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Chapter Thirteen
Finn
After theShestyorka,the Bratva equivalent of a runner, patted me, Aidan, Jr., and Eoghan down, the guy guided us along the dimly lit hall of the warehouse.
I wasn’t exactly happy to be here, and I sure as hell didn’t like being unarmed right in the middle of Bratva territory, but we needed help if we were going to stop a war, and the Pakhan, the head of the Bratva in this area, owed us a favor.
The Bratva had a different way of working than most Irish Families; there was a lot of ‘eye for an eye’ shit that the Irish didn’t go for so much. But with the Five Points, things were different. Aidan Sr. made the Old Testament look softcore, and that meant our core values were aligned with the Russian brotherhood.
That didn’t mean I liked them, or even wanted to deal with them. But neither did I want a war.
War was good for no one.
It stopped free trade because the locals stopped going out, and it got the police involved if too many people were killed. No one wanted the pigs sniffing around us.
The Bratva included.
The warehouse was grim, old, and dank when we made it into an office which wasn’t much better. The walls were painted white, but the paint was peeling, and the desk looked like it belonged in another era—I noticed a few marks where it had been kicked a few times—and there were several bullet holes in the paintwork that caught my attention.
On either side of the door, there were two men I recognized, with several more unfamiliar faces in the room. Antoni Vasov, the Pakhan, and his two spies. His bookkeeper, the Sovietnik Denis Abramovicz, and the head of his security, the Obschak Basil Lukov. That they were here boded well. They knew what our purpose was, and their presence meant shit could get real sooner rather than later.
Though the office was a dump, the suits the three men wore cost over ten grand. The Bratva were wealthy fuckers, but their money came from less legitimate revenue streams. We had our vices, drugs and girls, but they were dirty. Hardcore. They trafficked girls, something I loathed, and shipped guns from the Motherland to America.
Vasov didn’t stand when we all strode in, and I knew Aidan Sr. would take that as an insult. Aidan Jr. elbowed him, though, and Sr. took the hint and seated himself in the only chair in front of the desk.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Antoni,” Aidan started, his tone cool but polite.
Vasov dipped his chin. “I know why you’re here,” he replied, his accent thick with his homeland. “I’m not sure I can help.”
That had me inwardly groaning. Fuck. I’d thought they weren’t going to bullshit. Because Aidan’s temper ran on a short fuse, I stated, “Cut the crap, Vasov. One good turn deserves another, and it’s time to pay up.”
Vasov cut me a look. “Your errand boy talks for you now, Aidan?”
Rather than being pissed, Aidan laughed. “More like my Sovietnik, Antoni.” He grinned good-naturedly. “I’m certain Abramovicz would try to cut out my tongue if I’d slurred his name that way, so maybe you should be grateful that Finn isn’t armed.”
Vasov sneered, but he ducked his head in apology—that was about as much of a sorry as I was going to get. I wasn’t pissed, though. Rank meant shit to me. The money was what mattered, and I had millions under my control.
“Last year, when we learned our little rat had DEA ties and we saved that shipment of coke from being transported straight into the government’s hands, I estimate we saved you a loss of over two hundred million.”
Abramovicz barked something at Vasov, who narrowed his eyes. “I remember,” was all the Pakhan said, though.
“Well, my little problem will cost far less to resolve,” Aidan replied, his tone bizarrely cheerful—only Aidan could find something funny within these walls.
“You pissed the Colombians off. Word is, you made it look like they’d killed Suarez.”
“I neither confirm nor deny that,” Aidan retorted, “but they’re making moves on my patch and none of us want to come to the attention of the cops, do we? Only the Colombians are stupid enough to try to bring shit to my territory and think there won’t be consequences, but I understand they’re pissed and want to bitch at me. They’ve done that now. I’ve had enough.”
“And what do you want me to do about it?”
“We know you have their ear. They’re your main supplier of coke, after all. You have a mutually beneficial relationship.”
“Why would I risk my supply for you?” Vasov retorted, sitting forward so he could rest his elbows on the table.
“Because you owe us,” I retorted easily, and before he could sneer that it was in the past, I smoothly continued, “Plus, a little piggy may have told me something interesting about your movements in the Baltics.”
Vasov’s eyes flared. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
The Sovietnik and Obschak began hurling Russian at Vasov, and from the way we could see the whites of the Pakhan’s eyes, I knew my tip off was good.
