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and that was a lot. She was currently in another state for intensive training that she didn't want to talk about on the phone, and her absence left me all alone in New York for the next month.
Knowing my mother and how demanding her job was, her stay in the secret place could be prolonged for a while. Sometimes I thought about how I never had a real family — no sister, no brother, no father figure - and though it hurt, I wasn’t ungrateful to have a mother like mine.
Our life was good.
When it got unbearable, she would joke and encourage me to straighten up by saying,
‘It’s just you and me against the world, pumpkin. Come on, give mommy a smile.’I'm not going to lie, that was cheesy as hell, but somehow it always put me in a good mood.
Even now, as I sat with Vanessa, my lips curled upwards, and I giggled softly as I remembered. Vanessa glanced at me, but I gave her a reassuring smile. She lowered her head again and continued to tap the keys on her laptop.
I picked up my phone again as another notification tone buzzed and tapped the pop-up. It was a text message from an unknown number, and my body trembled as I read the message.
Grace Emery, this is your father. Call me as soon as possible. It is urgent.
Chapter 2 - Igor
New York, I always had heard, was different. The air, the women, the people— - there was more life here than in any other city I've ever been. I stood at the big glass window in the office and looked out at the beautiful, bright sky with its soft orange and blue hues.
With a glass of whiskey in one hand, and the other in my pocket, I stared at my reflection, and the sight of my grim face made me cringe. A single glance at my hard image reminded me of the important work I had to do.
I raised the glass to my lips and took a small sip. The whiskey burned, just the way I liked it; it helped calm my nerves. And I needed a lot of nerve-soothing at the moment.
It was a strategic plan of the Varkov Bratva to transfer me to New York. The pahkan
[boss] had asked me to move my business from Chicago to New York and take over some parts of the organization here. And who can say no to the boss, especially when he's your cousin, Vlad Varkov?
My other cousin Damien focused more on the overseas operations, so I took over responsibilities here. Everything went well, business ran smoothly and there were hardly any troubles. I mean, with one exception. One that bore the name of Connor Farrel, the leader of the Irish mafia. I clenched my jaw and curled my fingers in my trouser pocket as I took another big swig of whiskey.
I stared out of the window again and scoffed. Settling in wasn’t a problem. The only problem, however, remained Connor. What made it worse was that I wasn't the only one after him. He had secret documents stored on a USB drive that could hurt many people and bring down many organizations. If that fell into the wrong hands, all hell would break loose. I had to think of how to deal with him before the situation got out of hand.
The door to my office opened and I turned around. Alexei, my right-hand man, came in, a beaming smile lighting up his sharp features and a glint of excitement in his brown eyes. I was tall and intimidating, as some of the whores I fucked often admitted. But Alexei was in a class of his own. He towered over me by a few inches and worked out much more often than I did.
I pointed a finger at the chair opposite mine and he sat down, still beaming. “We have a score to settle with the Marco brothers in the south,” I began to say. “There’s still a lot of work with them. I don’t understand why they’re so stubborn all of a sudden. Get them under control.
They're good traders; it would be a shame if we had to cut them off.”
“You were generous with them, boss,” Alexei spoke up. “Both in terms of resources and time. They’ve been screwing up a lot lately.”
“So, you’re suggesting we should get rid of them right away?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
He nodded once. “If they prove no longer useful.”
I stroked my chin and, after a few minutes of thought, lowered my hands to my sides.
“Okay, I'll give them a little more time. If we find that they're not producing results, we’ll drop them.”
“Understood,” he nodded.
With a dull look, I picked at my fingernails as I rambled on. “Terry Whitewood. He still owes me money, and it’s been six months now. Shake him up a bit — just a slight nudge.
Nothing too serious, though.”
“Terry Whitewood?”
“Yeah”, I frowned. “Any comments?”
“Don't worry. We’ll give him a little shake-up, but don’t hurt him too much,” he confirmed.
