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Viktor’s voice was as gruff as the way I felt, my mood remaining pitch black.
“Takoy zhe,” I replied, indicating the same, although I hadn’t spoken with my brother in almost a year. He’d all but ostracized himself from the family, preferring to handle certain aspects of our business overseas, remaining in Russia. He’d kept closer ties to what few friends remained in the old country as opposed to developing a new life in the United States. While he was heir apparent as the oldest, he’d never made a single overture about accepting the position. The brutal man preferred to work alone.
So did I.
I’d left the news for Kostya, curious as to if any of the other men in the photographs had been mentioned as working with the Ghost. I wouldn’t put it past Sergei, not for a second.
“Chto vam nuzhno ot menya?” he asked after the pleasantries had ended.
“What do I need from you?” I repeated, half laughing. “Information. The Ghost has escaped prison, determined to follow through with orders he received over eight years ago.” When he started spouting off in Russian, condemning me for not having the man murdered behind cinderblock walls, my patience ended. “Stop. In English.” I’d found that even though I spoke, read, and could write in Russian fluently, I’d become more Americanized every year, preferring to handle business in English, especially when I was as enraged as I’d become.
The tone of his laugh continued to have the same chastising effects, pissing me off even more. “Very well, brother.”
“You of all people know why I wanted the asshole to suffer, which he did. You also know that it was our father’s responsibility to order his death.” I’d made certain of that. The man had been shanked several times, almost blinded by acid. And still the fucker had managed to climb his way out of his personal hell hole.
Damn it.
“Perhaps, but you and I handle business differently,” he chortled. “If the Ghost has escaped, be prepared for additional bloodshed.”
“You’re telling me something I already know, Viktor. Stop the bullshit. Do you have any idea who hired the assassin eight years ago?”
“There has been no talk in the streets. None. However, I’ve spent very little time in Moscow or anywhere else in Russia the last two years.”
This was news. While he maintained contact with our father, we weren’t the kind of siblings to discuss each other’s lives. “Where the fuck are you?”
“Portugal. However, I still have my connections in the old country.”
“Then track down the responsible person before we have a bloodbath.”
“That sounds very much like an order, brother.”
“Consider it one.”
“Be careful, little brother. I will arrive at our father’s doorstep one day to claim what’s rightfully mine,” Viktor stated as if I would gladly step aside.
“Then you won’t like what you find.”
He took a deep breath. It was the way with us, always sparring. We’d fought like cats and dogs as children, Viktor always attempting to get the better of me. He learned early on that the phrase ‘blood is thicker than water’ didn’t apply in our case.
“Threatening me isn’t in your best interest,” he answered.
“As if that bothers me. Do what I ordered. I will expect to hear from you within forty-eight hours.” Perhaps I’d pushed too far, but time wasn’t on our side. I’d turn the goddamn city upside down if it was necessary in order to hunt down the human piece of garbage. Then I would take my time providing the kind of punishment that would render him a vegetable.
And I would enjoy every moment of doing so.
“When I come to America. Be prepared.”
This time I laughed. “Duly noted. I’ll look forward to the challenge.” Viktor had often been called a monster, just like I’d heard from the lovely Stephanie, but he had no idea how much I’d changed since he’d last seen me. I had no conscience and no care about consequences. When it came to business, my methods were just as savage.
I tossed the phone after ending the call. My anger continued to destroy my patience. I’d yet to track down Stephanie. While her flight had arrived on time, she hadn’t returned to the small house she owned outside of the city.
I circled the block for the second time, hissing when my phone pinged again. “What?” I barked without looking at the screen.
“You’re not going to like this, boss,” Cassian huffed.
“You cracked the phone.”
“Of course. Child’s play. There were dozens of photographs taken. Although the bastard tried to delete them just like he did his contacts. It would seem he was prepared for a possible visit.”
