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I nodded grimly, but neither fed the rumors nor sought to answer every question. Instead, I said simply, “We chased the perpetrator, only for him to be shot during a confrontation. The only ID he had on him was a fake name. However, the coroner’s office soon identified him for us.”
I took a deep breath, and my hand slid to the warm, glassy rectangle of my phone in my pocket. Just feeling it there was strangely comforting. But I didn’t need comfort. I needed to be the toughest of the tough, unassailable.
“The coroner also confirmed that Ivan was killed by an overdose of potassium administered in his IV.”
I let that sink in, including the fact that the assassin had been able to get in and tamper with Ivan’s IV on Boris’s watch. Let the whispering start up again—the rustle of horror, shock, suspicion. I saw a few men turn to look at Boris, who sat stonily. Everyone knew who I was most likely to trust with guarding Ivan.
I didn’t have to call out Boris for failing. I didn’t have to mention him at all. His incompetence spoke for itself.Damn you, Boris. Of all the times for you to be off your game, it had to be while protecting one of our most essential men.
“Ivan’s autopsy should be completed soon, and his body released to his family by the weekend. We will help with his funeral arrangements, but we will be holding a separate memorial. His widow has asked that no member of the Bratva be in attendance at the burial.”
A rumble of irritation at that, which I echoed in my heart. Ivan’s wife blamed the Bratva for his death. I couldn’t really blame her for that, he had died because he was a member. But the reality was that the Bratva as a whole was not to blame. Not for what El Luchador’s Pueblo had done.
“I know that the family’s decision may upset some of you who considered Ivan a personal friend. However, such is the way of our line of work, and Ivan’s widow is already suffering. We will not disturb her in her time of grief. If I catch any of you even looking in that direction, you will answer for it.”
Some of the tension left the crowd. But then, a deep voice spoke up from the back—Boris. “So how are you going to answer the Puerto Ricans for this one?” he demanded.
I stared at him.You have a lot of balls, poking at me about this right now.But I knew that same question had to be in everyone’s minds. “I have worked very hard to be cautious in this matter, and give the Pueblo and El Luchador room to negotiate and seek a mutually beneficial arrangement. Now, in response to my overtures, one of our best men, my friend, the best finance man on the East Coast, lies dead. Murdered. I want full details on what happened, and who was involved. But make no mistake. I’m just verifying what I think we all already know. El Luchador has thrown down the gauntlet. We will get to the bottom of Ivan’s murder,” I reassured my men. “But we must also now prepare for war. If the Pueblo would rather fight than deal, we will make sure they can never survive it.”
A ragged cheer went up. Shouting. Some arguing, but not much. Many of them were eager for the fight—too eager. I looked around at them and wondered how many more of them I would lose in that fight. How much blood would have to be spilled until El Luchador saw reason.
Perhaps he never would. Perhaps I’d have to put him down like a dog.
But most of those around me weren’t deep thinkers unless it came to their duties. They weren’t considering the cost in blood. All that most of them were concerned with was that if blood was to be spilled, then that blood should come from our enemies.
Afterward, there were drinks, cigars, and snacks. I refrained from all of them, my fingers still wrapped around my phone in my pocket as I mingled, greeted people, and answered questions.
The whole time, however, I was haunted by the idea that I might be missing something. An essential piece of the puzzle. Some fact that would change my perspective on everything.
“I thought you were going to send me down to the coroner’s office,” Boris said, suddenly at my elbow. I hadn’t noticed him pushing through the crowd toward me.
I turned and eyed him. He smelled of alcohol, and there was a belligerent spark in his eye. “I handled it myself,” I said simply. “Is there a problem?”
“Yeah, there’s a goddamn problem!” His voice raised just a little too much, and a few conversations around us died. Then more. I could feel the crowd listening.
I crossed my arms. “Go on, then.”
He hesitated, seeming surprised that I was willing to listen instead of arguing back. But that was part of why Uncle Mischka had chosen me to be pakhan and not him. He was always ready for a conflict over something. I thought things through.
Boris often didn’t. Like pregaming this much before a meeting to announce a member’s death. Like challenging me now. I had gotten used to his hotheadedness as his close friend, but coupled with screw-ups, it was intolerable. So was his assumption that I would be as easily set off as he was.
His brilliance was sometimes eclipsed by his temper. Meanwhile, I was even smarter than he, and managed to keep a clear head. Most of the time, anyway. “Well?” I demanded, my tone calm but sharp. “Explain your problem, we’re all listening.”
“Look, things didn’t go well with the hospital. Ivan’s gone. I know.” He went silent, his thick jaw flapping like he couldn’t form the right words. “I know how you have to be feeling.”
He hadno idea how I was feeling. First Uncle Mischka, and now Ivan before we could settle his estate.And that didn’t just bother me because of the losses. The timing was interesting.
“But…?” I coaxed him, finding his silence too long for my patience.
“But you can’t take on solving Ivan’s murder by yourself!”
I stared at him. You did nothing but get in my fucking way today, you bumbling, drunken fool,was what I wanted to say.Which was when it clicked.
“I don’t plan to,” I replied smoothly, even as the suspicions added fuel to my growing anger and disgust. “Let’s take this into my office,” I said in a clipped tone.
There was muttering all around us. None of them liked being called into my office alone during one of these gatherings, any more than they’d liked it when Mischka had done the same. He’d only had to call me in once, and I remembered feeling about ten years old during that walk into his study.
Boris already felt lousy—I hoped. He might just have been drunk because he had never been sober today, including while watching Ivan. But even if he was a step away from breaking down crying, it was time.
