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It didn’t matter how many times I proved myself to these men, they would never respect me. The irony was, that they had taken orders from me before, I just wasn’t in charge then.
I dropped the knife in the pile of others, taking a hand towel and wiping my hands.
“Get rid of him. But send the ring to his father. I want the message sent that I am coming for him next.” I said to the men waiting. Men who I barely trusted, let alone knew their names.
I made a habit not to get close to anyone anymore. If I didn’t know their names, I wouldn’t get attached and I wouldn’t care if they died.
I didn’t need their love or friendship; I needed their fear and respect. A trait I had picked up from Ivan and my father.
“Call me when the message has been delivered,” I added, not waiting to hear their response. These men were loyal to the Bratva, and I was the Bratva.
I may not have the blessing from the head of Moscow yet, but it will come. He was my cousin after all.
I glanced at the time and swore under my breath. I was going to be late. I may be good with a gun or knife in my hand, but my hand-to-hand combat was severely lacking and with the last attack they sent, I nearly lost.
It was one of my men who saved me, shooting the guy between the eyes in the parking lot where he tried to take me.
I needed to learn how to fight so I signed up for an MMA class.
Private lessons of course, because I had no interest in listening to the boring lives of others while I trained.
I glanced at my hands, seeing the blood still staining them. I needed a damn shower too.
I hurried to my car and drove the ten blocks from the warehouse to my home. I pulled into the driveway, the tension instantly falling from me.
The house was my pride and joy. It had been my mother’s dream to live in the traditional white picket fence style house, manicured rose bushes lining the front fence, a four-bedroom home with marble countertops and neighbors you could chat with on the weekend.
I may not talk to the neighbors, but I did have the house she dreamt of. I noticed the moving truck in the driveway, and the removalists carrying boxes into the house.
It had been for sale for months; the street wasn’t the cheapest and money was tight right now. I wondered who had purchased it, probably a family of four, a husband with some boring accounting job, and a wife who went to every PTA meeting.
I locked the car, glancing at the truck again, and froze when I saw the rose bush closest to the fence. It had been knocked, half the bush snapped, and the entire thing wilted.
I rushed over to the bush, swearing under my breath.
“Howdy neighbor!” A masculine voice said as I inspected the bush. I looked at the man as he grinned, walking over in a crisp dark blue suit and tan shoes.
His hands were in his pockets and his light brown hair was disheveled, though I could tell it was styled at some point.
“Your removalists ruined my rose bush,” I said, glaring at him. His eyes widened a little, but the grin didn’t leave his face.
“You sure about that? The bush is a bit far from the fence.” He said and I noticed the touch of a British accent.
Great, I had a snob living next door. I could only imagine what his wife was like. I took a deep breath and then pointed at the camera on my house.
“I can check the camera, but I know I don’t have to,” I said and he shook his head, leaning on the fence.
“Well, I apologize on their behalf. It’s just a rose bush. I’m sure it will be fine.” He said and I stared at him.
“Are you really going to get your knickers in a knot over a few broken twigs?” He continued and raised my eyebrows at him.
“This is a rare rose. Do you know how expensive it is?” I asked and he shrugged.
“Can’t be that expensive. How about I buy you dinner as a sorry and a thank you for being an understanding neighbor.” He said and I narrowed my eyes at him.
How did he do that? He turned it into a backhanded comment without even trying.
“I doubt your wife would like that,” I said as I glanced at my watch.
