“Ah, yes,” he says, chuckling. “Lyubimyy syn.”
I shake my head once as I stand, striding outside to answer the phone. I am the favorite son—an uncommon position for amiddle child. Oldest is the default, unless a girl arrives first. But I’m not the only one aware of the similarities between my father and older brother.
Aleksandr tried to prepare me, but I was ready first. I’m not sure my brother has—or will—forgive me for that.
It’s a short call.
Igor barks out, “My office. Now,” and promptly hangs up.
I sigh, then continue toward my car. Despite inviting me here, Aleksandr won’t care I left without a word. I was half-hearted, at best, about bringing a woman into one of the private rooms. Work will be more distracting than sex with a stranger.
A dozen feet ahead, I notice the shadow that’s too wide to only be the lamppost.
I scan my surroundings, looking for accomplices, gun already drawn.
I’m not the favorite because I’m reliable.
I don’t have the most kills because my brothers are incompetent.
Smart people are scared of the Sokolovs.Everyoneis fucking terrified ofme.
The man is dead before he even had a chance to raise his weapon. He fell forward, so I kick him over, avoiding the blood seeping steadily from the neat hole in his head. His face isn’t familiar, but I do recognize the tattoo on his arm. We cut his crew out after they failed to deliver payment last month.
I sigh, step over the crimson puddle, and call Aleksandr.
He answers on the fifth ring with an annoyed, “What?” as if I don’t know he’s currently preoccupied by prostitutes.
“Send Koslov and Galkin outside,” I snap. “I have to go, and there’s a mess.”
He hangs up without a word, much less a thank-you.
Aleksandr likes to bring too many men to this location. A way for him to let his guard down as much as we’re ever ableto. A waste of resources usually. Convenient tonight. Saves me a second phone call.
The men appear; Aleksandr doesn’t. I instruct Koslov and Galkin as to where and how to deliver the body, then climb inside the car.
I speed home, driving too fast along dark, empty roads—my solitary thrill for the evening.
Igor is pacing when I enter his office. He nods toward his desk, and I walk over to assess the grisly photo displayed there.
“That is why you kill rats,” my father sneers. “They flip once, they’ll flip again.”
“We don’t know that he did,” I say evenly.
“They didthatto him, and you think he kept his mouth shut?”
“He didn’t know anything important.”
“He knew about the warehouse.”
Another photo, this time a smoldering building.
My jaw clenches. “We have others. The only reason any product was stored there was because we’d run out of space in the other buildings.”
Igor huffs. “We can’t continue to expand if O’Brien is?—”
“I’ll take care of it. Cillian is reliable. We’ll hit the house. He has no idea we?—”
“Igor? You said you’d be right back.”
