Page 6 of Fractured Ties

“Who’s the mark?” Konstantin asked.

“Ivan Kozlov.” Vadim nodded. “Now, get the fuck out of my sight.”

• • •

Konstantin was already reaching to shut the door of Kolya’s Hummer before he had even finished tugging on his leather gloves. Driving gloves, actually, but Kolya rarely used them for driving.

Killing, yes.

Not driving.

“Good to see you again, Kolya,” came a voice across the street.

Kolya eyed the figure leaning against his younger brother’s car. “You brought the Markovic shit along?”

Konstantin shrugged. “He was bored.”

Yeah, Kolya bet.

Kazimir—or Kaz, as he preferred—was the second oldest son of Vasily Markovic, the one Russian with all the pull in Brighton Beach, New York. Despite being the same age as Kolya, Kaz got on far better with Konstantin than the older Boykov brother. He was a cocky fucking thing—Kaz, but his father, too.

All the Markovics were, really.

Sometimes, Kolya thought it was Kaz’s cockiness and attitude that was going to kill him someday. That, or his goddamn mouth.

Kolya did share one thing in common with Kaz, although it was rarely ever a topic of conversation between the two whenever they were unlucky enough to have a face-to-face meeting. Kaz, like Kolya, was the son of a Russian mob boss—the son, as some liked to say. The one being looked at to move higher in the organization and take over their father’s position when the eventual time came for it to happen.

The thought irked Kolya.

It was never a question of if he wanted the position, simply a matter of him being given it whether he cared to have it or not. He’d never really given it much thought, but apparently, his thoughts wouldn’t make a difference at the end of the day.

Or, that’s what he was always told.

“Where’s Ruslan?” Kolya asked, referring to Kaz’s older brother.

“That’s how you greet me,” Kaz said, smirking a bit, “by referring to me as shit, and then asking where the fuck Rus is?”

Kolya fixed the straps on his gloves, tightening them until he felt the tell-tale pinch of the metal hooks biting against his flesh. “Ruslan doesn’t make me want to beat a lesson into him every time we meet up, pizda.”

Kaz bared his teeth at that comment.

A warning if Kolya ever saw one.

He knew the pussy remark would do it. Kaz fucking hated that shit. Kolya was the type to push a man’s buttons, just because he knew the guy had ones that were easy to press, whenever the fuck he felt like it. Also, all in all, Kaz was decent people, and he could give it as well as he took it.

Kolya respected that.

Didn’t mean he had to be pleasant.

“Asking to go a round, yeah?” Kaz asked. “Thought the last time when I busted your mouth up taught you something, Kolya.”

Little shit.

“Can’t say it did, but I’m willing to let you believe that shot was something more than a miracle.” Kolya shrugged. “Maybe later, yeah? Business to do, Markovic.”

“Lucky you.”

“Or lucky you,” Kolya tossed over his shoulder.