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My patience is already thin to start with, so my brother’s rambling is worsening my mood. “Your point?” I snap.
“The Antonovs have their favorites. Old family friends they give preferential treatment to. But what about the allies they’ve neglected? Smaller houses of little importance to them, weaker groups with less to offer.”
Samuil arches a brow. “Why would we want to align ourselves with weaklings?”
His question is a fair one. My brothers and I are in a unique position right now, so we can’t afford any missteps. We took land from the Antonovs by force and are starting to operate right under their noses. The last thing we want to do is unite our forces with those who align themselves with our enemy.
“A lone ant is weak,” Leo says sagely. “But a whole army of ants can move mountains.”
Samuil snorts. “Did you read that on a fortune cookie?”
“Shut up.”
I raise a hand, cutting them all off. Maybe Roman has a point. Sandra proved to me the other day at the bathhouse that there are some under the Antonov banner who haven’t been treated as fairly as others. All it took was a carrot instead of a stick, and Akim and Ruslun were practically tripping over themselves to get into her good graces. Maybe this is something we can use to our advantage.
“I want names,” I tell my brothers. “Give me a list of all the allies could potentially flip.”
Damien frowns. “And how do you plan on doing that?”
I rise from my seat, excitement stirring in my chest. “By offering them something they all desperately want.Power.” I turn to Leo. “I want their names by the end of the day. I’ll reach out personally to arrange a more formal meeting.”
“You think they’ll actually go for it?” Roman asks. “What if they report you and bring the Antonovs raining down on us.”
“Trust me. I’ve got everything under control.” Their silence speaks volumes, but I blow right past it. “Have I ever let you down before?” I ask clearly.
My brothers all shake their heads. “No.”
“Good things happen to those who wait. And we’ve all been waiting a long fucking time. Have patience. Everything we’ve had to do… It’s all about to be worth it.”
4I turn on my heels and leave the room.
* * *
By the time I leave the taxi depot, it’s nearly two in the morning. My brothers have already gone home, but I don’t mind putting in the extra work. Criminal enterprises don’t exactly run themselves.
I walk out into the brisk night, flicking my lighter on and off. It’s a soothing action, the repetitive nature of my thumb rolling over the striking mechanism helping to clear my mind of any lingering thoughts. It’s been a hell of a day.
When I reach my car in the employee designated parking lot, I stop short. Any other day, I wouldn’t think twice about sliding into my car and driving off. But something’s… off. Call it a gut reaction. A hunch. There’s a chill in the air, an icky feeling crawling down my spine.
I look around. Save for a couple of taxi drivers working the graveyard shift out on their smoke break, I’m entirely alone.
I decide to inspect my vehicle, walking around it to give it a thorough once-over. Everything looks as it should. No scratches, no dents. Nothing out of the ordinary, nor anything to worry about. Yet I can’t shake this strange feeling seeping through my veins. Slowly, I get down on my hands and knees, the cold, hard pavement scraping at my palms as I check beneath my car.
And I see it. A small, round disk stuck to the undercarriage.
It’s one of those Apple AirTags I’ve seen advertised online. Trackers meant for things like your keys, your pets… And in this case, a person’s whereabouts.
I contemplate crushing it beneath my heel before attempting to hunt down my would-be stalker, but then I think against it. Who in their right mind would be stupid enough to try and track me? What reason would they have? Could it be an Antonov seeking revenge? But if so, why not plant a car bomb and get it over with? Who’d go to such lengths—
A thought occurs to me: Detective Gregor Ivanovich.
He’s been suspicious of me for a very long time. I wouldn’t be surprised if he planted this tracker on me. I could destroy the tag … or I can do the smart thing and ruin the fucker’s life.
I pocket the AirTag, get in my car, and head straight to the police station.
It’s a short drive. I roll down the windows to let in some fresh air. All things considered, I’m in a surprisingly good mood when I walk up the front steps of the police department. It’s surprisingly busy in here given the late hour, but I’m talking from experience when I say crime never sleeps. I just didn’t think I’d ever voluntarily walk into a place like this.
“Can I help you?” the grumpy clerk at the front desk asks me. She seems too intrigued with the YouTube video playing on her phone to bother looking up at me.
