Page 64 of Forced & Owned By the Bratva Boss

The room falls silent following Sergei’s report.

Nobody picks up the untouched bottle of whiskey on the table. Nobody says anything. The only sound in the room is the soft whir of the air conditioner above and the steady tapping of my fingers on my desk.

Three days.

Three fucking days.

That’s how long Joaquin has been dead, and aside from the rushed funeral yesterday, which I wasn’t invited to, Emiliano hasn’t done a damn thing.

Normally, it would be a good thing that Emiliano hasn’t made a move against me and the bratva, but men like Emiliano don’t just disappear after inheriting a cartel from the predecessor they’ve killed.

The fuckheads usually party hard with their new power, while the smart ones kill all those who are faithful to the dead boss, wage wars against old allies, make new alliances, and make sure everyone knows who’s in charge now.

But not Emiliano.

Aside from his boys loitering around my properties thinking they’re invisible, there hasn’t been any news or actions from his end. No one has even caught a glimpse of him, so it’s hard to tell what the fucker is planning.

That’s what makes him dangerous.

Sergei closes the file in front of him. “I had the boys search all six locations this morning. There was no trace of the Mexicans lingering outside or keeping tabs on us. There hasn’t been a single one of them watching us since last night.”

Ruslan relaxes in his chair, putting an ankle across his knee. “Maybe he realized fighting the bratva wasn’t good for business.”

I shake my head. “No.”

He lifts his shoulder. “You think there’s something more?”

I don’t think. I fucking know it. If Emiliano went as far as killing Joaquin, it wouldn’t be just for the title of head of the cartel. He was second-in-command, so he would’ve taken over at some point after Joaquin grew too old.

There’s something more, and it feels like it has to do with the bratva.

Ruslan raises an eyebrow, but remains silent.

I stand up and head over to the huge map that hangs on the wall at the front of the room. There’s a black pin for every single bratva enterprise a red pin for every Mexican one we know about.

In the past twelve months, the map has become too crowded, with new businesses opening in different districts here in Miami and America as a whole. The Mexicans have had a few expansions as well.

I stare at it for several long minutes before speaking. “Joaquin’s death was one thing. Unless he’s stupid, Serrano knows the bratva isn’t something he should mess with, but a predator doesn’t stop hunting when he loses sight of his prey.”

Sergei nods.

Ruslan steeples his fingers in front of him.

“A predator stops hunting when he manages to find himself a new position to attack from, or he waits until the prey thinks it’s finally safe and lowers its guard.”

Sergei is the first to break the silence. “So you think he’s waiting for us to lower our guard before he strikes?”

“That, or he’s coming up with a strategy other than the one he planned at first.” I pull a red pin out of the map. “Joaquin, as annoying as he may have been, knew the importance of hierarchy and balance. It’s why he agreed to our alliance. The ports were his territory, and the clubs were ours. We cooperated with each other since war is very costly.”

Ruslan exhales loudly. “But Emiliano isn’t like Joaquin, is he?”

I pull out another pin. “He isn’t.”

I watched him each time I met Joaquin for a meeting. He was usually quiet. At first glance it would seem that was out of respect for Joaquin, but his body language usually suggested otherwise. He disagreed with his boss, but voicing that disapproval would only make Joaquin wary of him, so he kept quiet until he could strike.

Ruslan’s expression hardens. “He wants our territory?”

“It’s not just our territory he’s after. He wants something more.”