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Niko
Dimitri Yegorov stores his countless smuggled goods—whether weapons, counterfeit liquor, forged art, or stolen furs—in warehouses around town. These are businesses developed and grown by his father. Not surprisingly, Dimitri’s done little or nothing to cultivate them since the man’s been gone. Lucky for him, his father left good managers in place when he passed, knowing his son would have little to contribute to the empire he built.
Smart thinking, that father of his. About the only thing Dimitri has ever been good for aside from creative havoc, is siphoning money out of these businesses of his father’s.
My brothers and I are about to make it much more difficult for him to do this. If they have no inventory, they have no cash flow. Without cash flow, Dimitri can’t survive. It’s like forcing a cockroach out of hiding.
No offense to cockroaches.
His most recent attack against Charleigh was the absolute last straw. He’s lucky as hell she didn’t shoot his ass—her instructor says her aim is damn good for a newbie. But it’s okay that she missed him, because it gives us more time to toy with him, like a cat batting around a mouse before devouring it.
The first thing we did was pay off his men to reroute his shipments. One might think that long-term employment would secure the loyalty of the men working for him, but when we waved a few hundreds in the guys’ faces, they caved so fast it was hilarious.
Fuckers.
If the people working for us ever pulled this, it would be the last thing they did before being buried six feet under.
But Dimitri has not been successful fostering loyalty among his men, rumor has it, mistreating them and using his businesses as a personal ATM.
So not only is his shit going missing, but we also have some associates who’ve showered a few drive-by shootings on his buildings. Not to hurt anyone—that will come later—but to send a message that the end is near.
ThePakhanhas gotten word of this and is not happy. In fact, his second came by the club the other day, his mangled hand still in a cast, to tell us to back off. We denied everything.
Even though everyone knows it’s us. Fact is, there is no one else who would go to the lengths we are, no one who hates him as much as we do, and no one with the resources to fuck him up like we can.
And no one with the balls to defy thePakhan. As his second tried to threaten, we could get in big trouble, if we already aren’t. But we’re past the point of caring about this shit.
A man can only take so much. We’ve been more than patient. Any further postponing of the inevitable will make us look weak in the region, and that’s not something we’re willing to risk.
Of course, we aren’t sharing any of this with Charleigh. She might hear bits and pieces just by virtue of being around us, but the less she knows, the better. Although she’s itching to get involved. Holding her back has been like trying to cage a hungry tiger. She keeps trying to sneak in on our plans and won’t listen when we say we’ve got everything under control.
Charleigh’s circumstances have created a monster out of her. It’s both a shame and a relief—a shame that her previous innocence has been shattered, but also a relief she’s developed enough street smarts to help herself if she ends up in a bad situation.
The driver from the day Charleigh was taking Evie to school, and they were attacked? He didn’t make it. But, bless him, by getting a few shots off while telling Charleigh where to find a gun, he ended up saving both her and her sister.
It’s a shame when we lose a guy in the line of duty. But that’s what they sign up for.
Our final parting shot is happening tonight, when we are hosting a big party here at the club so we have a solid alibi.
Not that we really need one. It just makes everything more fun.
In a far cry from when she first joined us, Charleigh’s looking forward to tonight’s gathering, in part because not only does she have a role to play that doesn’t include waiting on members or getting her ass pinched, but also because she is tasked with being the hostess to us hosts.
I love that she’s coming for multiple reasons—ranging from the fact that I just plain like to look at her, to a need for everyone in our orbit to see how well she’s doing in spite of the bullshit that’s been going on all around her.
The stronger she is, the stronger we are.
Even thePakhanis supposed to come tonight, which is a big deal because the man does not typically socialize like some others in our region. He feels it gives the impression he is not impartial when he’s out at parties and such. I call bullshit. The fact is that there are some factions he’d rather hang out with than others, and he doesn’t want to show favorites. But every now and then the man needs to let his hair down and when he does, there is no place he’d rather be than here with the Alekseevs. It was like this when our father was alive, and still is.
It's funny how technology has changed the way the faction operates. Back in my father’s day, if they wanted to keep an eye on, say, one of Dimitri’s buildings, someone would have to camp out in the woods with binoculars for potentially hours on end, no matter what the weather.
These days?
We have drones.
That’s right. Fucking drones.
I don’t know much about this stuff—we hired some twenty-year-old gearhead to manage this for us—but the small surveillance drones we’ve used are pretty fucking amazing. And tonight, they will be putting on a show for us.
