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“I… I will try to pay it. How much time can you give me?” I ask desperately.
The three of them laugh as they push the store’s front door open, jingling the old bell I’ve been listening to all my life.
“Don’t stand in the doorway, kid,” Kir says, gesturing with his chin that I should get back in the store. “You don’t want to attract attention.”
But I decide to press my luck and ignore him. He wouldn’t hit a girl, would he? “Wait. Look, it’s clear he doesn’t have the money. If he doesn’t have it now, he won’t have it in twenty-four hours. What will happen then?”
Vadik and Kir ignore me and walk to their car. Niko, the one who’s more softspoken, turns to me.
“You’ll see, Charleigh. You’ll see in twenty-four hours.”
* * *
CHAPTERFIVE
Vadik
How in the fuck did my uncle make such a mess of the club? The one my father slaved over for so many years?
The one Papa never should have left to his ne’er-do-well brother Misha. Or Mikey. Who couldn’t run away from his Russian roots fast enough.
That should have been ample warning. The man didn’t give a shit about his family, or any of our businesses.
It’s been two years since the house fire, the one my parents died in. Murdered, I prefer to say, although it’s never been proven. And it’s taken Mikey exactly two years to drive my father’s beloved, very profitable club straight into the ground.
And now I have to fix it. Not because Mikey wants me to. Not because he’s even asked me for help, which I offered on more than one occasion. I should have just wrestled the company from his slimy hands, but out of some inexplicable loyalty to my father and the family as a whole, I stood back. Respected my father’s last wishes to give his party boy younger brother a profession. Something he could be proud of.
And what did the fucker do?
Spent every last cent the club had on exotic cars for his lazy ass and tacky fur coats for his child-bride wife.
I am not even kidding.
He dragged her over from Russia when she was fourteen years old—something about a business transaction between her father and him—and popped her cherry seconds after she turned eighteen. How do I know this? He fucking bragged about it.
I guess I should at least give him credit for not being a child molester.
And now the fucker has fled the country, wanted by the Feds on tax evasion charges. Of course, he tried to clean out the coffers before he left, moving money to a variety of offshore accounts he could easily access from wherever he landed.
But on this, I got the last word. I was able to move some funds into an account he had no knowledge of, just before he left. I knew he was up to no good. He’s never been smart enough to hide his real intentions.
So, with Mikey out of the way, my brothers and I are left with two choices. Either clean up the mess left behind or close the club’s doors.
I suppose it would be easier to walk away. Tell all our employees to get new jobs somewhere else.
Including Dominika, our high-handed club manager. Who I’d like out of our lives anyway.
But fuck it, we decided. Papa would roll over in his grave if he knew the shape the club was in only two years after his death. My brothers and I will do right by him and breathe life back into the place if it’s the last thing we do.
The multitude of other businesses we run are doing fine. They will prop up this venture for as long as needed. The only downside is that for now, I have to deal with the fucking migraine headache of a mess my dumbass uncle left me.
But I have ideas. Lots of ideas. The kind that can be very profitable. And they start with chasing down all the fuckers who owe us money.
We run card games. That’s not all the club is about, but it’s a true cash cow. And Uncle was very lenient about letting players borrow from the house. In fact, he leta lotof players borrowa lotfrom the house.
Mikey was too much of a pussy to ever cut anyone off.
Even Papa wasn’t much for collecting the debts owed him. As long as operations ran smoothly, he didn’t sweat things.
