Chapter 47

Chapter 46

Luka

"BLYAT," I curse, holding the remains of the spyware we found scattered throughout the house. "Fucking six of them."

Dimitri snorts, tossing another piece onto the table. "Make it seven."

Fucking rats.

"Spy shit in our house, Luka. Stabbed in the back in our own damn home."

My hand tightens around the piece of spyware, the metal edges biting into my flesh. The pain is a welcome distraction from the blinding rage simmering beneath the surface. If I could get my hands on Aleks and his rats, I would tear them apart with my bare hands. No mercy.

"I don't fucking believe this," I snarl, grinding my teeth together so hard I can taste iron on my tongue.

A guttural scream tears through the silence, coming from the depths of the compound. It barely makes me flinch; I'm too wrapped up in the fucking spyware that's invaded my home.

"They're not holding up well," Dimitri observes, a dark amusement dancing in his eyes as another scream rips through the air. The sound, though dull, still manages to bounce around the large expanse of our base.

"They can fucking choke on their own screams for all I care," I spit out, my knuckles white around the shard of spyware.

Our rats, Aleks's rats, squealing their guts out in our cells. They're nothing more than a distraction I don't need. A distraction I can't afford. Not when there's a seven-year-old and a nanny upstairs who shouldn't have to listen to this shit.

"What's the plan?" Dimitri asks, his usual casual demeanor replaced by a tension that's evident in the set of his jaw.

"Make ‘em talk and find every fucking bug in this place. And then, we're going after Aleks. He's not going to see it coming."

Suddenly, the door slams open. Grisha staggers in, sweat dripping from his forehead.

"Janitor's almost done," he reports. "All fingers are busted. He's on the edge."

I look at him sharply, my heart hammering against my ribs. The janitor's screams have been ringing in my ears, the sound of bones snapping under pressure becoming an unwelcome familiarity.

"Good," I grit out, my fists clenching, "then finish it. We need that info."

Grisha nods, turning back toward the door. He knows what's at stake. We're on the edge, and it's only a matter of time before we tip over.

I throw a glance at Dimitri. His expression doesn't flicker. It seems as if he's watching a rerun of a dull TV show.

"We'll crack him open, Luka," he assures me. "Aleks won't know what hit him."

As if on cue, Erik walks in. His eyes are focused, determination etched into the lines of his face. "I've got news," he says, tossing me a small device. "We've got some problems."

I nod, catching the device in my hand. It's a burner phone, one of many we use to communicate without risking our lines being tapped.

"What's the news?" I ask.

"He's expanding, Luka," Erik says, his voice grim. "The fucker took over the Chicago Outfit's territory."

My blood runs cold at his words. Angeli di Fuoco. The Chicago Outfit – the most powerful Italian-American crime family, its roots dating back to the Prohibition era. The fact that Aleks was able to take them down… It's unsettling. Not to mention the strategic advantage he now holds.

"And Armando di Fuoco?" I ask, dreading the answer.

Erik's silence is like a slap, harsh and full of undisguised contempt.

"Dead," he spits out, a nasty expression spreading across his face. "Aleks didn't just off him; he slaughtered the sons, too."

My grip tightens on the burner phone, the plastic creaking under the pressure. Aleks has made his move. Now, it's time for us to make ours.

"The only one left now is Lucia," Erik grunts, his fingers tracing the rough stubble on his chin.

"Lucia?" Dimitri asks, a frown creasing his brow.

"Armando's youngest," I clarify, bitterness biting at my words.

"Her old man and brothers are six feet under, thanks to Aleks and his fucking rats," Erik continues. "She's the only one holding the reins now." He shifts uneasily before adding, "But she's not cut out for this life. She's a jewelry designer. Runs her own brand. Just turned 29, and she probably knows fuck all about our line of work."

"Jesus," Dimitri mutters.

"It's all going to shit, quick," Erik continues his grim update. "They're scrapping among themselves; Aleks is pulling their boys to his side. ‘Cause Lucia, she's a woman. Now that they're on the ropes, other gangs are circling for the kill."

"Fuck!" I spit. "She needs our help, Erik," I command, "Tell her we're offering it."

"She may not trust us." Dimitri frowns as he states the obvious.

"We're not after trust, D." Irritation lines my words. "We're offering assistance. Her old man was indebted to ours. It's time she steps up."

Realization makes its way into Dimitri's eyes. "We've got no choice but to wade through the shitty maze Aleks threw us headfirst into. It's the only damn way."

"All the more reason to speed things up here," I growl, turning toward Erik and giving a nod that I know he'll understand.

Erik exits; no bullshit goodbyes, just the thud of his boots echoing away. I pivot, brandishing the device at Dimitri, my jaw clenched so tight it could shatter teeth.

