Page 40 of A Surprise Baby for the Russian

There’s no good way to do this, no way that is anything other than shit. “It’s your father. I’m sorry, Illia. My father had him killed early this morning.”

The silence that follows is worse than anything he could have said.

“Illia—”

“The motherfucking fuck.”

“Listen to me, Illia. You have my blessing to go and do whatever the fuck you want. You know what Alek’s running out of that port, who he’s doing business with over there—it’s yours. I’ll handle whatever needs handling on this end.”

“It’ll be my fucking pleasure,” he says, voice raw.

He hangs up.

“Well, that was shit,” I say to nobody in particular.

The air in the room is thick with the electric charge of a held breath. Adrian is pacing the length of the window frame, his hand twitching against the grip of his holstered weapon. Egor is slouched in a chair beside me, his eyes drilling holes into the side of my face. They want blood. They didn’t know Sergei—he was my man, a piece of my world, not theirs—but my father had a body thrown at a Volkov gate. It is an insulting infraction on their space, and they want to mobilize every soldier on the payroll and storm my father’s compound right this second.

I breathe through the dark rage clawing at my ribs, forcing my pulse to remain perfectly level. It will only take a few texts, and by the end of the day they will understand exactly what it looks like when I’m upset.

The first report comes from one of Illia’s men in Odesa at eleven am.

My phone buzzes: East dock facility. Fire crews on scene. Incendiary through the loading bay. Went up too fast for anyone to save the cargo.

I read it out loud to the room. Matvei’s eyebrows go up, but he doesn’t say anything yet.

Forty-five minutes later, the second report comes in—and this one isn’t from Odesa at all. A counting house in Red Hook, where his people count and launder the week’s cash before it moves into the legitimate accounts—two of my men in, safe cracked, cash and ledgers both taken before the fire started. I run a small but tight group out of my yard, and Sergei was like a father figure to a few of us. They couldn’t wait to fuck my father up after I texted them the news earlier.

Simon’s phone is ringing while I’m reading the text to them. He answers, is silent for a second, then puts it on speaker. “You might want to hear this,” he says. “Tell them what you told me, Lev. You’re on speaker. “

“Our guy on Van Brunt Street called in. Says the building we’ve been watching just went up in smoke. Says it went up fast. Arson.”

Matvei’s eyes cut to me. “You knew we had a man on that address?”

“I didn’t. Small world.” I don’t smile, but it’s close. “Either way, the papers and the money are ours now, or ash; the old man won’t know which, will he?”

“Fuck me. You don’t waste any time, do you?” Egor speaks from beside me.

“Oh, that’s not even the good stuff. Though I think that’ll need another hour or two.”

“I ain’t got no other place to be. I think I’ll just sit here and enjoy the ride. There’s nothing sweeter than watching that fucker get taken down a peg or two,” he replies.

Sofie and Raya ferry back and forth between the kitchen and the room, bringing drinks and snacks, while we’re sat around talking. They both know what’s happened; there’s no hiding it. It’s the life they’re part of, but even so they don’t move to join us, preferring their own company.

Just after one, Illia calls again. I put him on speaker.

“I got the fucker,” he says, before I can even say hello. “The storage facility he thinks we don’t know he has his shit in. Two hundred kilos of uncut cocaine, gone. In and out before anyone on shift even knew what was happening.”

“Bodies?”

“Nobody worth killing. It’s eight in the evening, Yakov. I know how to pick my hours.”

“Good work, Illia.”

“I want to see that pig burn for what he’s done. This is the next best thing.”

Simon whistles through his teeth, “Christ, Mykros. If he didn’t want you dead before, he sure as shit will now. He’s going to know it’s revenge, and the man’s son. No?”

“I’ve not finished yet.”