Page 70 of Silken Chains
“Listen, I don’t have time to waste with you cockroaches,” I growl, irritation seething through my words. “You have until the end of this week to return the cargo,” I say. Moving forward, I plant my hands on the table and loom over them. The muscles in my forearms flex as I dig my fingers into the polished wood, leaving no doubt that I mean business.
My mind keeps going back to Laura. I left her at home to come deal with these fucking morons. The thought of her there, alone with Ksenia, makes my jaw clench. Ksenia’s not exactly known for her warm and fuzzy personality.
“Consider this your only warning.” I shoot a glance at Misha, catching the slight nod he gives, a clear signal he’s ready to unleash hell if needed. His fingers inch subtly toward the gun hidden under his jacket.
Grigori bristles, his men tensing up, hands inching toward concealed weapons. I can feel the violence in the air, a storm ready to break.
“Watch your mouth, Morozov,” Grigori warns, his eyes flashing danger. “We’ve got enough firepower here to turn you and your boys into Swiss cheese.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “You think firepower’s enough? You think guns make you strong?” I stand, towering over the table, imposing and unyielding. “It’s not the weapons, Grigori. It’s the will to use them. And believe me, we’ve got the will.”
I’d relish the thought of rearranging your face, but I’m not about to ruin my look with your blood today.
Misha shifts, a barely perceptible movement, but enough to send a clear message to Grigori’s men. Ari cracks his neck, an ominous sound in the tense silence.
Grigori’s laugh is forced, a feeble attempt to regain some ground. “Big words, Morozov. But words won’t save you.”
I stand, towering over the table. “We’ll be in touch, Grigori. Tell fucking Ivan Vasiliev to return what’s ours or brace for hell. This is your only warning.”
As we turn to leave the restaurant, I can feel Grigori’s eyes burning into our backs.
Misha’s right beside me, his voice low. “This is going to turn ugly.”
I nod, feeling the inevitable clash brewing. “We’ll hit them where it hurts. They want war, they’ll get it.”
“We’ve got the men ready, boss. Locked, loaded, and waiting for your word. This is more than a skirmish; it’s a declaration. They won’t know what hit them,” Misha assures me.
“We strike fast, no mercy,” I instruct Ari. “Ivan Vasiliev should pay for stealing from us.”
Morozovs never kneel, especially not before fucking Vasiliev or any other pretender.
I glance at my watch. “Blyad. It’s almost time.” I spit out a curse. Laura’s face flashes in my mind. “Let’s go,” I command. “It’s time to introduce my wife-to-be to the family. She won’t stand a chance with them by herself.”
The car cuts through the New York night like a knife, the streets outside a blur of shadows and neon. Ari’s eyes are glued to the road, but I can tell he’s ready to turn this car into a battering ram if he spots any of Vasiliev’s rats tailing us. Misha’s got his hawk eyes going, too, scanning every alleyway and corner like he’s expecting a bomb to go off.
“So, back to the house, huh?” Misha finally says, a smirk in his voice. I can almost hear the bastard grinning without looking.
I grunt, staring out the window. “Yeah, thrilled beyond words.”
“It’s tradition, boss,” Ari chimes in, sounding like he’s quoting from some ancient Bratva bible. “Pakhan’s gonna be pissin’ himself with joy.”
I scoff at that. “Screw tradition. He’s just trying to put me in a box.”
Misha lets out this low chuckle, thinking he’s got it all figured out. “It’s about the image, boss. Shows we’re solid.”
I watch him from the shadows in the back, his fingers dancing over the blade he’s toying with—a clear sign he’s mulling over something serious.
“You sure about this, boss?” He’s not asking about the Vasiliev or the dinner.
It’s about her—Laura.
Everyone’s been on my case about her like I owe them an explanation.
“She’s not just some girl,” I finally spit out. “She’s a debt being paid.”
“Right, boss.”
I send him a glare. “Watch it. Brother.”
