Chapter Six - IVAN
CHAPTER SIX
IVAN
TRAFFIC IS LIGHT this evening as Ilya drives Mikhail and I to the new warehouse near the South Boston Waterfront in the Seaport District. There are a lot of old warehouses in this area, and recent development projects have included loft apartments, restaurants, and other businesses.
I own several properties in the district already.
The ultimate goal is to control the district completely and keep it out of the hands of the Irish.
Kolya has already managed to score six additional properties since I gave him instructions several nights ago, and I have another one of my men applying pressure to others.
“Have Dmitri and Maksim arrived yet?” I ask Mikhail while I check messages on my phone in the backseat.
“They arrived five minutes ago,” Mikhail confirms. “Grigory is back at your office taking care of paperwork.”
“Good,” I say as Ilya pulls up to the front of the warehouse, then gets out of the driver’s seat to open the passenger door. He and Mikhail follow me inside where I’m meeting with my brothers. Both of them stand when I enter.
“Report.” I direct my attention toward Dmitri. He’s my enforcer and head of security, so he needed to get his eyes on the inside of this place first.
“We already own the properties on either side of this warehouse,” Dmitri starts.
“This makes it easier to conceal activities without neighbors getting suspicious. There are two exits in the back and one in the front that you came through this evening. We’ll need to add insulation and soundproofing, as well as cameras. ”
“Good. Maksim?” I prompt my younger brother. Maksim is my shadow, always observing and paying attention to people’s verbal and body language. He’s also the family technology expert.
“The Irish have influence in this area,” Maksim begins.
“Kolya tells me that they own a few properties in the district, but not as many as we do. I talked with a few business owners, and they had some things to say about the Irish—not all of them good. The majority of the population here believe that we are better for the area than the Irish.”
“We are better for the people here than the Irish.” I chuckle, repeating my brother’s words. “Good work. Dmitri, start making this warehouse ready. Maksim, go help Grigory with the paperwork and make sure he does it correctly.”
We leave the warehouse, and I get back into the car with Mikhail beside me in the backseat. Ilya resumes his position in the driver’s seat, and we pull away from the curb.
“The Irish will not be happy you are acquiring more properties in the district,” Mikhail warns.
“I don’t care. This area is not under official Irish control, so that makes it up for grabs. It’s not my fault if the Irish are slow to move,” I say.
I remember the conversation I had with the mayor during the gala a few nights ago where he said that there are other interested parties in the real estate, and it would not be in either of our interests for them to acquire it.
I know the mayor would rather deal with me than deal with the Irish, so I’m happy to do what I can to make it happen.
As we continue driving I notice that the route is taking us through a neighborhood that’s close to where Boris’s restaurant is located. I’ve never been here at night, only having a reason to come during the daytime when I have lunch with my brothers.
As we make our way down Greenwood Avenue, I notice there is someone engaged in a fight on the sidewalk. What catches my eye is the brown hair of a woman being slapped. Rage fills me immediately, and I don’t waste another second.
“Ilya, stop the car!” I yell from the backseat.
I throw the door open and run to the woman who is about to the hit by her attacker again.
I’m seeing red. No woman should ever have to defend herself against a man, especially one who is twice her size.
I pull the attacker away from the woman who lays stunned on the sidewalk.
I have a few inches on this guy, so it’s easy to land a punch to his jaw and another to his gut.
“You’re not a man if you attack a woman,” I spit out as I throw him to the sidewalk. “Get out of here.”
The masked attacker struggles to get to his feet. I see the fear in his eyes as he finds his footing, almost like he recognizes who I am, even though it’s dark. I watch him turn the corner at the end of the street, then disappear.
I look down at the woman who continues to lay on the sidewalk.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, kneeling down to meet her eyes. I hold my hands up, my palms facing her in a gesture of surrender to show that I’m not a threat, trying to keep my voice calm and even despite my anger at the situation.
I lower my hands and use one to gently brush the hair away from her face, lightly grazing over the bruise beginning to form on her cheek. My heart stops when my gaze meets hers. Her green eyes are wide with fear, making it easy to see the gold and brown flecks that pepper her irises.
“Is he gone?” she asks in between quick breaths. She’s gripping my jacket so hard her knuckles are turning white.
“He’s gone,” I say, trying to reassure her.
“Please don’t hurt me. I just want to go home.”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I tell her, trying to sound calm. “I can give you a ride home, my car is right here. Where do you live?” I’m hoping it’s not too far away, because this neighborhood is questionable after dark.
I help her gently to her feet, supporting her with an arm around her waist. My fingertips graze her hip when I help her steady herself, and my chest tightens.
“It’s just the next street over, in that building.” She points to a decent- looking red brick building sitting on the corner. “I was almost home…”
“Let’s go.” I position myself between her and the street, taking her hand in mine.
In this position, I’m able to pull my gun quickly with my dominant hand should someone decide to attack again, while keeping her shielded from the street at the same time.
When we get to her building, I take note of the security measures; they leave something to be desired.
“Thank you for saving me tonight. Most people would have ignored it and kept walking,” she said as she entered the door code to the building.
“It’s no problem, you were in trouble. Besides, my mama and babushka would kill me if I didn’t help a lady in distress,” I replied, attempting a light-hearted joke.
“I don’t even know your name. How can I thank you?” she asked as she chuckled. “It’s something Russian based on your accent and you calling your grandmother babushka.”
“Ivan,” I say to her, holding out my hand to her. When she puts her hand in mine, I bring it up to my lips and kiss the top of her knuckles. Her skin is soft against my own lips, and I smile as I watch a soft blush creep across her uninjured cheek.
“Emma,” she replies with a small smile. “Thank you, Ivan.”
“You’re welcome, Emma. Go inside and put some ice on your cheek before it starts to swell,” I tell her.
“Okay, I will. Good night,” Emma says softly, giving me a smile as she walks into her building and closes the door behind her. I watch her through the glass pane until she disappears up the stairs.
I don’t know what it is about Emma that has me suddenly thinking things I shouldn’t be, but I’m helpless against her pull. Her eyes, the feel of her skin as I kissed her hand, her innocent smile. It’s messing with my head.
I chuckle quietly as I walk back to my car. I feel this little idea start nagging my brain, so I pull out my phone to make a call.
“Kolya.”
“Yes, boss?”
“Find out everything you can about the building at 652 Greenwood.”
“Right away, boss. New property to acquire?” Emma’s building is outside the six-block radius from the warehouse that Kolya is already looking into, but that’s not why I’m interested.
“Maybe. I want to know every detail so I can make a decision. I need everything you can find on the building by lunch tomorrow,” I tell him.
“You got it, boss,” Kolya responds and we hang up.
Kolya is impressive at digging up even the most obscure details on something or someone. He’ll find me what I need, even if I don’t know yet what I’m looking for yet.