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“We have yet to hear about it. It hasn’t been that long, but this…”
“I understand. This has to be answered. And not with negotiations.” I licked my lips, sorting out my plans for a few seconds before saying, “Get me both recordings. What hospital is he at?”
“Boston General. He’s going into surgery soon and may not even be awake when you get there.”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “All right. Let the men know I want to meet later today. We have work to do beyond the usual.”
He nodded, already backing toward the door. Boris would never turn his back to me—he was old school, and saw it as an insult. “I’ll put the word out and get you those videos.”
I nodded and raised a hand briefly, dismissing him. Once he had stepped out and hurried away, I sat back down in my chair, scowling.
El Luchador had gone out of his way to avoid violence between us for years. But now I was proposing that we negotiate, and suddenly the man was sending his muscle to hospitalize my finance guy?
It meant he didn’t want to negotiate. He wanted war. This was a gauntlet thrown down. And what bothered me more was that he knew enough about the Bratva to target someone important in it.
So either he had found a way to spy on us, or we had a mole. Someone close enough to me to know who was who, and who to attack to anger me the most. Petrovich was a close personal friend, and a good man. He hadn’t deserved this. He was as valuable and close to me as Boris, and I didn’t want to think about him dying on the operating table.
But whatever happened, I was going to make sure he knew I wouldn’t let this go unpunished, and that I would see to his protection much more personally after this.
***
When I reached the hospital that evening, I had to bribe my way in, as it was after visiting hours. Petrovich was strung up with one leg in traction, a bandage around his forehead, and the typical scratches and bruises of a man who had been in a rollover crash. He wasn’t a big man compared to the rest of us. He was fairly tall and fit, but older, his wavy graying hair the color of iron to match his eyes. They had shaved his mustache to sew up his split lip.
“Vanya! I heard what happened. How are you doing?” I came in with a stack of my uncle’s books, classics he loved, and set them on the bedside table before shaking his hand.
He smiled, then winced as it pulled at the stitches. “Traffic problems,” he said mildly, and I chuckled and shook my head.
“Your sense of humor is intact at least.” The man was far tougher than he looked. I pulled over a chair and sat beside his bed. “How are they treating you?”
“The food is worse than prison slop, but it is edible.” He reached for his glasses on the tray beside him and put them on, peering at me. “Good, my vision is no longer as blurry. When they first brought me in, I could not focus at all.” One of his pupils was still slightly larger than the other.
“Did you see the men who did this?”
He nodded slightly. “I saw them, the car looked like it was going to cut me off, so I went to swerve, that’s when they fired on me. I didn’t recognize them, but it had to be the Puerto Ricans. This attack was very sudden, very unexpected. I know they have been cutting into our profits, but I did not expect them to be out for our blood after staying away for so long.”
“And just when we were making friendly business overtures as well. I am sorry, Ivan.”
“This was not your doing. Them attacking now makes no sense at all. They can’t possibly think they can kill us all or drive us out. So why do this?” He tried to sit up and winced slightly as the motion jarred his leg.
“Perhaps they assume we are weakest when transitioning to a new pakhan,” I mused. “If so, they are very much mistaken.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I have video from your automobile cameras. Our computer guys are doing an image search online to try to determine their identities. Once we have them, I will bring them in for interrogation. After that—well, I was going to give you a say in it.”
“Thank you, Viktor.” He sighed. “I appreciate that. How is everyone taking this?”
I pursed my lips, wondering how much I should tell him. The meeting had split us down the middle. Half, including Boris, thought we should answer blood for blood. Half thought we should capture the men and ransom them back to gain an upper hand on the market.
I was inclined toward the second option. I hated the waste that a war like this would bring. This wouldn’t be to claim new ground or access to profits, but for reputation and retribution. It might be necessary…but I needed some time to think.
What I didn’t need, however, was for my men to think I was hesitating because I was weak or avoiding violence from fear. I didn’t want to have to deal with my own men being in constant debate over my choices.
But none of them, not one, could complain if I let Ivan choose the fate of his attackers. That was a courtesy I had extended as a brigadier, and later when I was in Boris’s position. No one would be surprised when I showed Ivan the same.
Ivan had gone quiet, and he looked very thoughtful.
“Still deciding?” I asked, understanding his hesitation perfectly.
