Page 66 of Mistaken
“I have some forms for you to sign, Pakhan,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes like deranged lunar moths. He nodded, holding out his hand for the paperwork without looking at her.
I was just childish enough to smother a grin as she flounced back out of the room. Then it hit me. “Wait, what raids on your warehouses?”
My heart sank as I watched his face sculpt back into the cold, emotionless expression he wore so well.
“This was a mistake. Ella, if you’ll excuse us?”
I knew better than to look at Yuri for help. Without a word, I stalked out of the room, repressing the urge to throw something.
“Hey, Tania. I’m not giving up until you talk to me. You know I’m annoying like that. Please, girlie… I know you need time to process everything and I respect that. But it’s been two weeks. I have not gone more than a day or two without talking to you since we were in middle school! Just… will you please let me know that you’re okay? Please? Anyway. Talk to you soon.”
Hanging up from my fruitless daily call to Tania, I rubbed my eyes with a sigh. Though she was sending me the agreed-upon “proof of life” text every day, not speaking to Tania in person was utter misery.
Yet another terrible thing had happened, not that I’d known because Maksim hadn’t forgiven either of us; he for letting that first little nugget about the warehouse raids slip, and me for asking about it. That was three days ago, but he’d gotten a call around two this morning and exited the bed like he’d been shot out of a cannon and I hadn’t seen him since.
“Ugh!” I paced our bedroom, looking out the windows at the glittering view of Manhattan. Everything looked very glamorous and exotic from here, this was how the rich protected themselves from the darker corners of the city. Of course, I know that for the Bratva King, Maksim Morozov, the scary, dingy parts were his playground. Was he out there now?
Maksim…
The dull “thunk!” of a fist meeting flesh sounded behind me with metronomic accuracy. First, breaking the nose. Loosening some teeth on the next punch. Moving down the body. My phone rang, and I stepped away to take the call.
“Am I interrupting something?” Thomas sounded amused.
“Nothing particularly useful,” I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. “And you? Does The Corporation have anything to offer?”
There was a distinct chill in his cultured British accent. “Nothing definitive. But there’s something off here.”
I stepped out into the dingy hallway, closing the door on Bogdan’s efforts on our latest captive. “In what way?”
“We’ve both been getting the same information, mercenaries, hired from the dark web, nothing traceable. Until today.”
“You found the broker, didn’t you?” My fist clenched, imagining the bastard’s face collapsing as I pounded him into the concrete.
“Not exactly,” his tone never deviated from his usual urbane presentation, but I could feel his frustration. “Not the broker who handled the recruitment for the New Year’s Eve attack. But all this activity stirred up some new chatter. There’s another interested party. They’re keeping an extremely low profile, but I recognize their patterns.”
“Another group?” I frowned, “It makes sense. I don’t see how one organization could handle this much devastation.”
“You got hit again?” Thomas’ voice sharpened.
“They went after myObshchaka,”I snarled, “a crew of ten broke into his residence, they tortured one of his sons to tell them the location of our financial ledgers.”
“Did they find the ledgers?”
“No.” I gritted my teeth. “MyObshchakalocked himself into his safe room with the books. He watched them torture his son, but he didn’t come out. We got there in time to save Dmitri’s life, but…”
There was a respectful silence before Thomas offered, “Loyalty to the Family over all things.”
The thought of Dmitri’s broken face made me take a moment before I could agree with Thomas. “Tell me…” I tried to gather my thoughts. I hadn’t slept for two days, the attacks were coming right and left, coordinated strikes that meant we had more than one traitor in my organization. “Tell me about this interested party.”
“There’s no conclusive proof,” he said slowly, “but I believe it’s the Irish. The O’Connell’s. They run the West End Gang in Toronto and Montreal and they’ve spread like a fungus here in London.” Now, his accent sharpened. “We’d kept them out of this part of England, but they find a new way in every time we think we’ve crushed them.”
Frowning, I went over the information. “The Irish who control the East Coast have no connection to the O’Connells.”
“The Murphy’s,” Thomas agreed. “I can’t imagine they’d welcome a push from the West End Gang. But I’m certain it’s them. The O’Connells have been bringing in more and more men, and I know they’re behind hiring men out of the Black Watch Organization.”
“The Black Watch? More mercenaries, and even more vicious,” I agreed.Blyad'!Can this get worse?
“They’re looking for something,” Thomas warned me. “I’m not clear on what, but shore up your defenses.”
