Chapter 15

Victor

“THEY’LL BEhere,” Ksenia says, as if reading my mind. She takes a long drag from her cigarette.

“But we have bigger problems than tardiness, Victor. The busted operation with the Vasilievs has our buyers getting restless.”

I clench my fists, the mention of those svolochi sending a surge of rage through my veins. “They fucked us over good, didn’t they? Fifteen million worth of product, gone in a blink.”

Ksenia nods, exhaling a plume of smoke. “And now we have to clean up the mess. The buyers are demanding compensation, and if we don’t deliver…” She trails off, letting the implication hang heavy in the air.

“Blyad!” I snarl, slamming my fist on the table yet again. My glass jostles, the amber liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “We’ll make it right. We’ll find out who’s been feeding the Vasilievs information and put a bullet between their fucking eyes.”

Ksenia leans back in her chair, swirling her wine thoughtfully. “It has to be someone close to us, someone who knew the details of the operation. Are you sure that we can trust our boys?”

Suka! She’s pointing at Misha, Igor, and Ari…

I run a hand over my face, the weight of responsibility bearing down on me like a physical force. I’ve known these men for years, fought beside them, bled with them. The thought of one of them betraying us is like a knife to the gut.

“No, they are my brothers; they’ll never betray me or the Bratva, Ksenia.”

Ksenia’s gaze is ice as she looks at me, a cold smile curling her lips. “You’ll need to start being less na?ve, little brother. You must know you can trust no one.”

Inside, I reel from her words. Ksenia has never trusted anyone, not really. And it hits me—

Does she even trust me? Her own brother?

A sudden knock at the door snaps me out of my thoughts. I exchange a glance with Ksenia, my hand instinctively reaching for the gun at my waist.

“Come in,” I bark, my voice harsh and commanding.

The door swings open, and in stumbles Misha, looking like he’s just gone ten rounds with a fucking bear. He’s lost some weight, and from the way he’s moving, you’d think he was an old man with a stick up his ass.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” I drawl, a smirk tugging at my lips. “I thought you’d be laid up in bed, crying for your mama.”

Misha flips me the bird, a grin splitting his face. “Fuck you, boss. You know it takes more than a measly bullet to keep me down.”

He makes his way to the table, cursing under his breath with every step. It’s music to my fucking ears. Misha’s not just a soldier; he’s my brother. We’ve been through so much shit together that I’ve lost count of the times we’ve pulled each other’s asses out of the fire.

“Sorry I’m late,” he grunts, practically falling into a chair. “Doc’s been riding my ass, saying I need to rest. But I told him, ‘Doc, the only thing I need is a good stiff drink and some fucking payback.’”

I laugh, reaching over to clap him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, brother. We’ve got a score to settle, and I need you by my side.”

Misha nods, his eyes hardening. “Those Vasiliev bastards won’t know what hit ‘em. We’ll make them wish they’d never fucked with the Morozovs.”

I slam a glass of whiskey down in front of Misha, and he knocks it back in one go. “I want to mess up those Vasiliev jerks so bad, their own mothers won’t recognize them.”

“And we will,” I shoot back, pouring myself another whiskey and tossing it back.

Misha turns to Ksenia, giving her a deep nod of his head. “And to you, sister. For saving our sorry asses back there. We owe you one.”

Ksenia smirks, waving off the praise with a perfectly manicured hand. “Just doing my job, brother. Someone has to keep you idiots alive.”

Just then, Misha’s phone buzzes. He fishes it out of his pocket, his brow furrowing as he reads the message. “Bring him in,” he grunts, nodding to someone outside the door.

Moments later, Igor and Ari walk in, a third man sandwiched between them. He’s a weaselly looking fucker, with a cheap suit and a greasy comb-over. But it’s the badge glinting on his belt that catches my eye.

“Detective Sokolov,” I drawl, leaning forward in my seat. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Sokolov smiles, a slimy thing that makes my skin crawl. “I come bearing gifts, Mr. Morozov. Information on your little Vasiliev problem.”

I exchange a glance with Ksenia, my eyebrows raised.

This should be good.

“And what’s the price for this information?” Ksenia asks, her voice as cold as the Siberian winter.

Sokolov’s smile widens, his eyes glinting with greed. “Straight to the point. I like that. Let’s just say my retirement fund could use a little padding. A cool million should do the trick.”

I hear Igor let out a low growl, his fists clenching at his sides. Ari looks like he’s about two seconds away from snapping Sokolov’s neck. But Ksenia and I remain calm, our faces betraying nothing.

“A million is a steep price, Detective,” I say, my voice as smooth as silk. “Especially for information we have no way of verifying.”

Sokolov spreads his hands, a picture of wounded innocence. “I assure you, Mr. Morozov, my intel is solid. I’ve risked my life to get it. Surely that’s worth something?”

“In our world, power is measured in three different currencies. First, money—cash rules everything around us. Second, connections—the who-knows-who can open any door. And third, fear—a well-placed dread can control just about anyone.” I aim a level stare at him.

“Now, cash and connections, those are solid. Tangible. But fear? That’s a fickle bitch. And right now, every word out of your mouth is making me question just how valuable your information really is.”

Sokolov swallows hard, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. “I-I promise you, Mr. Morozov. This intel is the real deal. Locations, shipment schedules, the whole nine yards. It’s enough to bring the Vasilievs to their knees.”

“Fine,” I say, the word tasting like ash on my tongue. “A million it is. But if this intel doesn’t pan out, Detective, you’ll be praying for the Vasilievs to find you before we do.”

Sokolov nods quickly, then reaches into his jacket with a shaking hand, pulling out a thick manila envelope. He tosses it on the table like it’s a live grenade.

“Now, about my payment,” he says, licking his lips nervously. “I trust you’re familiar with crypto?”

I nod, my eyes never leaving his face. “We’re familiar.”

Sokolov nods, pulling out his phone. “Good. I’ll send you my wallet address. Once the transfer is complete, the envelope is yours.”

I glance at Igor, giving him a curt nod. He pulls out his own phone, his fingers flying over the screen. A moment later, Sokolov’s phone pings with an incoming notification.

Sokolov checks the screen, his eyes widening as he sees the balance. “It’s all there,” he says, a note of relief in his voice. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Morozov, lady and gentlemen.”

I don’t bother responding, watching silently as he scurries out of the room like a rat fleeing a sinking ship.

Ksenia snatches up the envelope, tearing into it with a predator’s hunger. She scans the contents, her eyes widening with each page.

“This is it,” she breathes, a vicious smile curving her lips. “We’ve got them by the balls now.”

She slides the papers over to me, and I feel a thrill of savage anticipation as I take in the information. Warehouse locations, guard rotations, transport routes… just like he said. It’s a fucking treasure map leading straight to the heart of the Vasilievs’ operation.

Fucking cops are doing something right for once!

I look up at the others, a cold, ruthless determination settling over me like a shroud.

“Gentlemen,” I say, my voice as hard as iron. “Let’s take back what’s ours. And let’s make sure the Vasilievs never forget the day they fucked with the Morozovs.”