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He caught sight of Roman and Max and started toward them, his weapon flashing in the holster under his blazer. Mat was a brigadier, one of Roman’s early loyalists, and Roman had noticed he'd been dressing more professionally since Roman brought them into his inner circle. Despite the danger he was in as a consequence of his choice to back Roman over Igor, Mat carried himself with new authority.
They hadn’t initially seen that the old bratva was dying, but they saw it now, had come over to Roman’s vision for the new organization, and that had given them fresh enthusiasm — for their jobs and the future of the organization.
He slid into the booth next to Max and spoke without preamble. “We think she’s at the old grain terminal.”
“You think?” Roman asked. There was no help for the edge in his voice. They couldn’t afford tothink.
They had toknow.
“We’re as sure as we can be without going inside,” Mat said.
“Tell me,” Roman said.
"Anton followed the doctor to the grain terminal last night,” Mat said.
“And he hasn't been on the move before?" Roman asked.
Mat shook his head. "Not anywhere they might be holding her.”
Roman turned the information over in his mind. He’d had his men chasing every possible location in Brooklyn and a few on Staten Island, but it was a lot of ground to cover, especially with Roman’s still-limited army. The number of men joining his side of the turf war increased by the day but it was still no match — at least in terms of headcount — for the army his father had been building for the past thirty years.
Assigning men to follow Fyodor Larin had been a crapshoot. The decision had cost Roman two of his very few men, but he’d had a hunch, and he’d learned not to ignore hunches.
Doctor Larin wasn't the bratva's regular doctor, the one called in for knife wounds and bullet holes, the kind of injuries that in a hospital would prompt questions and a likely visit from the police.
Doctor Larin was his father’s secret weapon, one his father didn't know Roman was aware of. Called in only for the most confidential of circumstances. Roman would be surprised if anyone other than Konstantin, his father’s trusted bulldog, knew about Doctor Larin.
But Roman had spent the last decade accumulating knowledge he shouldn't have. Knowledge about his father's finances, his daily operations, and yes, people like Doctor Larin who were on the most secret of payrolls.
"I assume you’ve done your own recon?" Roman asked Mat.
Behind the diner’s counter, the young waitress started toward them with a coffee pot. Roman shook his head, meeting her gaze to make it clear they weren’t in need of more coffee.
She set the coffee pot down and disappeared into the kitchen.
"I did," Mat said. "On the down-low obviously.”
Roman wasn't surprised. Mat was quickly becoming one of the most valuable members of Roman’s fledgling army. He was young enough to be valuable in the field and old enough to have some wisdom, methodical and conscientious while retaining the ability to be flexible and make decisions on the fly.
All valuable character traits in a leader.
"And?" Roman opted.
"Looked quiet at first," Mat said. "But overnight there was a shift change. Four men swapped for four more. Happened again eight hours later in the morning.”
Roman had to resist the urge to stand and hurry from the diner, to head straight for the old grain terminal with nothing but his own weapon and the men at the diner.
He was thirsty for the blood of the men who’d dared to take Ruby and hold her in the abandoned grain terminal. He wanted to feel the warmth of their blood on his face, hear the crunch of their breaking bones under his blows.
He took a deep breath. He could assuage his thirst later. Right now he needed to be smart.
He needed to be calm.
"Only four men," Roman said.
"That's what I saw," Mat said. "No guarantees, but I stayed for twelve hours and it looked like a shift change to me.”
The thought of Ruby locked up for three weeks on the orders of his father — a man without any honor, a man who thought nothing of hurting women and children — made Roman’s blood run cold.
