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Lyon shook his head. “I don’t know.”
None of it felt right, and he had the sense of being trapped in a nightmare. The only thing worse than having another enemy to fight was not knowing who that enemy was — or if they had an enemy at all.
He turned his attention to the injured man. “How is Bud?”
Now that Lyon had a name, he remembered the man, in his early thirties, with a wife and toddler.
“He’ll survive,” Oleg said. “Thank god. But he’s got a skull fracture and a concussion, plus a broken arm. He won’t be driving — or doing anything — for a while.”
Lyon nodded. “Tell him he’ll be paid while he recovers, and of course, his medical bills will be covered.”
“Thank you,” Oleg said. “He’ll appreciate it.”
“I’ll speak to him,” Lyon said. He was preparing to enter the man’s room when Alek’s phone rang.
Alek looked at the display, worry knitting his brows when he saw the name. “It’s Luka.”
Lyon gestured at him to answer the call.
“Yeah?” Alek said, his eyes on Lyon. He listened for a few seconds. “Hold on.”
He muted the call. “Two more trucks were commandeered, both in Luka’s territory, and that club on Division was robbed.”
Lyon paced away from them. “Motherfucker…”
It was Saturday night, and the club, a high-end spot for nightlife, had to have been packed. They also paid the bratva for protection, something every other criminal organization in the area knew.
Alek looked at his phone, confusion shadowing his features. “Luka, I’ll call you back,” Alek said into the phone before taking another incoming call. “Talk to me, Boris.”
Lyon felt the news like a coming storm.
“I’ll call you back,” Alek said into the phone. He looked at Lyon. “Diner on 68th was robbed. Owner was there and was beaten up pretty badly.”
“Customers?” Lyon asked.
Customers made things more difficult. They meant police reports and witnesses, attention that was bad for the organization.
Alek hesitated. “A few.”
“Fuck,” Lyon walked away, the details swirling in his mind, trying to get ahold of the pieces.
Trying to make it make sense.
They didn’t know enough. That was the first problem.
He walked back to where Alek still stood with Markus, who had been unusually quiet. Lyon didn’t blame him. What could any of them say?
“Get the brigadiers to the warehouse,” Lyon said, heading for the door to the truck driver’s hospital room. “I’ll be ready to leave in five minutes.”
He needed to check on the driver who’d had the shit beat out of him, let him know the bratva was here for him and his family, that he would be supported.
Then he needed to find out what the fuck was going on.
30
It was after ten in the morning when Kira finally returned to the apartment. She was exhausted in every sense of the word, and she kicked off her shoes at the door.
A big bouquet of flowers sat on the console table near the elevator. It must have arrived early that morning, and Kira idly plucked the card out of the mass of roses and other flowers.
