Sergei
Kirill strolls into my office. “Got it.”
“Proof?”
“Oh yeah. He upped his game.”
“Who?”
“The Ghost.”
I ignore the uncomfortable feeling in my chest. The Ghost is not an average hitman. If he has you in his sights, survival is unlikely. I’ve seen the aftermath of his work. Victims are generally not identifiable, and he never leaves a trace.
This changes things. Once the Ghost is hired, it’s already too late.
He drops a copy of a Craigslist ad on my desk. Yes, that’s still an option. Hiding in plain sight.
I read the brief ad. Tidbits of information about the target. It’s her. Not her name or face, but a request for a hit.
He puts the responding message on the desk. The Ghost replied in his usual way.
“I guess he’s done using amateurs,” Kirill says. “And honestly, why are we still doing things like we live in the Stone Age.”
“Because it works,” I answer. “Old guys don’t have to learn new tricks.”
Yuri isn’t even hiding it. He knows everyone in our world will see those ads and know what they mean. He’s declaring war against his own niece.
I lean back in my chair, processing the implications. The Ghost doesn’t take contracts lightly. He’s expensive, efficient, and has a success rate that borders on mythical. If he’s accepted the job, Sofia’s life expectancy just dropped significantly.
“How much time do we have?” I ask.
“Hard to say. The Ghost works on his own timeline. Could be days, could be weeks. He’ll watch her, learn her patterns, wait for the perfect moment.”
“Which means we have a window.”
Kirill nods. “A small one.”
“What’s the price tag?”
“Two million. Yuri’s serious.”
Two million dollars to kill a twenty-one-year-old woman. The amount tells me two things: Yuri is desperate, and he has significant backing. That kind of money doesn’t come from personal savings. It comes from Moscow.
Or maybe her own father. I haven’t quite figured that out. I can’t tell if he’s actively trying to remove his daughter or if he’s simply testing her.
“How’s Anton?” I ask, shifting gears.
“Awake. Pissed. Already trying to check himself out against medical advice. His leg’s broken in two places, but he’s convinced he needs to get back to her.”
“He can’t protect her like that.”
“I know that. You know that. Try telling him that.” Kirill crosses his arms. “He’s a good soldier. Loyal. The kind of man you want in your corner.”
“Which is why he’s still breathing. Any other man who let her get that close to danger would already be in the river.”
“You’re going soft.”
I give him a look that makes him grin. Soft is what men call it when they notice you’ve started making exceptions.
“The proposal is still on the table. She’ll make me drag her to the right conclusion, but she’ll get there. She’s too smart not to.”
“You’re going to tell her about your talk with her dad?”
I shrug. “Only if it benefits me.”
Kirill studies me. Trying to read me. He wants to understand my angle. He’s too smart not to see the truth, but he’s also loyal enough not to say it out loud.
“You know there’s an argument for letting this play out without any interference,” he says.
“Is there.”
“Yuri eliminates Sofia. He takes over the Baranov operation. We let him consolidate power for six months, maybe a year. Then we move in when he’s vulnerable—and he will be.
There is bound to be a war. Always is. We angle the war away from us and then absorb the entire operation.
Then we don’t have to negotiate with anyone. Clean sweep.”
I don’t respond immediately. If I let things just continue, that ends up with Sofia being killed. Not because she’s not smart, but because Yuri has years of experience and ruthlessness on her. It’s an unfair fight. I can think through almost anything. Not that. Not Sofia dead.
“Not yet,” I say finally.
He can have a war, if that’s what he’s angling for. He doesn’t get her. And he doesn’t get to use his experience and cunning against her alone.
“Not yet what?”
“I’m meeting with Yuri today. I want to see what I’m dealing with. What he’s planning. How confident he is.”
“You think he’ll tell you anything that lets you figure that out?”
“I think he’s arrogant enough to show enough of his hand if he thinks I’m considering his offer.” I stand, buttoning my jacket.
“And if the Ghost makes his move?”
“Then our people intercept him.”
“That’s easier said than done. The Ghost didn’t earn his reputation by being easy to anticipate and stop. They won’t know he’s there until it’s happening.”
“Then they’d better stay vigilant. Handle things.”
“You actually want to take out the Ghost?”
He’s a powerful asset. I’ve used him a few times, but I also know he’s a weapon that could be used on me one day.
“If something happens to her before I can get this situation under control, I want to know immediately. I don’t care what I’m doing or who I’m with. You call me.”
“Will do.”
He leaves, and I’m alone with my thoughts. She has no idea the Ghost is circling. No idea how close she still is to dying.
And she definitely has no idea I’m the only thing standing between her and a bullet.
I pull out my phone and scroll to a photo I shouldn’t have. One of my men took it last week. Sofia leaving the library, coffee in hand, laptop bag over her shoulder. The sun caught her hair just right. She looks—happy. Relaxed.
It was the standard check in. Usually, I delete the photos immediately.
Not this one.
I kept this one because she looks unguarded, and I’ve become mean enough to resent anything that can take that from her.
I blacken the screen before I can stare too long.
I check the time and leave my office. I agreed to meet Yuri at my restaurant. It gives me an advantage. I don’t believe he knows I own it. Ownership is buried under so many shell companies, it would take a forensic accountant a year to find it.
My assets are buried deep.
He arrives fifteen minutes late, which is a small dominance move. I expected nothing less. He's dressed well. Dark suit, no tie. He shakes my hand with the confidence of a man who has decided we are equals.
We are not equals.
