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“We’ve—” Dimitri starts but is cut off by a harsh rap on the door.
“Boss, Grisha,” comes the deep voice from outside.
“Da. Come in,” I respond, my words cutting through Dimitri’s aborted sentence.
With a grating creak, the door swings open, and there stands Grisha, our resident mountain of a bodyguard, his icy gaze scanning the room.
He’s balancing an ornate tray – an odd elegance to his otherwise brutish facade – holding glasses and a dusty bottle of whisky. The bottle is old, its label barely readable. My father’s choice – a relic from his reign, just like this shithole.
The amber liquid gleams in the dim light as Grisha pours, its scent permeating the room – a nostalgic remembrance of countless previous councils. It’s a reminder of the legacy we carry, the battles fought, and the battles to come.
“Na zdorovie,” Dimitri says, raising his glass. It’s a simple toast, yet it holds the weight of our collective determination. He downs his drink in one smooth gulp, the grimace on his face belying the burn.
A vicious growl builds in my chest as the thought of Aleks floods my mind. A vile parasite, feasting on the lifeblood of our operations.
That fucker… He was the one who arranged for my father’s murder, had him shot in cold blood on the steps of his own home.
The whisky burns a fiery trail down my throat, the smoky flavor mingling with the bitter taste of wrath. Aleks would pay for what he’d done. By God, I’d make sure of it.
Erik follows suit, his movements slower, more calculated. He stares into his glass for a moment, as if seeing something we don’t, before knocking it back, his throat working as he swallows.
“Boss, they are here,” announces Ivan, another one of our loyal watchdogs, his gruff voice coming from the doorway.
“Let them in,” I command.
The door creaks open, drawing our attention. Two figures step into the dimly lit room, their features shadowed, but the recognition instant.
“Vadim. Anton,” I nod toward each man in turn. Vadim, a broad-shouldered bear of a man with unmatched loyalty, and Anton, sleek as a panther, his mind as sharp as his looks. They’ve been running our operations on the ground, their insight invaluable.
“It’s been a while, boss,” Vadim rumbles, his voice a low growl that betrays an unspoken warmth. Anton, ever the silent watcher, merely nods, a subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth hinting at a smile.
“Four years,” I admit, acknowledging the space that has grown between us. “You’ve been keeping things under control?”
Their answers come as nods, silent affirmations of the heavy mantle they’ve carried in my absence.
“Always.” Anton’s voice is like steel, the conviction in his tone making it clear he’s been doing his damnedest to uphold not just my expectations but my father’s legacy.
“What’s the damage?” I ask, my gaze shifting between Vadim and Anton.
Vadim grunts. “We’ve been trying to reach our suppliers, boss. No fuckin’ luck. It’s like they’ve disappeared into thin air.”
Anton chimes in, his voice cool and calm, “Some shipments didn’t come through. We’re short on supplies.”
“Aleks’s work, no doubt,” I spit, clenching my fists in barely concealed rage.
“Seems so.” Anton nods, his jaw set in a tight line.
“Blyad!” Dimitri swears, slamming his hand on the table. “We can’t let this asshole bleed us dry.”
“I agree,” Vadim rumbles, his face hard as stone. “We’ve got people dependent on us, families. We can’t let them down.”
“We got a plan, boss?” Vadim asks, his voice gravelly but carrying a note of unwavering faith. I look at Anton, his silent nod reassuring.
“A plan to hit back,” I confirm, meeting each of their gazes in turn. “But we need to call in some favors,” I add, my words resonating in the silence that shrouds us. “From our friends.”
Dimitri leans back in his chair, casting a skeptical glance. “So, the Diablos in New York? Those guys are ruthless.”
“Exactly,” I reply, “Ruthlessness we could use.”
