Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“Including the Canadian job,” Alex says, shading his eyes against the sun.
“Valentin’s going to give that to someone else soon enough.” Lev begins to pace. Fifty yards away, a big machine spools to life as the gravediggers begin to cover over their father’s grave.
Natalya watches them with a strange satisfaction. “He’s really gone now, huh?”
Lev stops pacing. He puts a hand on Natalya’s shoulder, and the pair of them watch in silence. Then he squeezes. “Can’t make you marry anyone else now.”
She laughs. It’s an ugly laugh, but some of the tension bleeds from the little group. “What do we do now then?”
“Win Valentin over,” Alex says. “Make him see that you’re not your father. You’re better.”
“We need a meeting, but he hasn’t been responding to any of my messages,” Lev tells him.
“Adriano can help,” I say, perking up. “Why don’t I ask my cousin? He’ll know what to do.”
Alex and Lev exchange a look. “I don’t want to owe him anymore,” Lev says.
“He didn’t do all that much during your little coup,” I point out and glance at Natalya. “Sorry if that sounds harsh.”
“It’s okay. Alex told me the story already.”
“She’s got a point.” Alex crosses his arms and turns away from the differs. “At the very least, it’s worth a try.”
“Reach out to him,” Lev says, taking my hand in his, holding it tight. “I’ll do my best to rebuild my father’s network in the meantime.”
“That’s a plan then.” I lean against his chest as Alex and Natalya walk toward their car. Lev hugs me back. I breathe in his smell and close my eyes. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Your dad died. This was his funeral. It’s kind of normal to be upset.”
“I’m not normal.”
“I know, but—”
“I’m fine,” he says again, except his tone softens. “Thinking about Stepan, that’s all. But I’m happy my father’s gone, even if there are complications.”
“We’ll convince Valentin. You’ll win over your father’s old business partners. It’ll be okay.”
“If only I had your optimism.”
Chapter 33
Lev
Ineeded more time. That’s what I keep thinking as the days pass. I needed more time to get my shit together and lay the groundwork for when I’d step into my father’s role.
Now he’s gone, and nothing’s the way it should be.
I stand outside of an old rundown retail space up in North Philly. It’s one of those neighborhoods that looks like it went through a war recently. The houses around here are either boarded up, burned out, or crumbling. Half of them are still occupied though.
The guy that answers when I rap my knuckles on an old plywood door grunts at me. “The fuck you doing here?” he asks, eyes widening slightly when he spots me. He leans forward, keeping the door open only a crack.
“You’ve been ducking my calls.”
“I know, but, you know, shit gets busy this time of year. Hey, why don’t you come back later? In a few months maybe?”
“Jovan. What’s your problem?”
The old Serbian grimaces when I lean against the door. I’m not forcing it open—not yet, anyway—but I am letting him know that I could. He’s wearing rumpled sweats and his dark hair is graying around the edges, but Jovan’s one of my father’s oldest and most trusted connections back to Eastern Europe and all the fancy fake watch makers still lurking around the Balkans.
“Problem? No problem here, old friend, just saying I am very busy. I have many orders, you know? I need to pack them up myself. Can’t trust anyone anymore, right?”
“Let me inside. I want to discuss some things with you.”
“I can’t, really, maybe—”
I lose my patience. Jovan yelps when I lean my shoulder into the door and force him back. He stumbles into the dirty downstairs room and I follow him in, one hand on the gun in my waistband, looking around me for attackers.
But the place is mostly empty. There are milk crates stacked with an old TV playing cartoons in the corner and more crates forming a makeshift table. A low couch is ripped in multiple spots.
And there are boxes. So many fucking cardboard boxes. All of them marked in various different languages.
“Come on, Lev,” he says, holding up his hands, looking down at my gun. “We’re friends. I’m just a businessman, you know? I’m a nobody, really.”
“You’re a middleman. You’re an importer. You should be loyal. Instead, you’ve been ignoring me and acting strange. What’s going on?”
He groans. “Don’t make me say it.”
“This can be hard or it can be easy. Your choice.”
“It’s Zeitsev,” he says like someone’s dragging it from his throat. “He’s got a silence order out on you.”
I stare at Jovan for a moment as the words slowly register.
Then I slump sideways and lean against the wall.
A silence order. Fucking shit.
That sounds worse than it is, honestly. If Zeitsev wanted me actually dead, there wouldn’t be an order. I’d have a dozen hitmen hunting me down. Instead, a silence order means I’m basically persona non grata to the city. Anyone caught dealing with me will be punished and shunned by the Bratva. For some legitimate folks that don’t know anything about the underworld, that’s not really a big deal. But for a guy like Jovan?