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Joe Brown had grown big, and powerful. He'd led a group of thugs and gained fame amongst the rebels with property vandalism and some other stupid shit when he was younger. Then, he grew older and somehow infiltrated the government with the help of dirty, corrupt officials.
He'd liked to think he posed a threat to the Bratva operations until I sent him a picture of his brother's dead body in the dumpster.
I didn't bother to hide my identity. I wanted him to know I'd done it. I wasn't scared of the fucking cunt.
“Jesus.”
“He steered clear. For a few years.”
“And now he’s back to avenge his brother.” Rafail clucked his tongue and swiped a finger across his lips. “We always must be ten steps ahead, Alexei. We cannot afford to be caught off guard. That’s why I planted ten of my men in his group.”
My lips curled to the side.Hewas always ten steps ahead. Planning, calculative. Strategic. I was better known to be a raging force in motion, knocking down every obstacle in my way, whenever, and however I liked. We’d make a great team.
“... I have a few feeding me with information; his location, current business dealings, what he fucking had for breakfast.”
“We could poison him.”
This time, he didn’t hide his amusement. He raked three fingers through his hair and said, “I thought of that. We tried it. Simple and easy. But the poor guy lost an arm. This Joe Brown isn’t as stupid as we thought. He doesn’t trust his men.”
“I wouldn’t trust them either,” I murmured.
Joe had expanded the reach and influence of the American mafia. He knew he had lots of enemies, with me as number one. A lot of people wanted his head and body on a stake.
Sadly, he had become one of the biggest problems theBratvafaced. The bosses were not happy, and neither was I. Not when I thought I’d had him under control.
Gnashing my teeth, I slammed a fist on the desk, rattling the pens. “Dammit!” I should have finished him off when I had the chance. Rafail's phone buzzed. He stared at the screen.
He rose to his feet and dusted the lint of his dark suit, his tall figure looming over my desk. He stretched a hand out, reassuringly. “Calm down, Alexei. No need to get worked up. We’ll deal with him. That, I promise you.”
I peered at him closely. “Leaving so soon?”
“I’m agitated.” Nonchalantly, he shrugged, but I spotted the glint in his eyes. “There's one waiting at the hotel. Had her flown in from Krasnodar.”
“Let’s hope it’ll match your taste?”
He turned around. “Let’s hope she’s worth for the length of my stay here.”
Agitated was his subtle way of saying, he was sexually frustrated. He needed to get laid, and I could relate. I hadn’t touched a woman in three months.
In the last five years, it got harder to keep up with finding women that looked likeher.
Dark hair. Soft lips. Perfect body. Soft amber eyes. Those cute dimples on her cheeks when she smiled.
None matched. They couldn’t. She was the only one of her type. Different, a rare and natural kind. And after three years of searching, I gave up.
I’d even found her bastard of a father. Cornered him by a bank in Switzerland and beat the shit out of him. I still got my money, with lots of interest on top. But what I wanted the most, he didn’t have.
He hadn’t heard from her. No one had. Not the bastard or her former assistant, Carla Whitlow. She didn’t communicate or return to her family.
I accepted that defeat; she was smart and had planned her escape well.
The reality? I’d lost her.
I went on a rampage, fucked three whores in one night, got drunk, and accidentally—but very satisfyingly—shot a random prick who flipped his middle finger when I staggered down the street.
It never happened again. Not after being called to order and threatened by Igor.
I leaned back in the chair and watched his leisurely gait pass the door. Stiff shoulders, proud walk, with a good head screwed on.Thatwas Rafail Varkov.