"I appreciate you making the time," Yuri says smoothly.
"I always have time for the right conversation," I say.
I watch him settle. His eyes move around the room in the way of someone cataloguing exits, positions, the locations of people he can't see. I do the same thing. The difference is I've already catalogued everything in this room and he's still working on it.
It’s my room, after all.
"Mikhail is dying faster than people know," he says. No preamble. "The inner circle is aware. The outer circle is beginning to suspect. Within sixty days, possibly less, there will be a vacuum."
"That's Baranov business. Not mine," I say.
"It becomes everyone's business when the wrong person tries to fill it.
" He meets my eyes. "Sofia is twenty-one years old. She's been running the legitimate holdings for less than a year. She has no real operational experience. No relationships with the families. She doesn’t know the business. Young, naive and dangerously out of her depth.” He pauses. "She will not survive the transition."
I keep my face neutral.
"That's a strong assessment," I say.
"It's an accurate one." He leans forward slightly.
"You and I both know what a power vacuum in the Baranov organization means for the city.
Instability. Competition for the territory.
Six months of bloodshed before anyone gets control.
That's bad for everyone operating in New York.
" He spreads his hands. "I'm offering stability. A known quantity. Someone with support from Moscow.”
I know he doesn’t have the support he claims. Things are very unsettled there. And here.
"And what are you asking from me?"
He smiles. He has been waiting for this part. "Neutrality. At minimum. Your endorsement, at best. You're the most significant independent operator in the city. If you stand behind my claim, the other families fall in line. This ends cleanly."
A pause.
"There's something else," he says.
I wait.
"The Baranov portfolio has a subsidiary.”
He stops talking at exactly the right moment. I hate that I respect it.
This gets my attention. I thought I knew every business the Baranov Bratva has.
“And?” I ask with no enthusiasm.
“Medical supply. Distribution.” He looks up. "That's the official description."
I give nothing away, but I’m pissed. I don’t have that intel. Is it new? Or is he lying?
I shrug. “And?”
"The actual operation is more profitable." He sets his glass down. "Organ procurement.”
Years of practice allow me not to flinch.
Obviously I know it’s a thing, but I was unaware Baranov was involved.
“This is a current business?” I ask. “Or are you asking me to partner with you.”
He smiles. “The infrastructure has been running quietly for years.” He watches my face. He knows he’s blindsiding me. "Twelve million last year alone. Projected to triple with the right expansion."
Something cold moves through me. I have known for years that Baranov had operations I wasn't fully read into.
I had suspicions. I had fragments of intelligence that didn't quite add up, numbers that didn't reconcile against the known revenue streams. I had filed it away as the kind of thing I didn't need to know.
I should have looked harder.
I chose not to. I didn’t want to know the details of some of the darkest elements of the underground, like human trafficking. Then I might feel obligated to try and stop it.
"Yuri." I keep my voice level. "What exactly are you proposing?"
"Partnership," he says simply. "I take over the Baranov organization. The organ trade expands through your port infrastructure. You take forty percent of the net revenue and provide the logistics. I handle everything else." He leans back. "It's a clean arrangement."
I look at him.
He looks back, pleased with himself. He thinks he has just offered me something I want.
Why?
"I'll think about it," I say.
I see the anger. The clench of his jaw. Narrowed eyes. He doesn’t like that.
“I should mention, this offer has an expiration.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I reply easily.
He smiles and leans forward. “There are other ports. I’m offering the partnership to you first out of respect. But we both know there are others who would be very happy to be involved.”
It’s my turn to lean forward. “You’re in my city. Every port is mine. I’m allowing people to run them.”
He gets to his feet. “We’ll talk soon.”
He walks out of the restaurant. I stay seated.
I wait a few minutes before I walk out. Kirill is waiting in the SUV.
I slide into the backseat. “Home.”
Kirill is riding shotgun. He looks over his shoulder at me. I give a slight shake of my head. He nods once and faces forward.
Once home, he and I immediately go into my office.
“Has pest control been by lately?” I ask.
Kirill looks personally offended. “Never misses his scheduled visit.”
Things feel off. “Call him,” I say.
Kirill nods. “I’ll call now and ask for an emergency appointment.”
He walks out of the office to get the equipment needed to search for listening devices. I’m not paranoid. I’m careful. I don’t like Yuri being in town. He’s upsetting the natural order of things. Someone is backing him. Someone with money. Money buys people—even my own.
Kirill returns a few minutes later carrying what looks like a standard briefcase but I know contains a sophisticated bug detector. He moves methodically through the room, running the device along the walls, under the desk, behind the paintings. I watch in silence, arms crossed, jaw clenched.
If he finds something, I’ll know Yuri has infiltrated my operation. My sanctuary.
Kirill completes his sweep and gives me the all-clear signal. “Clean.”
“Good.”
“Want to tell me what that was about?” he asks.
“Can never be too careful.”
“What did he offer you?”
I tell him, watching his expression. He’s clearly as surprised as I am.
“How the hell is an operation that size running in my city without my knowledge?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I didn’t know. I suspected there was more to the operation, but I just assumed it was pills.”
“I want everything,” I say quietly. “Every detail you can find. How long it’s been running. Who the contacts are. Where the procurement happens. I want to know if Yuri built this or if Mikhail has been running this under my nose.”
“That’s going to take time.”
“Then start now.”
Her father has already left her out in the cold. Yuri is stripping away what’s left.
She won’t survive this alone.
She can hate me for the cage. She doesn’t get to die outside it.