I am well aware that Shelby and Tommy consider Alexia my distraction, a weakness even.
Straightening up, I meet his gaze head-on. “Shelby, I talked to Tommy about this the other day. Alexia’s told me everything she knows. Igor’s trafficking operation, his alliances with the cartel. She’s been forthcoming.” My tone is clipped, brooking no argument, but Shelby’s expression hardens.
Shelby’s gaze wavers momentarily, his mouth pressing into a thin line. There’s a beat of silence before he continues, his voice quieter, as though bracing himself. “Right.” His arms cross defensively, yet there’s a hint of apology in his tone. “And you believe her? Just like that?”
Tommy shifts, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting mine again, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.
“Damn it, Dave.” Tommy’s voice cracks on my name, sounding almost defeated. He runs a hand over his face, his shoulders slumping for a split second. “You always see the best in her… but sometimes, I wonder if that’s gonna cost us everything.”
The image of Alexia’s scars pops up in my mind, her haunted eyes as she spoke of Igor’s cruelty. The desperation in her voice that night still lingers like a shadow. She wasn’t acting. She can’t fake that kind of terror, and I know that even if my brothers refuse to see it. The issue being that I am not going to tell them about Igor’s physical abuse because it bears no importance to our discussions here.
“She’s not playing me,” I bite out, my voice cold and certain. “Igor’s intentions go far beyond petty vengeance. She’s in danger, and if you think for one damn second I’m letting her or Rose suffer because of him, then maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”
The words hang in the air, heavy and unyielding. Shelby’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t push further. His fingers curl into a fist, his knuckles white, as if restraining himself. For a moment, I think he might say more, but then he exhales, letting his hand drop, the unspoken words hanging between us.
Tommy gives me a hard look, his gaze narrowing. He won’t say it aloud, but he’s concerned. Beneath all his bravado, he knows the stakes, he knows what it means if we’re wrong.
Wanting to dive into more important issues, I run my hands along the smooth edge of my mahogany desk before speaking. “The other night, I started going through Dad’s old notes, the ones he passed to me when he retired. They had fragments and hints of what Sergei and Oleg did back in the day. Nikolai’s hack turned up more. Between Dad’s notes and what Nikolai managed to copy off Igor’s men, I’ve pieced together most of it.”
Both Tommy and Shelby go still, their eyes fixed on me.
“Oleg and Sergei,” Tommy says, running a hand through his dark hair. “Sergei was Igor’s dad and Oleg was his uncle. They joined the early iteration of Syndicate, right?”
“Correct,” I confirm. “They helped establish trade routes, build alliances. But then things shifted. Dad documented their betrayal in detail.”
Shelby leans in, his gaze sharp. “I knew they turned on us, but Dad had proof?”
I nod, grim. “What’s worse is, even with all Dad’s notes, there’s intel here he might never have seen. Nikolai’s hack uncovered recent plans—things Igor’s putting in motion now. Dad was careful, but it’s like the Vasilyevichs never stopped scheming against us.”
Tommy mutters a curse under his breath, eyes flashing. “Those bastards used us, clawing their way up.”
“Exactly. They used our network as a stepping stone, manipulating alliances to their advantage. Sergei’s ambition was boundless—he’d claw out anyone in his way. Oleg… he was the ghost, the one doing the dirty work in the shadows.”
Shelby tilts his head, frowning. “And Dad knew all this?”
“Yes. He left notes that read more like a warning than a record, like he knew I’d face them someday.” I pause to catch my breath. The weight of it all squeezes my lungs. “He even referred to Sergei as ‘a snake in the grass.’ He must’ve known how ruthless they were—how they’d twist anything to their advantage.”
A heavy silence falls, each of us absorbing the information and how it changes our scenario moving forward.
I finally add, “Dad’s files went deep. It was like he wanted me to understand the enemy in every brutal detail. The entries didn’t just record betrayals—they painted a vivid picture of each Vasilyevich brother’s brand of ruthlessness. Sergei had a genius for manipulation. He was like a puppet master who would pit allies against each other, sowing discord with the deft precision of a surgeon.”
“Igor takes after his father,” Tommy interjects.
I nod, remembering Dad’s notes. Sergei’s silent, bloody power grabs were infamous within certain circles. He’d organize accidents, or frame power players for crimes they’d never commit, causing other factions to turn on each other in a ruthless game of survival. Those who didn’t understand his games found themselves isolated, their reputations shredded, their alliances broken, left with nothing but a trail of whispers and dead allies.
