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Fedor cleared his throat and pointed his head at the stupid ass in front of us, who was sweating so fast that the collar of his Givenchy T-shirt got a few beads on it.
“He didn’t know who he was dealing with when he sold the property. His agent didn’t inform him either.”
“I was manipulated!” He shrieked and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead with his finger.
“Shut your fucking mouth!” I barked. “Fedor, “komu on yego prodal?” [Who did he sell it to?]
Fedor was silent at first. Then, he said, “The Irish.”
The blood in my veins boiled so hot that I erupted like a volcano, and my last thread of self-control burned away.
“I am sick and tired of cleaning your goddamn messes! You know what? Fuck it.” I seethed and lunged at Boris. His eyes widened, pleading and full of fear. Too late. My fist struck his face.
A satisfying crunch filled the silence between us. T
The cracking of bones made my spine shiver with delight.
“Jesus! Ouch—shit! My nose! What the …” he cried and cupped his face. A red stream flowed down his nose and mixed with his tears. “You broke my fucking nose. What the fuck, Viktor?”
“I broke your nose?” I squatted down in front of him and roughly touched his bloodied face. “Seriously? You should be thanking me that I haven’t put a bullet in that empty head of yours.”
I pulled a white handkerchief from my jacket pocket and wiped my palms.
More tears streamed down his face, and he kicked his chair backward, crumpling to the floor. “It was a fucking mistake. Shit!”
“A fucking mistake that could cost us years of fucking investment! Real investment, Boris. In this fucking game, one wrong move can take everything, don’t you understand that?”
“I promise, I didn’t—”
“Klyanus’ Bogom, yesli ya uslyshu eto yeshche raz…” Swear to God, if I hear that one more time…
I threw the bloodstained handkerchief in his face: “Get the fuck out of my face!”
I slumped back in my seat and pondered the information. Boris had sold the land, including the warehouse, to the fucking enemy. The Irish boss, Cian O’Sullivan. If we didn’t get a grip on this, there would be a clusterfuck.
“You should leave,” Fedor said to Boris. “I can’t guarantee your safety if you spend another second in here.”
He picked himself up from the floor, clutched his face, and muttered a quiet “I’m sorry, man” before walking away.
Fedor sat down and arched an eyebrow at me. “You know we can't do anything about this shit, right??”
I massaged my temple. He was right. Boris had messed up big time, and what was done was done. What I needed now was a plan on how to fix this.
“What do you think Vlad will do when he hears?”
I stared at Fedor when he mentioned the Pakhan, Vlad Varkov. The corners of his lips curled into a smile, and he scratched at the scar under his jaw.
“When he hears about what? The land or the broken nose?”
“Both.”
I snorted. “I didn’t kill him, so I doubt he gives a fuck. Boris is almost useless as it is. He’s of no use to anyone. Besides, I had a good reason to ram my fist into his pretty face. How can anyone be so fucking stupid? What a pain in the ass.”
He chuckled and ran a hand over his shirt. “It’s a good thing he's related to the boss. Otherwise, I'd be wiping the blood off the floor right now.”
I craned slightly over the table. “You still have some spots to clean.”
He cleared his throat, and his grin was overshadowed by a serious expression. “What are we going to do now?”
