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“Oh, it’s business alright, but apparently it’s personal too.” He arches an eyebrow. “Dad found out that Fitzgerald was involved in getting Giovanni convicted. Guess he thought stealing his daughter and marrying her off to me is more of a knife to the throat than actually killing the fucker.”
“Then he should make Giovanni marry her, not you.” The thought of her warming that fuck’s bed has me seeing red and itching to pull the trigger of a gun aimed at his head.No one is going to fuck her beside me. “Unless, of course, you do want to marry her. Although, I don’t see how that’s going to go over well with Krishna. Three’s a crowd and all that.”
“I don’t want to marry anyone—Ciera or Krishna. I also don’t want to talk about this bullshit anymore. Besides, I thought you wanted to kick my ass for causing minor injury to your precious wife’s pinky?” I remind him to get off the subject of me and back on his own feelings.
His dark eyes flash, giving me exactly what I need—his anger. He tackles me, taking me to the ground in the blink of an eye. We tussle, both landing hits using our fists, elbows, and knees. We continue until he tires, and the fight dies out quicker than I’d hoped, but that just means I’ll have to pick a fight with someone else.
Not a problem. I know just the person. After we get off on trying to kill the other, we can fuck until this strange feeling in my chest goes away. Fucking is all I’ll give either one of them. When I tire of one or both, I’ll find a new toy to replace the ones I’m bound to break.
CHAPTER 8
KRISHNA
Yesterday morning, before sunrise, I discovered Alexey Kozlov had been playing both sides of the fence—literally. It was actually Domenico that figured out he’d doctored his revenue reports that he submitted to my father every quarter. Now that the business is in my hands, I needed to dive deeper into everything my father had been handling.
I’ve only made it through the past two years of information, and the question remains, how did Dad miss this? His not-so-spontaneous trips to Florida had been getting more frequent. It’s plausible he was wrapped up in the fact that his wife was living thousands of miles from him. But then again, he chose that life for her, so he only has himself to blame.
I’m not of the same mindset my old man was. I plan to keep those I actually give two shits about within arm’s reach. Anything can happen when someone you care about is out of sight. Sasha proved that to me last week, and had things happened differently, I could have lost her. Had that happened, I would have torn Canada, or anywhere and anyone else, apart to find her. Now that my sister is pregnant, I have even more to lose, which is why she isn’t here today.
I’ve never left her in the dark. Sure, Dad didn’t involve her as he did me. He didn’t keep her informed, which I’ve always disagreed with him on, even if I didn’t voice that opinion. He knew me well enough to know what I was thinking, and I respected him enough to keep my trap shut.
Now, I’m torn on pulling her in or leaving her out of the heavy shit—like killing one of my own men. Kozlov forfeited his life the moment he considered a business deal with another Pakhan, or his son. Perhaps Dimitri’s father, Ivan Sokolov, didn’t know of his son’s backroom deals, but that doesn’t matter. Alexey did not have the authority to launder money outside the United States. From what I can tell, over fifty million dollars is missing from the last twenty-four months of his casino revenue.
The question now remains, where did that money go? If he was paying Dimitri Sokolov, why? There’s no doubt in my mind that Sokolov was involved somehow. It’s too much of a coincidence he showed up at Alexey’s house in New Orleans all those weeks ago while Sasha and I were there.
I’m also pissed at my sister for not telling me she believed our father had arranged her marriage. Dad did, but she allowed Dimitri to fool her into believing she’d been promised to him.
Had I known, I would have ended that motherfucker’s life without asking my father. Hell, had I known his plans for Sasha and Lorenzo, I might have done the same to Ren too. Back then, there wasn’t anything between Dom and me except hate and several hard dicks. Back then, I would have taken pleasure in killing Ren, unknowingly hurting my sister in a way that would have destroyed us.
Which brings me to another reason I’m ticked off at my sister. Had the bitch told me about their relationship, I would have backed off and let her have whatever she wanted. But like everyone else, she kept him a secret from me too. She deserved getting her ass kicked by Domenico, only for different reasons than the one he was making, and it should have been me that broke her insignificant pinkie finger. The little shit deserved a punch in the face with all the brotherly love I’d have given her.
