Chapter Seventeen
Leonid
Sometimes, Ivan and I discuss what it would be like to be a Pakhan.
The boss of everything and everyone in an area as vast as North Miami or even larger.
We consider the numerous perks, like the millions every month from gun trading, prostitution and other enterprises. The dozens—if not hundreds—of women we could have at the snap of our fingers. Most of all, the huge respect from pretty much every crime syndicate around the area. A Pakhan is like a king without a crown.
This morning is different. A lot different.
Why? Because our boss will be faced with one of the hardest decisions of his life. He ordered us not to come to him until we had the name of the bomber. We have more than that, since our men paid him a visit right after we left. Now, it’s up to Viktor Yelchin what we do next.
Hell, I wouldn’t want to be him. No way. The information we got from that Latino could mean war. It won’t be just us against a bunch of rough Armenians. They may be tough, but they act on impulse. Tough guys? Yep. Some of them are strong enough to bring down brick walls with their bare fists. Methodical? Planning ahead? Taking their time to strategize? No. They’d rather have a cigar and think of ways to make easy money. That’s the Armenians’ way.
There’s a hint of drizzle in the air when I approach the marina. Raindrops are falling on the windscreen, and my mind is on my boss. No matter the ass-kicking we got from him the other day, I can’t help but wonder what his decision will be. And if I know Ivan—which I do—he’s thinking the exact same thing. He’s standing under his umbrella in a black overcoat, just a few paces from the staircase of our Pakhan’s boat.
“Morning,” I say, tipping my head down. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to do a weapons’ check anytime soon.”
“I do, Leonid,” he claims, following right behind me. “If the Italians want war, let’s give them one.”
Typical Ivan; he doesn’t give a shit about the chaos on the street. That’s what will happen if we engage the Italian mafia. Lives will be lost in bloody gunfights across Miami. The death toll could rise into hundreds, and some of those unfortunate souls won’t have anything to do with the Bratva or an Italian family. They might be innocent passersby.
“You’re one crazy bastard,” I say, reaching the deck. Dmitri is standing in front of the entrance of the bridge, hands crossed over his stomach. Beyond him, Viktor Yelchin stares at us, his cold expression not surprising me.
“Where’s the package?” I ask Dmitri, giving him a quick glance.
“Behind me,” he answers, moving aside to reveal a black trash bag.
“Nice,” I praise, shuffling off. Ivan and I join Viktor on the bridge; I acknowledge him with a nod.
“Good morning, sir,” I say in a clear voice.
“You’d better have good news for me,” he warns, his tone stiff. “Or I’ll throw you overboard myself.”
“We do,” I announce. “We were able to locate the guy who planted the bomb in my car, thanks to Rurik’s computer skills. Dmitri!” I shout as Viktor glances between me and Ivan.
My man’s footsteps are loud on the hardwood floor of the bridge. He steps around me, trash bag in hand.
“Careful,” I advise. “We don’t want to get blood all over the boss’s floor.”
“Fuck the floor,” Viktor commands. “What’s in that bag?”
At that, Dmitri grabs the bottom of the bag and raises it up to his chest. Flipping it upside down, a head drops to the floor. It rolls away and stops just by Viktor’s feet, leaving a trail of blood on the wood.
“This is Sergio Juarez,” I announce, my expression flat. “Rurik’s facial recognition software identified him as the bomber—and he admitted it. The Armenians had nothing to do with that bomb. Believe it or not, some wise guy paid Juarez ten grand.”
“An Italian?” Viktor wonders with a squint. “Are you sure?”
“Boss, the guy’s nickname is Tommy-No-Nose, and the transaction went down in an Italian restaurant in Little Italy,” I go on. “So, yes, I’m sure. It sucks that we don’t have his real name, but the nickname is enough for us to track him down. That’s if you want us to do that.”
“Hmmm...” he hums, shoving his hands into his pockets as he hangs his head. “Tough call.”
“Boss,” Ivan interjects. “To me, it’s a no brainer. The Italians declared war on us for some reason. Let’s take the fight to them. Let’s show them what the Bratva is made of.”
“I’ll tell you what the Bratva’s made of,” Viktor states, his words quickening. “Hundreds of brave men and one idiot named Ivan Petrov.”
“Idiot?” Ivan frowns before tossing me a sideways glance.
