Page 43 of Baby for the Bratva

Dima and me.

Seemingly until I die of boredom. Let’s see him protect me from that!

20

Yuri

That bastard Chekhov better be too busy getting his cock sucked to come to his assigned meeting, or we’re in some real trouble. The problem is that he normally takes his job very seriously, and the only time he’s ever missed a meeting was when he was violently ill. Even then, he called to let me know beforehand.

So, this little vanishing act he’s pulled is wholly uncharacteristic. The likelihood that something bad has happened to him rises with every passing second. I hate everything about this mission. I have half a mind to call it quits and just dump the entire load of cocaine in Jamaica for a quarter of the price.

I reach the top floor where the closed-off lounge is. Normally, this would be used as a premium bar and cigar room, but the current cruise clientele doesn’t require such niceties. I fear the world has lost the ability to appreciate a good cigar and whiskey after dinner.

The smell of old smoke is still present here, however, so I add to it by lighting up my own cigar. It’s more to take the edge off than to enjoy myself. With Chekhov missing, the prospect of relaxing is nothing more than a distant fantasy.

Akim arrives just as I start puffing smoke into the room. He’s in charge of managing the men around the cocaine supply. He’s also third in command, making his participation in the search for Chekhov all the more important.

“What do we know?” I ask him, closing the top button of my shirt. It’s painful to think about what I just missed out on, but Chekhov’s situation is far worse.

Akim sighs. “Not much, I’m afraid. Chekhov went missing around midnight. He’s not picking up his phone, and nobody has seen or heard from him since.”

“Is his phone ringing or is it going straight to voicemail?” I ask.

“Voicemail. It’s dead, so far as we know.”

“Which means Chekhov could be dead. This is very bad. I hope you understand that. Very fucking bad.”

He nods, a look of sorrow in his eyes. “Yes, I understand. We’re not going to be able to handle another visit from the police if his body turns up somewhere on the ship. They’ll halt the cruise if there’s another murder. That, and we lose Chekhov.”

I’m not ready to write him off as dead yet, but Akim is saying what we’re all thinking. The chance of Chekhov being alive and well is slim and growing slimmer. At this point, it would be a miracle if he was found breathing and in one piece.

“Make sure nobody knows about his disappearance but us. I don’t want cruise security or the goddamn cops to know about this. Fill his room with a body double, if need be. Just make sure this doesn’t get out to the public.”

Akim nods slowly. “This will stay contained.”

“Good. If he turns up, he’d better have a good reason. Until then, make sure we check all the security cameras. We can follow him from his last known location, but there’s some gray area, especially on the outdoor decks.”

“We already have someone checking the tapes,” he replies proudly.

I smile, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I know I can count on you, Akim. This isn’t easy for anyone here, but you’re doing well.”

“We’re in this together,” he replies, his voice strong and deep.

I know who will be second in command if Chekhov isn’t found. Akim has been with my organization for many years now. Not quite as many as Chekhov, but it’s close. Even though I’m closer to Chekhov than anyone else, I can’t let my feelings get in the way of business. Akim will step up to Chekhov’s position if we don’t find him within twenty-four hours.

Then, Chekhov will be assumed dead, and this mission will have gone from dangerous to downright suicidal. Someone is out to get us, and if it’s not the Brazilian authorities trying to bring me down, there’s someone else who wants my Bratva to crumble. A new, unknown threat that must be identified and dealt with.

Either way, this is getting risky, and transporting this much cocaine with so much happening isn’t a good way to end up behind bars for the rest of my life.

Or, more likely, dead.

I take a few short drags of my cigar before speaking again. I can already feel the nicotine soaking into my bloodstream and filing down the sharp edges of my anxiety, but it won’t be enough to save me from regret.

“I’d like to check Chekhov’s room,” I say, turning my attention back to Akim. “I know him better than anyone, and if there’s something to be found there, I’ll find it.”

He rolls his tongue under his lips, lost in thought for a moment. “Okay, but it’s not safe anywhere now that he’s missing.”

“It was never safe,” I growl. “Chekhov was parading around with that exact same attitude, and what good did it do him?”

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