But now I can’t do anything. She’s pregnant, and the next motherfucker that looks at her wrong is going to die. She’d punch me in the face if she knew I now saw her as fragile. Can’t say that she’d be wrong in doing so either, but that also doesn’t thwart me from needing to keep her and the baby safe. They’re my family, and they’re mine to protect.
“I can keep this up all day,” I warn Alexey, forcing my thoughts back to the here and now. I had him picked up yesterday morning and escorted to New York City. My men arrived with him an hour ago.
I have a residential detached home for dealing with things that have the potential to get messy. Few people around these parts will notify the cops of noises since hearing gunshots are common. It’s also not too far from my apartment in Brighton Beach should I need to haul ass out of here. I own this house through a shell corporation that can’t be traced back to me. The apartment I bought for when I needed space away from my father’s mansion, which has been more often since he’s in Florida with my mom. “Tell me where the fifty mil went.”
Kozlov is done. He knows it too, or he should. He won’t leave this place still breathing. The thing is, if a Bratva brother dies, all their possessions and money automatically go to their Pakhan. I can keep or sell anything I choose. I can also gift some or all of it to their wives or mothers if they have them. Alexey has neither. I can also award it to the next person I put in charge of his territory and businesses.
With the exception of Las Vegas and Atlantic City, the New Orleans casinos are our third most profitable location. Fifty million dollars over the course of two years is pocket change to us, which is how he got away with it for so long, but that doesn’t mean it’s a forgivable crime. His penance is death. No amount of begging will change that resolution.
“Krishna,” he pleads, his Russian accent coming out urgent and pathetic. “I would never steal from you. It wasn’t me. You have to believe that, but I will find out who did this among management. We’ll both make him pay.”
“I’m tired of you saying the same shit, Kozlov. Keep going down this road, and your life will end more painful than it has to.” My patience is growing thin. I’m ready to shove the barrel of my gun down his throat and be done, but I’ve held out this long. I can keep going if it’ll get more information out of the bastard. “Tell me what Sokolov had to do with any of this. Tell me what the money was used for and where it went?”
“Please, Krishna. Let me find the real vor,” he urges, using the Russian term for thief.
Tipping my head down, I lift my hand to my face and press my middle finger between my eyes, rubbing the heated skin where so much tension is pushing against my skull. With my other hand, I snap my fingers and point in Alexey’s direction. Damien steps up behind Kozlov so quietly his steps can’t be heard, but by the way Alexey’s breathing accelerates, he knows one of my men was ordered to take action.
Swallowing the heat in my lungs before it pours out and I start firing rounds into Kozlov, I lift my head and pierce his brown eyes with the bone-chilling coldness found in mine. At the same time, Damien removes something from the pocket of his slacks, and within the blink of an eye, he whips it over Kozlov’s head and around his neck before fisting and snatching his hands back. Alexey starts to gag, but with his hands zip-tied behind his back, there’s nothing he can do except take the choking assault.
When I let my eyes dip, I see the fabric Damien is using is the black necktie he removed from around the collar of his dress shirt half an hour ago. He anticipated this moment. That’s good, impressive even. It tells me I promoted the right person to Sasha’s position when she took mine.
“How many times do you think I can bring you to the brink of death, Kozlov? This can end as quickly as you decide,” I tell him, lying through my teeth. He won’t be given a quick death. I’m going to draw it out for as long as possible. He betrayed the brotherhood—stole and lied—but more than that, he aided Dimitri Sokolov in whatever he’d planned for my sister. Maybe not directly, but he harbored him when I had no knowledge of that motherfucker being in my territory.
Damien relaxes his fingers, giving Alexey the opportunity to swallow a gulp of air, his chest expanding at the urgent rush to fill his lungs. He barely exhales the breath when Damien’s knuckles tighten again, pulling the tie back in the opposite direction, choking Alexey once more. He gags, his face turning a deep shade of red as his eyes open as wide as they’ll go.
My head cocks to the side, watching the scene, watching Alexey’s life drain, feeling not one ounce of remorse for the situation I placed him in. This wasn’t my doing. He did this to himself. He betrayed my family, the organization, our brotherhood—the Bratva. Why should I feel bad that he’ll die at my hands? Damien may be the one torturing him, but it’ll be me that ends his life. Damien’s fingers loosen, the taut material dropping lower on Kozlov’s neck, down to the collar of his disheveled and dirty dress shirt.
