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“How much product can you ship per week?” I ask, hoping to steamroll over his need to make small talk.
“Fifteen kilos.”
I grit my teeth. “That’s it? Arajs guaranteed me thirty.”
“Well, Arajs is behind bars looking at life in prison,” Barda says with a chuckle. My eyebrow lifts, so he adds, “Don’t act so surprised. You already knew I had a smaller operation comparatively.”
I fight the urge to sigh. “Fine. Fifteen kilos a week. I’ll give you five mil for it.”
“When it’s worth almost quadruple?” Barda clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Do you think I’m stupid or something? You’ll give me twenty.”
My blood simmers beneath the surface of my skin. This is turning out to be such a waste of time.
Samuil steps forward, wearing his anger more prominently than I. He puffs his chest out, clenches his fists. “Listen here. We didn’t come all this way to have you pull a fast one on us.”
Barda glares at me. “Call off your attack dog. Is this really how you do business?”
“He’s right,” I say, backing my brother. “We didn’t come all this way to sign on to a bad deal.”
“I don’t see what other options you have, Andrei. I know you’re a small-time player. You’re hungry to claw your way to the top, but you can’t very well do that since your old supplier’s out of business.”
Barda turns toward his car and gestures. Three large men, previously hidden because of the stupid window tint, emerge with weapons in hand. They look like a private militia, armed with automatic rifles and body armor.
Samuil immediately reaches for his gun, snarling. “You bastard. Are you trying to intimidate us?”
Barda shrugs. “Not at all. I’m just trying to carry out my orders.”
Everything suddenly clicks into place. There was a reason he wanted to meet us here, outside and in the open, as opposed to a restaurant or private office space. They were never interested in doing business with me. This is a paid hit.
“Who sent you?” I ask, slowly reaching for the gun in my holster.
“He didn’t give a name,” Barda confesses. “He just told me to get rid of you.If he’s not going to help me, then he’s in the way.”
My brain jumps to the next logical conclusion. There’s really only one person Barda could be referring to; none other than the disgraced Detective Gregor Ivanovich. I thought it was a little strange that he suddenly dropped off the face of the Earth. I should have known he was lurking somewhere in the shadows, plotting.
“How much did he pay you?” I ask casually.
“Enough to make sure this looks like the work of the Antonovs.”
My blood runs cold, and a chill rakes down my spine. “Why the fuck would you do that?”
“There’s plenty of news coming out of Moscow,” Barda says, cocking his gun. “Everybody loves an underdog. Plenty of people have seen the way you made a mockery of them. If word gets out—and I’ll make sure it will—that the Antonovs had you executed in cold blood, it’ll give the smaller families the incentive they need to act. Better to bite first than be beaten, don’t you agree?”
Help me make the Antonovs disappear.
Fuck. Ivanovich is clever, I’ll give him that much, but the opposite will happen. The smaller families will be afraid and stay in their place.
When aligning himself with me didn’t work, he turned to the next best thing—guns for hire. My death will serve as a catalyst to war. A few months ago, the idea would have delighted me to no end.
Not anymore.
“I’ll pay you triple what he gave you to let us walk,” I say.
Barda raises his gun, training his sight on me. “Nowyou’re willing to give me money? Hilarious.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Da svidaniya, as they say in Mother Russia.”
