Mikhail
The ninth floor is kept vacant of tenants, but it’s always filled with my people. Rows of desks covered in fake wood veneer run the length of the space from window to window. Laptops connected to widescreen monitors on each desk survey accounts and videos of anyone involved with the Bratva. There is a constant hum of voices as information is given and received over burner phones as the darker side of our business is conducted daily. But today, the floor has been transformed into a command center for our operation to take out Zakhar Budanov.
I take a sip of water from a plastic bottle as I stare at the cityscape out the window. The view isn’t much down here, but it helps me think. I’m still trying to make sense of everything that’s happened in the last few days
I can’t deny my attraction to Maria. I can’t deny I still want her, and not just for her body. I want her soul and her heart. I want to claim Maria again. I want her to belong to me … to the Bratva. But I have to protect her.
Even if it means killing her father. Even if it means destroying her love.
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, focusing on my work. I can’t let my emotions overtake my mind. I have to keep my head clear. I have to do what’s right for my lineage, though it may be mostly gone, and for the continuation of our Bratva.
“Any word from Ippolit?” I ask, turning to Pavel.
Pavel shakes his head, gazing at the monitor on his borrowed desk. His appearance is carefully groomed though he pulls his hair back in a ponytail; he always looks like he gets eight hours of sleep. “No word.” Pavel glances at his phone. “He should’ve called. Should I go out and look for him?”
I shake my head. “No. Give him another half an hour. If he doesn’t call by then, we’ll send a team.”
Pavel nods. “Okay.” His expression remains detached from concern.
As far as I know, he’s never fallen for anyone.
I walk over to another monitor and watch over the shoulder of a young recruit, but I can’t concentrate. I’m too furious at myself for falling for Maria. And I’m furious at her for playing me like a dummy.
She had to have known something. There’s no way she didn’t. Once she was out, I wonder why she didn’t keep going and run away.
Because she knew you’d find her.
The phone rings, and Pavel swipes to answer. He listens for a moment and then holds the phone out to me. “It’s for you,” he says, his expression grim.
I glance at the screen-it’s Ippolit. I take the phone and put it to my ear. “Yes.”
“I’ve cornered Zakhar,” he replies, breathing heavily. “He’s trapped in a storage building in Secaucus.”
This is the moment I’ve waited for, but it’s also the moment I’ve been dreading.
“Good work,” I reply. “How many men do you have?”
“Three, including me.” His words rush out of his mouth; he’s never this excited. “I can end this. Quickly and painlessly.”
My blood is ice, and my heart beats faster. This is my chance to rid the world of a scumbag who doesn’t deserve to live. But as much as I want to see Zakhar die, I can’t bring myself to give Ippolit the order.
“Ippolit,” I say firmly, “that is not the order.”
Ippolit clears his throat. “What?” he says. “But I thought?-”
“You are not to kill him,” I tell him severely. “You are to bring him in. Alive.”
Ippolit’s tone is borderline disrespectful. “That was not what we agreed! That was not my order!”
“You have new orders now,” I reprimand him. “I want to talk to Zakhar. I want him alive.”
“Talk?” Ippolit scoffs. “There is nothing for him to say. He betrayed us all-you, me, the entire Bratva. Desmier.”
My throat tightens at the mention of my brother. Ippolit’s words open old wounds. Images of Desmier’s closed coffin flash through my mind. “I haven’t forgotten,” I reply, my voice spiked with bitterness.
He continues pushing me with his hostility. “Your loyalty is to the Bratva, not to a woman’s feelings. You know as well as I do she has no place in our world. Unless,” Ippolit continues, his tone softening slightly, “you want to pull the trigger.”
As much as I want to see Zakhar die, I can’t bear the thought of causing Maria any more pain. “You have your new orders. Understand me?”
Ippolit doesn’t answer me, and I motion to Pavel, who taps furiously on a screen. In a few seconds, we will know Ippolit’s exact location. I wait for the beep of confirmation, and Pavel points to the screen. On the screen, Ippolit stands outside a fence, loading his gun.
“Stay where you are!” I shout into the phone. “Don’t you dare move a fucking muscle without my approval. Eto moi prikaz!”
There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line, and then Ippolit explodes. “What the fuck are you thinking? Do you realize the risk you’re putting our entire operation in by letting Budanov live?”
“I’m the one who decides,” I shout back. “I will question him first.”
“No,” Ippolit murmurs. “You can’t do that. You can’t let him live.”
“Ippolit,” I snap, my anger taking over. “Do not disobey my orders.”
For a moment, Ippolit is motionless, but he doesn’t holster his gun. “Zakhar has chosen the Lanzzare Mafia over us,” he whispers into his phone. “He knows too much. He cannot be allowed to live!”
“I don’t give a fuck about what he knows, Ippolit.” I motion toward four guards, and they rush toward the open elevator. “I won’t give the kill order. I want to question him.”
“I can end this,” he urges. “I can kill him!”
Pavel lowers his voice. “Four men might not be enough.”
I motion to Anton, and instantly, he’s up and running toward the stairs. “Don’t forget what you are, Ippolit,” I continue to talk Ippolit down. “I am the pakhan,” I snap. “And if I say he lives, then he lives!”
Ippolit shakes his head, sweat streaming off his forehead. “I’m sorry, my pakhan. But he must die. It will be quick. I can only promise to make it quick. He’s had enough pain.”
He’s had enough pain. I stare at Pavel, who shrugs at the words and expresses his confusion with a scowl.
Ippolit’s orderly mind must have snapped because there isn’t any other explanation for his unusual behavior. He has never done anything physical since becoming a brigadier and relies on his soldiers to fight. Why change now?
“Ippolit, I order you to stand down. Stand. Down,” I grit out. “Eto moi prikaz!” I say again.
Ippolit looks up at the camera as if he can see me through the lens. His thin face is pinched in anger as he stares at me, his eyes full of madness. “I can’t let you do this, Mikhail,” he says. “I have to end this. Now.”
He lifts his gun and aims it at the camera.
“Ippolit, no!” I shout, but it’s too late. The shot rings out, and the screen goes black.
“That motherfucker!” I bellow, hurling the phone against the wall. I feel the eyes of everyone in the room on me, but I don’t care. “Get another team to his location immediately.”
Pavel nods and types furiously on his keyboard. “Already on it, boss. We should have another visual soon.”
“Fuck!” I punch a desk in frustration. “What the fuck was he thinking? That was a direct order!”
Pavel shakes his head. “I don’t know. But we’ll bring him in, and then you can take his stars.”
I run my hands over my face and stare at the blank window on the monitor. “How far are the teams we sent?”
“Thirty minutes out. They’re by the Holland Tunnel. It won’t be long.”
“That’s not fast enough, Pavel. We need to get to him before he kills Zakhar … or Zakhar kills him.”
I stride over to a small closet near the elevator where I store additional firearms. I pull out a gun-a sleek black . 45 caliber pistol. The cold steel feels familiar in my hand as I check the magazine, making sure it’s fully loaded. I slide the weapon into my holster and button my jacket.
I signal, lifting a finger in the air, then race toward the elevator-three men following me. The doors slide open, and we pile inside quickly. A new man, Kiril, pushes the button for the garage, and the elevator descends.
My thoughts drift back to Maria-the curve of her smile, the fire in her eyes when she challenges me, and how her body feels pressed against mine. She’s the one person who has made me feel better about my life, and I refuse to let this happen to her.
But I know we won’t make it in time.