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“Whoa. What’s got your panties in a twist, brother?”
“Nothing,” I snap. “I want a status report. Any word from Leo and Samuil? How are our men doing?”
“The operation’s ongoing,” Damien pipes up. “But they just called. They’ve managed to convince most of the businesses under the Antonov’s protection to start paying us instead.”
“Most?” I echo, arching a brow.
“There are a couple of loyalists who don’t want to budge,” Roman explains. “Don’t worry. If they know what’s good for them, they’ll pay us soon.”
My half-brother glances over my shoulder. “Did Ms. Antonova finally eat something?”
The mere mention of her name irritates me. Agitated, I reach into my pocket and pull out my grandfather’s lighter, flicking it on and off, on and off. It’s strangely soothing, the rhythmic ignition and extinguishing of the flame.
“What do you care?” I grumble, a strange twist of jealousy stabbing at my heart. “You’re not getting sweet on her, are you?”
Damien clears his throat. “Of course not.”
“Ms. Antonova,” I mock with a derisive chuckle. “Don’t let me catch you talking to her. You’re there to deliver her meals, check on her restraints, and leave. Got it?”
He nods slowly. “Whatever you say, Andrei.”
* * *
My grandfather taught me a great many lessons when I was younger, one of which is that progress takes time. Rome wasn’t built overnight, and impatience never serves its master. I always took his lessons to heart, every word out of that man’s mouth worth more than gold.
But I’ve never been a patient man. When I want something done, I get it done. No point in stalling. Nothing pisses me off more than being bogged down by inaction. Maybe that’s why I’ve been in such a terrible mood lately.
Leo and Samuil’s reports are less than stellar. Their best guess is they’ve managed to claim only ten percent of the okrug—far slower than what we had calculated. It’s a shame, really, considering the extent of my contacts and our limitless supplies. Our trafficking business should have given us an advantage in every sense—manpower, firepower, quick and easy transportation—yet the Antonovs keep beating us back.
I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.
“Maybe we should try calling them again,” Samuil suggests. “Send Mikhail Antonov one of her eyes or something. That’ll get him to back off for sure.”
I’m not particularly fond of hurting women or children, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Two weeks ago, I would have considered it, but now… Now, the thought of harming Sandra makes me uncomfortable. Not because I care or anything, but I can’t explain it, either.
“Nobody touches her,” I warn. “We just need to beat back the Antonovs. Once we have a foothold, we’ll be in an even better negotiating position.”
Leo chews on the inside of his cheek. “I’ve heard a rumor.”
My gaze snaps to him. “Tell me.”
“Mikhail Antonov has two other children,” he explains. “His youngest is a son. Word on the street is if they decide they can’t save Sandra, they’ll simply turn the Bratva over to him.”
I let my brother’s words sink in. Could it be true? Would Mikhail Antonov really consider abandoning his eldest child?
That’s something your mother and father did. What makes the Antonovs any different?
“That won’t happen,” I say confidently.
“What makes you so sure?” Roman asks.
“Mikhail Antonov is a family man. It’s his biggest weakness, one we’re going to exploit to the fullest extent.”
“We’re with you, brother,” Samuil says, “but we can’t keep going like this. You said he’d cave the moment we took his daughter. We weren’t prepared for a battle of attrition.”
I wave a hand dismissively. “It won’t get that far. Once we have full control over the okrug, I’ll call him again and renegotiate. He’ll be more inclined to listen once we’ve got his landandhis heir. That’s when we enter Phase Three.”
“Remind me what that is again?” Leo grumbles.
