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That time, Erik didn’t even flinch, he’d just stared up at my father with a small smile.
I shook my head and concentrated on presentErik, who was currently leading me down the hallway. Fear and cold, burning anger snarled around my throat, prompting me to reach out and grab hisforearm as we approached the elevators.
“If you won’t tell me what happened, thenwhodid this?” I asked. “We both know that this isn’t like my father.”
“We do,” Erik agreed. He glanced around the hall, before inclining his head. “It was the Scorpion—the new head of the Scarfone Family.”
I rubbed my forehead, now even more confused. “Why?What’s their business with us?”
“This is the world of dangerous men,lisitsa.You wouldn’t understand.” Erik jabbed the elevator down button and ignored me as I glared at him. I briefly considered stepping on his foot, but I wanted to hear more. “Suffice to say, our rivals played a dirty trick and fucked us over in a way that we won’t soon forget.”
“So, it’s about money?” I guessed.
Erik gave me a cool look as the elevator doors closed. As we began to descend, I thought he was going to say something obnoxious, but then to my surprise, he nodded and said, “Yes. A lot of money. Investments, off-shore accounts—” Erik hit his fist into the side of the elevator and the entire metal box shuddered. “It shouldn’t be possible, but those Sicilian demons found a way. Scumbags who love a loophole. No honor among assholes, eh?”
“Wait, investments?” I echoed and my mind began to race. This had to do with the dirty financial games that Bratva and Mafiosi played. The ones that took advantage of the rabid paranoia of very rich people and big, important financial institutions. It wasn’t impossible to hack in or steal that way, but it was probably easier to build a rocket ship, honestly. So, I couldn’t help but feel a little impressed. “How much? From where? And—?”
“Well, no, there’s more,” Erik admitted, and his big shoulders hunched. “Everyone is on edge. No one knows how Maurizio Scarfone pulled it off.” He let out a humorless laugh. “I guess I appreciate the bastard’s balls that he owned up to it so he could flaunt it in our faces.”
The elevator stopped and the doors opened.
“This isn’t adding up,” I said. “Can I—?”
“Don’t worry,” Erik cut in. “We’ll take care of it. Go home, little Fedulova. We must decide whether to go to war.” He patted my head and my lip curled. “This isn’t your fight. Go play with your computers and lay low. Don’t come back until you get the all-clear.”
The next thing I knew, I was back outside, the sun baking me through my nice blouse and jeans, the edge of the parking lot filled with rippling heat. My day lay in tatters at my feet, blowing away on the breeze.
As I walked to my car, there were only a few men around, and I noticed their jumpiness and angry voices. Anger clashed with a sinking feeling in my gut, and I tripped, spilling my coffee all over the sidewalk. I let out a frustrated snarl and wanted to kick the stupid cup, but I forced myself to grab it and throw it in a nearby trashcan with about a thousand cigarettes stubbed out on top of it.
Marching to my car, I threw myself inside and drove out the gate, barely waving at Yegor. On autopilot, I navigated my way toward the rear exit of my father’s industrial park, vaguely thinking I’d still go to the spa and treat myself, when I suddenly whipped into a near empty parking lot and parked under some trees.
Heart hammering, I grabbed my bag on the passenger seat and slid out my laptop. The thin metal seemed to hum under my fingers as I opened it. Next, I reached for my wallet and found the cherry-red USB drive that I kept in there, popping it into the side of my computer.
It powered on, the screen flickering from the usual welcome screen to a black background with white blinking text.
Hello, Korista. What can I do for you today?
My fingers flew over the keyboard, the hum of the car’s air conditioner and my playlist fading into meaningless noise as I got to work. First, as though my life depended on it, I went through the most extreme steps that I knew to completely mask my identity and location.
By the end of it, only the most accomplished hackers could’ve traced me, and even then, they should think I was in the middle of Moscow.
Next, I opened a notes app, and then settled in to do my research on “Maurizio Scarfone.”
One of the first things I found out was that “the Scorpion” typically went by Mauro. Next, I found his offices in downtown Chicago, then New York City, and Milan. There were some shells and false trails, but I dug deeper and deeper, noting everything useful I could find on the man.
Mostly, though, I was looking for his associates and connections to my father or the Fedulov Bratva.
Our shared Midwest location aside, there was bad blood there. Buckets of it. Enough to fill all the Great Lakes. In our grandfathers’ generation in particular, the Fedulov and Scarfone families had clashed over and over. It took some particularly grisly murders before they’d even considered calling for an uneasy truce.
Only for their asshat descendant to smash it and throw the pieces in my father’s face.
Maurizio Scarfone had somehow turned a giant tech merger from my father’s favor into his own. When the number of zeroes showed up on the screen, I fell back against the seat and swallowed hard.
This could end the Fedulov Bratva.
This could end my father.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I sat there for a few moments and then sat up, letting out a long breath. While I hadn’t done this before, per se, I knew the principle of what I was after.
