Page 44 of The Umarova Crime Family

I walk inside the study, and Regis shuts the door behind me, so Cian and I are alone. Cian’s been head of the O’Dea family for many years now, and before him, his father reigned over Boston. His nickname is the King of Boston, and I can imagine why.

“Your brother was adamant I meet with you today, so I imagine whatever it is you need to discuss is quite pressing,” Cian says, leaning back in his office chair. He intertwines his hands and awaits some sort of answer from me.

“Yes, well, Ruslan likes things to be handled quickly. With any luck, I’ll be out of your hair quickly and your city. Has my brother given you any insight as to why I’m here?”

“I take it isn’t to sell me guns, considering my cousins have our business,” Cian tells me, and in his tone, I can sense he’s being very adamant about his dedication to his family.

I shake my head. “No, I’m not here about business. I’m here on family business. I’m not sure what you know about my family, but our stepfather has been ruling under the Umarova name for quite some time. He’s betrayed us, and I have reports he’s been hiding out in Boston. He’s done very troubling things to my family, and I’m tasked with bringing him to my brother.”

“This sounds very concerning to you,” Cian comments, and I nod.

“Yes, and I’d appreciate your permission to do what I need to do while I’m here. I won’t fuck with your operations or how you conduct your business, but I need my stepfather alive. The quicker, the better.”

Cian opens his mouth for a moment before smiling. “How can I be of assistance?”

“If you could have your boys on the street keep an eye out for him and notify me of any sightings, I’d appreciate it. With any luck, someone might’ve seen something, and I can take him out of here.”

“Do you have a photograph of him?” Cian asks, and I pull out my cell and show him a photo. “Perfect. Send me a text message with it. I’ll make sure it gets to my people.” Cian hands me a business card with his name and phone number. I type the number in my messages app and then send him the photo. Within a few moments, his phone dings, and I’m sure it’s the photo I’ve just sent him.

“I appreciate your assistance.”

“It’s no trouble. I hope this is a good first step at a working relationship once your brother fully takes back what is rightfully his?” Cian questions, narrowing his brows in the process.

“I’m certain it will be. Now that you have my number, text me any time you get a hit. I’ll follow the lead and handle it as swiftly and quietly as possible,” I inform Cian, and he nods in appreciation.

Cian and I quickly say our goodbyes, and I head back out to where my town car is. I get in the back, and my driver looks up at me in the rearview mirror. “Where to, Mr. Umarova?”

“Continue driving around. Once I have another address for you, I’ll let you know.”

“Yes, sir,” my driver tells me and pulls out onto the street.

As he mindlessly drives around, my thoughts drift back to the old man who took my brother in the first place.

“Tell me where he is!” I scream at the old man while I wrap my hands around his neck with an iron-tight grip. I hold it until his face turns from red to a purplish color, and then I release it.

He gasps with all his might, trying to gain his breath back. “You could make this a bit easier on yourself and give me the information I want.”

“B-bastard,” the man coughs, glaring at me with hatred in his eyes. His glares and curses won’t help him one bit.

“I found the photograph of you with my father in the militia,” I state, trying to take an alternate angle. I’ve been the brute. I’ve been the ruthless bastard. I’ve been the man who’s made it very apparent he won’t make it out of this alive unless he gives me a piece of information I find invaluable. Just then, I might let him walk away. At least, it’s how I’ve presented it to him, but I won’t ever let this man walk away. He mutilated my brother and put him through unimaginable hell. I’ll never let this man walk free. He will never see the light of day again.

The man’s gaze drops, and then he looks up at me. “You have all the answers then.” He coughs over and over again. I close my fist and clock him right in the side of the face. He falls onto the ground and struggles to get off the cold concrete.

“Where is Anzor?” I snarl at the old man, hitting him again and again and again. He now stays on the ground and begins laughing manically.

“Wouldn’t you like to k-know?” He coughs, spitting blood onto the floor.

“You made a grave mistake going against the Umarova family. Do you realize that?”

“I’m with the Umarovas, following Anzor’s direction.” He smiles at me like the devil has just taken hold of his body. Sinister, malicious, and downright evil.

“You have no idea how stupid you sound. Anzor isn’t an Umarova. He isn’t an Umarova at all. He’s a fraud. A faux. A fake. He’s a man who took control of something he never had the right to in the first place. He’s powerless, nothing more than a man who thinks he’s useful. He has no allies. He’s all alone, and I will find him.”

“If he has no allies, then why is he in Boston? He is more powerful than you will ever know and has the right to rule your pathetic family.”

“Oh, so he’s in Boston, huh?” I’ve got the bastard right where I want him.

“No, I’ve only said it to confuse you, idiot bastard. Anzor will kill you. He’ll kill you all.” The old man laughs, and I’ve about had it with his bullshit. I pull my Glock from the back of my pants, aim it at his head, and pull the trigger.

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