Page 18 of Bloody Savage God
“Nothing’s wrong,” I say, leaning against the desk. “At least not on my end.” I pointedly look at the papers she was going through before I came in.
“You’ve barely left this place in weeks.”
Father’s office and the center of the Toronto Bratva is above the club in the Jane and Finch district of North York, which remains untouched by the Italians who focus on the nicer neighborhoods. Father rarely leaves the place these days, which is why he’s left the Flemingdon Park club under my supervision, something I have absolutely no interest in whatsoever. Managing a club is about the last thing I want to do with my days, which is why I took Anya up on her offer to run things here, knowing she’d do a solid job at it and that my father wouldn’t pay attention to things as long as there were no hiccups.
Which is likely why Anya called me about Victor in such a rush. Anything to keep father out of her hair.
“So tell me, little sis, what are you up to?”
Anya scowls at me. She’s always hated it when I push her to reveal her schemes before she’s ready.
“You know I hate the way we’re running the girls.”
I don’t nod, just stare at her wanting her to get to the point.
“Father has pulled the Bratva together and he’s made a lot of headway, but you know we’re still considered scum because of what we do.”
“And I’m supposed to care about what other people think, why?” I ask.
Anya’s eyes narrow. “I don’t give a fuck about what the Italians think about us either, but they’ve got a point.” And with that we’re finally getting to the point, it seems.
“Our girls fuck one guy after the other for what? A few hundred bucks? It’s ridiculous, when we could be raking in cash if we were just a little bit smarter about it all.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes.” Anya stares me down, and I almost smile at seeing my little sister take a stance like that.
“You know the Italians blackmail half the city. Why can’t we do the same?”
I roll my eyes. “You just said it. The Italians are already doing it. If we did the same, we’d be stepping on their feet, and you know we can’t afford to do that.”
Anya scoffs. “Fine. But we could go for the people they don’t bother with. Start with some low levelers. Expand our influence that way.”
Anya has always been the one to want more. Right now, she is finishing up her business graduate degree at U of T, which leaves her with some extra time to manage the club for me, but I know she dreads the end of her degree since there is no way father will permit her to take off and climb the corporate ladder somewhere.
Really, she’d make a much better second to my father than I do. I may be a great enforcer, but Anya is the one with the hunger for power. Sure, I’ve helped my father get the organization in line over the years, but I’ve done it with threats and beatings. Anya is the one to scheme.
“Like you’d be content to take the scraps the Italians leave for us.”
“It’s better than what we’re doing now.” Anya’s eyes have traveled to the one-way glass that allows us to see the club floor from here. I’m pretty sure we’re not seeing the same thing though. While I see women dancing and getting guys horny enough to spend their money on a lap dance with a little extra, Anya has always detested the circumstances that bring girls into our clubs.
“And you think father would go for that?” I ask.
“Well, he certainly isn’t going to if I’m the one to suggest it.” Now Anya’s annoyance comes through loud and clear. “I think actions will speak louder than words in this case.”
I step forward, wrapping my arms around her slim frame to pull her in a hug. She resists at first, but then leans into me with a huff.
“You know as well as me that you’re smart as fuck. You’ll find a way to make things work.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Anya pulls back, but she doesn’t look nearly as relaxed as I’d like her to. Looks like I’ll have to make it a point to check in with my little sister soon.
“Look, I’ve got to get going. I kinda left Viktor lying in his apartment.”
Anya’s expression shifts into something like impatience. “Don’t tell me you killed the fucker without running it past dad?”
I shrug. “He spat at me.”
“Fucking great, Mikhail.” The way she says my name has all the irritation only a younger sister can muster and it has my lips twitch upward in a rare smile.