“Yes!” Viktor cries out, banging his fist on the table. “You’re talking about war, Petrov! Fucking war! This means lives lost. Men who never come back. Money down the drain. Businesses ruined.”
“Yes, but—”
“No but!” Victor shouts, veins across his forehead bulging. “You want to do something? Find that Tommy-No-Nose and take care of him. Be careful; no one else dies. Collateral damage means war. Now, go.”
I turn around, glad that my boss has listened to reason. Yet, Ivan jogs past, mumbling and looking back over his shoulder. We are halfway down the stairs when I catch up to him.
“It’s the right decision,” I say. “We get our revenge and move on.”
“Bullshit,” Ivan grumbles. “It’s a mistake. And we still don’t know why that Tommy guy wants you dead.”
“We’ll find out before I cut his fucking head off,” I retort, annoyed that my own brother prefers war over taking care of just one man. “Look, why are you acting like this?”
He whips his head around at my question. “Because they tried to kill you once and failed! They’ll try again if we don’t step in. Don’t you get it?”
“You mean they’ll try to kill me and Clare,” I correct him, maintaining my composure.
“Yes,” he admits with a stiff nod. “I thought you’d back me up on this.”
“I would if a war made sense,” I say as we reach the end of the stairs. “Viktor is right, Ivan. If we go after the guy that tried to have me killed, no one else will have to suffer. Let’s face it, the Italians have the numbers and the skill to cause us some serious damage. Do you want to see the Bratva on its knees?”
“Of course not,” he says, opening his umbrella over his head. “Sorry if I overreacted, Leonid. I just want what’s best for you.”
“And Clare,” I tease him, giving him an elbow jab. “That makes two of us.”
He chuckles, heading away from me. I might appreciate his passion to eradicate our enemies, but it’s this quality that can screw with his head sometimes. Ivan just isn’t thinking straight in this case. The notion of taking on the Italian mafia doesn’t scare him, but it should. They’ve been around longer than us. They’re well connected and powerful. I know they’ll give us hell if we go after even one family. Soon, we’d be counting our casualties. I don’t want my brothers to end up in body bags, especially not Ivan Petrov.
Clare
This brute can transform into a caring, generous man in bed.
I was under this impression after my first encounter with Ivan. I was in a haze that night, caught in a cloud of passion and lust. Between my fierce desire to be claimed by them and the realization of my most daring fantasy, I wasn’t in a position to draw conclusions.
I was all alone with him, caressed by him, the breeze, and the scent of the sea. What a glorious combination. Having a huge man touch me where it mattered, paying attention to my erogenous zones, all the while enjoying the coolness of the night by the sea. I rode him hard, facing the water, keeping his rock-hard shaft in my depths until we were both utterly spent. Last night was an experience I know I will cherish in the years to come.
Or will I?
Ivan was quite elusive when I asked him what had been troubling him. He lived up to the nickname I gave him earlier. Mr. Mysterious wouldn’t reveal the latest development that had clearly upset him. Still, as much as I respected his wish to keep this to himself, just twelve hours later, I regret my decision not to force the issue. Leonid and Ivan are seasoned members of the Bratva. They must have witnessed brutality and horror beyond my wildest nightmares. It would take something special for Ivan to become so agitated. Without his help, I just can’t put my finger on what.
Out in the front yard on that sunny morning, I don’t have much choice but to ask Yuri. I know it’s a long shot, but without knowing when Leonid will come back, I go ahead and ask him.
“Ivan mentioned something about a complication last night. Do you happen to know more?”
His eyebrows shoot up as he looks away for a moment, his posture tightening. “All I know is that the Armenians were not behind the car bombing,” he responds, looking down into my eyes.
“All you know? Or all you can tell me?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
“If Ivan didn’t tell you anything more, this means I’m not allowed to reveal more.”
Wow... I’m shocked. Secrecy within the Bratva? That must be a first.
Then again, I can’t blame Yuri. He’s just following orders. He’s not going to do anything that could—and probably would—aggravate his boss. I dismiss him with a nod, diving back into my thoughts.
Alas, it doesn’t take long for me to hit a dead end. This complication could be pretty much anything. My men could be facing an entire army of aliens for all I know. This uncertainty gnaws at me. It’s going to take a lot of effort on my part to avoid speculating. Even worse is the sense of helplessness that threatens to consume me. I’m no soldier. I can’t assist them in any way. All I can do is hope that they’ll survive whatever’s coming their way.