30. Nikolai
Nikolai
I’m done playing defense. I should have acted earlier. The Italians think I’m weak. They tried to blow me up, and they will pay. Pasha walks into my office, moving better than he was yesterday. The stitches on his head are still an angry shade of red, but his eyes are clear. Sharp.
“Your mom let you out of the house?”
“Very funny. I knew you’d be running right into trouble. I’m here. What’s the plan?”
I shrug. “Fuck some shit up.”
He smirks. “I’m surprised you waited this long. Thought maybe you were going soft.”
“I prefer to strike when they’re not expecting it.”
“Sure it’s not because you’ve been preoccupied?”
“Don’t start.”
He shrugs. “It’s not a bad thing, Nik. You can enjoy yourself. Spend time with people you care about.”
“Let’s go,” I say. “Or stay. I’m going either way.”
I check the Glock at my hip. Pasha does the same.
We take two SUVs. Six men total. All armed. All loyal. All pissed off about our driver. About Pasha nearly dying. About someone thinking they can come into my territory and blow shit up without consequences.
The underground gambling den is in an industrial area off Boulder Highway that the Italians have run for years.
It’s not their main operation, but it’s profitable.
A steady stream of degenerates who can’t get credit at legitimate casinos anymore.
Drugs. Women. Whatever you want, you’ll find it in this shithole.
We pull up at 11 p.m. The lot is half-full, which is perfect. I want witnesses.
I kick the door in, not bothering to knock first.
The room falls silent. Twenty people, maybe twenty-five, freeze mid-bet. Cards stop halfway to the table. Dice roll to a stop across the felt.
The pit boss, some greasy fuck in a cheap suit, takes one look at me and reaches under the counter.
I shoot him before he gets there, and he goes down screaming.
“Everyone out.” My voice is deadly calm. “You have thirty seconds.”
“Sokolov!” Someone shouts.
A volley of gunfire erupts. The sound makes my ears ring. My men are using silencers, which means it’s the other guys. Chairs scrape. People scramble for the exits. Someone knocks over a stack of chips, and they scatter across the floor like confetti.
Someone slams into me on their way to the exit. More footsteps charge at me. I raise my gun and fire twice before the man rushing me gets off a shot.
My men fan out. One goes to the back office. Another to the cashier cage. They know what to do. This isn’t a warning; I’m here to kill.
Gunfire cracks through the room, followed by the thud of bodies and shattering glass.
The softer pop of my men’s silencers cuts through it.
Naked women race out of a back room, screaming as they cover themselves.
My men know better than to hurt a woman, whether she’s a girlfriend or a sex worker. Our beef isn’t with them.
I move through the room methodically, overturning tables and smashing slot machines with the butt of my gun. Glass and circuitry crunch under each blow. Pasha is doing the same on the other side of the room.
I find an Italian woman staring me down. Defiant. Family. For half a second, I consider killing her.
“Tell your family this is what happens when they fuck with me,” I say quietly. “Tell them I’m done being patient. Tell them the next time they come at me or mine, I won’t stop at property damage. Unlike them, I don’t hurt women and children.”
She lifts her chin, her lip curling with disgust. Hatred rolls off her. I let it.
“You good?” Pasha asks.
“Yep.”
One of my men walks back into the room, clutching a handful of cash, blood running down his arm and soaking the bills. He looks at the wound and shakes his head.
“Tell me I get to keep it,” he says with a smirk.
“Burn it,” I tell him.
“The money?”
“All of it.”
He pulls out a lighter, sets the stack of bills on fire, and tosses it onto the desk. The flames spread quickly to the paperwork as smoke fills the small room.
We leave the same way we came in. Casual. Unhurried. Like we just finished dinner.
Sirens are closing in by the time we’re back in the SUVs. Fire department. Police. They won’t find anything useful. No cameras in an illegal gambling den. No witnesses willing to talk. Half the city will know what happened here before the sun rises.
We’re twenty minutes down the highway when my phone rings with an unknown number.
I answer anyway. “Yes.”
“Mr. Sokolov.” The voice is older. Refined. Heavy Italian accent. “This is Don Castellano.”
I say nothing.
“I understand there was an incident at one of our establishments tonight,” he continues.
“I’m not sure I would call it an incident.”
“You know we have rules,” he says.
“Do we? I thought we were saying fuck the rules.”
“I’m out of town. I understand one of my men got a little carried away.”
“You killed a man. And you’re following a child.”
“You’ll remember that you shot my men first,” he says.
“And you’ve been sabotaging my fucking building.”
“We are expressing our disapproval.”
“Fuck your disapproval. I bought the property. The casino will open. There’s plenty of business to go around. If this continues, I will take your businesses. All of them.”
He clears his throat. “The bomb was unauthorized. The man responsible has been dealt with. But I assure you, we have not gone after your girlfriend or her son.”
The fact that he knows about Gabby and Luke puts every instinct I have on alert.
“Bullshit.”
“I give you my word.”
“Your word means nothing to me.”
There’s a pause. I hear him breathing on the other end of the line.
“Mr. Sokolov, I understand you’re angry. But I’m telling you the truth. We have not authorized any action against your family. It’s just business.”
“Agreed. I returned it in kind.”
“We are not the ones attacking your family,” he snaps.
“Then who?”
“I don’t know. But I suggest you find out before you make more enemies than you already have.”
I clench my jaw. “You fuck with me again—you or anyone connected to you—and I will burn your operation to the ground. Every business you own. Every place you hide. Do you understand me?”
“I understand you’re a man who values his reputation,” Castellano says smoothly. “As am I. Which is why I would not violate the treaty that has been in place for years.”
“Then quit fucking with my property!”
I end the call.
Everything I know about the Italians says he’s full of shit. They have been pushing back against my expansion for years. But a small part of me—the part that’s kept me alive this long—wonders if he’s telling the truth.
"You believe him?" Pasha asks.
"No."
But I'm not sure anymore. And I hate not knowing more than I hate being wrong.
"Think he'll seek retaliation?"
“No. I think we’re done. For now.” I roll my shoulders, but the tension remains. "Doesn't mean we stop watching. Everyone stays at the estate until I know for sure."
"And Gabby?"
I take a deep breath. “I don’t want her to know everything yet. I’ll ask her to stay at the estate.”
He laughs. "Good luck with that."
She’d do it. If it were for Luke’s sake, I know she would.
I just have to make sure she doesn’t find out how much I haven’t told her.