To my brothers, I say, “Sergei preferred this shadowy kind of power to the brute force of the streets. According to Dad, Sergei enjoyed the control to twist any situation in his favor while keeping his hands immaculately clean.”
“Motherfucker,” Shelby growls.
Tommy and I exchange glances, agreeing with our brother.
“Oleg, on the other hand, was the darker reflection of Sergei’s mind,” I continue, standing up to pour us whiskey from the side table against the wall. “He executed plans with an icy, almost clinical detachment. He was known for his specialty—quiet eliminations. He went after Sergei’s enemies like a ghost in the night.”
Returning to my desk, I hand my brothers their glasses before sitting down and taking a sip from mine. I lean back, milling over Dad’s notes. He’d written that when someone needed to disappear—no loose ends, no trace left behind—Oleg was the one they called. He made people vanish, removing obstacles so efficiently that the targets’ own families would wonder if they’d ever existed.
Bouncing my gaze between Tommy and Shelby, I wrap up the story of Oleg, “Bodies would show up months after someone disappeared, if at all. That meant that, by that time the scent of Bratva involvement had already grown cold. Dad commented that Oleg’s touch was so refined, so chillingly precise, that the Syndicate would speak his name in hushed tones, as if summoning a legend or a curse.”
Shelby’s gaze sharpens. “Bet they wanted the Syndicate leadership.”
“Precisely,” I grunt, disgust burning my stomach at the thought of the Vasilyevich brothers running our Syndicate. “Dad was chosen instead. Sergei and Oleg’s plans for a coup failed, but barely. They nearly turned the Syndicate into a bloodbath to take over.”
The silence in the room thickens, dark and oppressive. This isn’t just about old vendettas or petty feuds. This goes deeper, touches the very foundation of the Syndicate. It survived because of Dad, because he documented everything, outmaneuvered them at every turn. And now, years later, here we are again—Sergei’s son following in his father’s footsteps.
Tommy lets out a low curse. “This explains why Igor hates us. He’s been bred to despise the Boyles, to take what his father couldn’t.”
“And now he’s gotten desperate,” Shelby adds, his voice quiet but a storm brewing in his eyes. “What about the files on Mom? You mentioned there were references to her in those documents. How does she fit into all this?”
“Hell if I know. The files mention that Mom’s work was a threat to the Bratva. I can’t see how. She was a professor. What could her lectures or research do to men like Sergei and Oleg?” I look at my brothers, hoping they can help me with this puzzle.
Shelby’s lips press into a thin line, but he says nothing. It doesn’t make sense, and yet it was there, buried in files Nikolai hacked, like a dark secret waiting to resurface.
Tommy leans forward, his eyes flashing with a cold intensity. “Igor is coming for us, not only because of his wife and daughter, but because he holds us responsible for his family’s downfall. This goes beyond hatred. He wants us all to burn.” He pauses to empty his glass of whiskey, then adds, “After they filed for bankruptcy, Oleg jumped from the Vasilyevich building. He left a note saying he couldn’t face his wife and three teenage daughters. That ended the family’s status and wealth.”
I nod. “It unleashed a fresh kind of cruelty. Those women lived in a world where they were nothing more than bargaining chips to cover his failures. They became collateral in blood debts, forced into arranged marriages to settle scores.”
That was a reminder of the cost of betrayal in the Bratva. Igor grew up under that legacy, the ruin of his family embedded deep, festering into hatred.
At that moment, the office door swings open, and Nikolai steps in. He’s dressed sharp, hs dark suit impeccable, but there’s a grimness about him as he approaches us.
“Nik,” I say, nodding in acknowledgment. “Glad you could make it.”
Shelby asks, “Got anything else on the traitor who helped Igor abduct Seamus?”
“No, but I’ve got intel.”
Nickolai inclines his dirty-blond head.
“More than you’re going to like.” When he approaches my desk, I gesture for him to take the empty chair beside Tommy. Nikolai continues, “It wasn’t easy getting this. Igor’s men guard data like Fort Knox. I hacked into a few of their devices, copied what I could without triggering alarms.”
Shelby mutters, “It’s been that kind of shitty afternoon.”
Nikolai’s eyes settle on me, and there’s a weight in his gaze that instantly makes me alert. “Igor’s put his plan in motion. He’s auctioning Rose.”
