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Chapter One
Viktor Nikolaev
The meeting tonight only had one fight, and nobody was killed, so I considered it a success.
Andrei and Damien were at my side the entire time, acting as guards and friends as the meeting unfolded seamlessly. We had the foresight to ban weapons at this meeting, especially after the last one ended in bloodshed. Replacing my lieutenants and trusted advisors was more of a hassle than it was worth, so we scanned everybody before entering. That was likely why the fight tonight hadn’t escalated further.
As I strode through my office, eyeing the massive pile of shit on my desk, I exhaled deeply and considered leaving it for tomorrow. But tomorrow I had to drop by a few businesses and homes, and I had a big narcotic shipment coming in three days to prepare for…
Tonight.
I marched to the pile on my desk, finding a new folder atop the stack. One of the guys may have put it there before we left, so I grabbed it first, opening it as I fell back into my chair with a groan. I sat up straighter as my eyes caught the picture on the front of the file—a photograph of Tom Gilroy, one of the adversaries I faced with the Irish mob. Theonlyadversary I’d faced.
In the Russian mob, we kept our business in the Brighton Beach area. We didn’t do dealings in the innermost parts of Brooklyn, Manhattan, or any of the major divisions of the city. In return, the Italian mafia stayed out of our domain.
The Irish—Tom in particular—didn’t have the same sentiment.
The photograph of Tom gave me pause. His eyes were closed, and he lay on a crematorium slab. Below the photograph was the word “deceased” and yesterday’s date. My mind reeled, considering everything that would become easier without his interference. A fraction of my clients refused to bring their business to Brighton Beach because of Tom Gilroy’s reaction to my dealings.
Finally, he was dead, and I could wipe my hands off all his restrictions and the shit I’d tolerated for years, waiting for him to fall from power.
The options for people taking his place were limited, but I knew none would be as difficult as him. The men who worked under him had been a go-between for our people for years. He didn’t have any sons to challenge his underboss, but…
He had a daughter.
I sunk back in my chair, blazing with the reminder of the only woman I’d ever pursued for more than a night and the only woman who had turned away from me without explanation—Ciara Gilroy. I stared at the wall across the room, imagining what a mob beneath her rule would look like. From the few evenings we’d spent together, she had never shown interest in her father’s business, and from the rumor mill, I’d heard that she’d left his ranks and disconnected from organized crime entirely.
Then again, shehadshown interest in me but changed her mind three weeks later.
I didn’t let myself dwell on that possibility as I flipped through the file, finding his final demands. He’d ordered that his daughter be left alone after disconnecting from the mob—an order that had allowed me to keep my distance. She was safe, cared for, and didn’t need me interfering in her life again.
But beneath that sheet was one more sheet that had my heart skipping a beat.
The new boss—Alex Byrne, his previous underboss—had nixed his previous order to disengage from Ciara. He had sent out an order to all sectors of his borgata that Ciara was a threat. She’d betrayed the mob by leaving it, and her death would bring great profit to the person who took the shot.
I knew the truth.
She was a threat to his title. She was the only true heir to her father’s legacy, and leaving her alive was a risk to his newfound power.
I’d heard rumors of Ciara leaving on poor terms years ago, but her father had allowed it to go unpunished. He’d gone as far as putting a do-not-touch order on her, and nobody—not the Italians, Irish, or me—would risk going against that. But now that he was in the ground…
Fuck.
I slammed the file on the desk, standing and storming from the room and toward the door to my house. I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t care after all these years of no contact, but Ciara had left her mark on me more thoroughly than anyone else, and I couldn’t let it go. Maybe that was the reason I had her address saved in my phone. I hadn’t ever used it, but I knew how to get to her in case of an emergency, and this wascertainlyan emergency.
I didn’t give myself a moment to think as I passed by all my vehicles, sitting in an organized line. I paused at the SUV and opened the rear, grabbing a secondary pistol to tuck into my empty ankle holster. I grabbed a handful of bullets and shoved them into my pockets as I reloaded my trusted Colt 1911 and tucked it back into place. I slammed the SUV trunk closed and turned toward my fastest option.
My Kawasaki H2.
I ran toward the sleek bike and hopped on, starting it and taking off from my underground garage with a buzz. I tucked the helmet atop my head as I flew from the garage and onto the street, immediately swerving between cars.
I wouldn’t be too late. The fuckers might hear me coming with this bike, but it was the fastest way to get there, and that’s what mattered most.
I needed to call for backup, but with the bike’s roar, I wouldn’t stand a chance of getting through to anyone. I had to do this alone, and when I retrieved her, I’d call Andrei to take the bike and bring me something more suitable for a passenger. I couldn’t waste a second, especially not knowing when the file had been placed on my desk and when Alex’s orders had been implemented. If other people learned about the hit before me, I could already be too late.
I wove through traffic, storming through the city as fast as my bike would take me.
I’d make it on time. I had to.