"Where's Aleks holing up?" I ask.

Dimitri's got that raw, ruthless look today, like a weapon ready to fire. His jacket hangs open, shirt half-unbuttoned, showing off a mess of tattoos. Each one is a crude testament to some fight, some shit he's survived. He doesn't give a damn as he tosses his boots up on the table, looking every bit the defiant bastard he is.

Pulling hard on his cigarette, he gives a grimace, a display of anger that barely conceals the storm brewing in him. His eyes lock onto mine, cold and hard, promising nothing but trouble.

"That Aleks, he's one slick son of a bitch," he says. "We've located three of his main spots, but his muscle's thick on the ground." He leans in, crushing out his cigarette. "Got one place he just picked up buzzing with more of his boys than usual. There's something he's keeping under wraps there, no doubt about it."

His gaze drills into mine, practically a blazing forge; I sense an unspoken strategy forming in the dark depths. "I'm gonna get a closer look at this shithole. Aleks can't sit still, the slippery fuck. We'll catch him with his pants down."

"Good idea." I nod as I mull this over. I'm glad my team is proactive.

"So, what's the deal, Luka? Gonna hide in the bunker like a damn hermit?" The change comes without warning, his posture retracting. He's assessing me with a sharp, piercing look that shifts the ground beneath us, a question that sideswipes me.

"I'm not fucking hiding," I spit out, the words leaving a sour taste in my mouth. Since my return from the lake house, if anything, I've been too fucking focused. I've been working non-stop.

My mind is spinning, replaying the messed-up scene at the lake house over and over. It wasn't just a one-off; it was a damn ticking time bomb ready to blow everything apart. Sophia… She gets to me in ways I can't even explain. Makes me feel things I shouldn't, nice things. And it scares the hell out of me, like I'm trapped, sinking deeper and deeper every time I'm with her. It's fucked up, that's what it is.

I've gotta put some distance between us. Before it's too late. Before I lose my fucking mind.

"Sure you're not," Dimitri drawls, his eyes shifting to a monitor off to the side.

Blyat.

There, in soft grays and blacks, is the feed from Yulia's room. Sophia's there too, of course. She's wearing some kind of white nightdress that's far too revealing for my liking. Her hair falls around her shoulders as she leans over to press a kiss to Yulia's forehead after gently placing a cover over the child. My heart clenches a little as I watch her.

Fuck. She's doing something to me.

"Tell me you're not thinking about her," Dimitri challenges, nodding toward the screen.

Dammit.

My lips seal tight, almost white with the force of holding back a volcano of frustration and pure desire. Every ounce of self-control is stopping me from storming into Yulia's room, grabbing Sophia with a force that says she's mine, and dragging her into my bed, a place she damn well should be. The images playing in my head of her beneath me, willing and wanting, are driving me to the edge of reason. They're practically screaming at me to take what I damn well want, consequences be damned. It's sick, this intense, gnawing need, a kind of madness that doesn't give a shit about right or wrong.

"I guess our little nanny doesn't count as a distraction."

"Fuck off, D. I'm trying to work on taking down Aleks once and for all," I grind out, doing my best to keep my eyes off the screen.

He ignores me and presses on. "So, you don't have feelings for her?"

"I say fuck off, D!" I growl, my hands clenching into fists. But does the bastard listen? No.

"Didn't you also ask me to check up on her grandmother, hmm?" he retorts, smirking like a Cheshire cat. "Even bought her one of those fancy-ass hospital beds."

"Her grandmother was sick, and I didn't want Sophia distracted from Yulia," I respond, grinding my teeth. The less Sophia worries, the better she can focus on Yulia. It's as simple as that.

He lets out a mocking laugh. "Sure, sure. And paying off her entire year's rent? I suppose that was also so she could focus on Yulia? Yeah, right," he snorts.

I shoot him a glare that could freeze hell over, but he just chuckles, clearly not buying it.

I roll my eyes. "Get out, D." Fucking bastard.

Dimitri's chuckles cut off like he's been slapped, the room going dead silent. He leans in, his voice urgent and carrying a dark hint of menace. "Got more shit to spill, Luka. It's about Nilo Williams. Bastard's been ghosting everyone like he dropped off the face of the earth."

"Vanished?" I shoot back, my brows pulling together in a tight frown, the weight of his words hitting me square in the chest.

Dimitri gives a sharp nod, flicking non-existent cigarette ash onto the floor, lowering his voice to a grave rumble. "Yeah, word on the street is, the guy's knee-deep in crap so nasty he ain't ever crawling back out."

I stare at him silently as I process this new information.

What the fuck does this mean?