My vision blurs, a haze of red flooding my sight. The words slam into me like a punch, hollowing out everything else.
“He’s what?!” The words scrape out of my throat, raw and edged with barely contained fury.
“A trafficking auction,” Nikolai explains, his voice quiet but resolute. “Rose’s picture is on a datasheet. It’s already been circulated within certain circles. The auction’s set for the weekend—on that yacht he’s rented. The starting price… it’s obscene.”
My fists clench, knuckles white against the polished surface of the desk. My mind races, a storm of fractured images—the innocent smile on Rose’s face, her small hand gripping mine.
“As long as I draw breath, Igor won’t ever get close to her,” I promise through gritted teeth. “He’s just signed his death sentence.”
“Son of a bitch,” Tommy’s voice echoes through the office, his jaw tight.
Shelby looks as if he’s on the verge of snapping, his hands balled into fists. This is an all-out war.
“It seems like he’s working with larger players,” Nikolai says. “The scale of this… it’s not something he can do alone. There are others involved, high up. They’re willing to pay whatever it takes to get what they want.” His voice drops lower. “We’re talking about men with connections at the highest levels—politicians, corporate leaders, people with the resources to disappear someone without a trace and make sure no questions are asked. My sources say there’s interest from figures across Europe and even here at home, powerful enough to shield Igor from any repercussions. They want fresh channels, new blood.” The implication sits like poison in the air.
“Bastards,” Shelby mutters with disgust. “Only two days left. We need to act now.”
“Igor must be getting desperate, and that only makes him more dangerous,” Tommy growls.
Nikolai nods. “My men are getting more intel as we speak, trying to track down every point of contact. Igor’s well-protected. His Bratva allies have him locked down tight. We’re going to need a hell of a strategy.”
A gnawing question tightens its grip as I think of Igor’s plan to sell Rose. I’ve seen enough of the Bratva to know that even men like him draw a line at their own blood. If he truly saw Rose as his daughter, would he auction her off like that? For the first time, I let myself consider it—could she really be mine? The possibility churns, uneasy, and unsteady. The thought that I’d buried under layers of delusion surfaces.
It doesn’t matter right now , I tell myself. The priority is getting Igor out of her life. I’ll deal with everything else once he’s gone.
The thought of Rose’s innocence tainted by Igor’s schemes tightens a band of iron around my chest. I can’t afford to let this happen. No matter the cost, no matter the blood that has to be spilled, I will protect her. I glance at my brothers, each of them steeling themselves for the fight ahead.
“Then we act,” I agree, coldly. “We hit Igor where it hurts. We dismantle every protection he has, burn down every last connection he thinks can keep him safe. We take him down, once and for all.”
Tommy and Shelby exchange a quick glance. Tommy’s gaze sharpens, his mouth set in a hard line, while Shelby nods, his gaze steely and resolute. There’s no doubt, no hesitation—just the quiet, ruthless resolve that only family can share.
“We’re all in, Dave. Whatever it takes,” Tommy says. “Igor won’t see it coming.” He reaches out, clapping me on the shoulder.
Shelby adjusts his glasses. “One step at a time,” he offers.
With my brothers by my side, the path forward seems clearer. We’ve faced down deadly threats before, and this time, we’re all in. The weight of Dad’s files settles on my shoulders like iron, but I feel my brothers’ strength. Dad mapped out every danger, every betrayal, and now it’s our turn to finish what he started.
My mind is already racing through the logistics, the contacts we’ll need to call in, the resources we’ll deploy. I let the initial urgency settle into something cold and precise. This isn’t a war won by blind rage; it’s about breaking Igor’s power piece by piece, taking apart every advantage he thinks he has. There’s no shortcut here, just the ruthless patience to dismantle him one layer at a time.
It’s the only way to win this and protect Rose for good.
“One step at a time,” I echo Shelby’s words. “One problem at a time. We start with his network, and we end with him.”
My heart thunders as the weight of this war presses down on my shoulders. I’ve faced death countless times. But this is personal, the kind of battle that leaves scars you carry for life.
The plan takes shape in my mind, each piece clicking into place like the barrels of a loaded gun. I’ll tear down Igor’s empire before he even gets a whiff of where Rose is. His empire will fall, brick by brick, until there’s nothing left but ashes.
And I’ll be there, watching it all burn.