Page 83 of The Lazarov Bratva

KRISTOF

Leaving Alena alone in the house is something I hate. A necessary pain, unfortunately.

When she was in the basement, it was easy. I knew she was locked away, safe and secure behind a heavy steel door. Ever since I moved her to the bedroom, things have felt less safe, especially with the property searches creeping closer and closer. I’ve already had two places searched while under the guise of doing everything in my power to find Alena.

It won’t be long until someone remembers the house outside of the city. Seated in the dark, I’m illuminated only by my phone screen that displays the live CCTV feed from Alena’s bedroom. My teeth sink lightly into my forefinger as I study her.

Alena. My girl.

She’s propped up against her pillows, her blonde hair pulled back into a long ponytail. Naked, she’s relaxed and smiling lightly down at the book in her lap. That girl consumes stories faster than anyone I’ve ever met before, but I admire it. Her thirst to learn and read every fantasy she can get her hands on, it’s a side of her I barely noticed before, but now, I’m happy to help her fulfil it every way I can.

She flicks a page and her chest heaves with a deep breath. I worked her over hard a few days ago when she was first given the room. Since then, I’ve let her rest. Alena had complained, and in my dark heart, I had shared that struggle over not touching her. But we had a rough session, and she needs time to settle into her new room.

The distant rumble of a car engine brings my attention briefly away from my phone, and I glance outside the car. There’s nothing to see, only darkness stretching into the infinite.

I look back at my phone and my breath catches in my throat. Despite not being touched, Alena is still bound by the rules I set in place. Yet here she is, clear as anything, with one hand buried between her thighs. She’s touching herself while reading, and I can only imagine what filth exists in those pages. The pressure from my teeth increases slightly but the ache in my finger doesn’t faze me. I’m doing anything I can to keep Alena safe, and she doesn’t know I’m watching her, so I will allow it.

For now.

Never would I have anticipated Alena being as freaky as me.

Before my thoughts wander too far south, an alert pings up on my phone and the CCTV feed closes. It’s the alert I’ve been waiting for.

I slide my phone back into my pocket and climb from the car, closing the door softly behind me. My car beeps twice as I lock it. The scents of salt water and oil fill my lungs as I stride across the vast empty parking lot of the docks, making a beeline for the shipyard where containers from all over the world are piled sky-high.

This late at night, the docks are quiet this far back in the shipyard, with all dock workers busy near the water loading up ships for the next morning. Oily water splashes over my shoes, and I grimace lightly, making a quiet mental note to get these dry-cleaned. My destination is a set of blue containers with the name MAERSK painted on the side in large white letters. Just as I approach the containers, a flicker of amber lights up the darkness between them, and a man steps out of the shadows.

He’s tall, dressed in pin-striped trousers and a blue shirt neatly tucked behind a black waistcoat. His close-cropped ginger beard lights up like warm amber at the next inhale of his cigarette, and when his green eyes lock on me, a cloud of smoke escapes his thin lips.

“Kristof.” He greets me in an accent dipped in warm Irish tones and holds out a cigarette packet. “Smoke?”

“Seamus.” I accept, a subtle show of trust, and he tosses me a lighter.

“You’re late.” Seamus drags deeply on his cigarette and casts a wary eye around the empty parking lot.

“And alone,” I say, taking a drag. “As agreed.”

“I had no doubt.” He taps off the ash to the side and sighs. “So, how much?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I lost eighteen men this week. Had to take a guess as to what the hell you’re going to offer me as compensation?”

Seamus is a wry man and the Captain of the Irish Mafia. It’s his men who have been locked in an all-out blood war with my own, and if anyone knew the two of us were meeting in the dead of night, both sides would hang us by dawn.

“I lost men, too.” Another slow drag. “Let me be clear. I’m still willing to give you everything we agreed upon when—and only when—I’m instated as Pakhan.”

Seamus scoffs, and his green eyes fill with fire, reflecting the end of his cigarette. “I have asked you time and time again how that is going to happen, and still, you ain’t giving me an answer.”

“I told you, all in due time. Everything else I’ve told you about was good. Why doubt me now?”

“I have plenty of reasons to worry,” Seamus muttered. “You’re fuckin’ Russian, for one.”

I snort. “Just let me worry about the finer details, okay? As long as you keep up the pressure on your end, the North docks will be yours by the end of the year. We both know access to these shipping lanes is priceless.”

He grunts in agreement. “Still. My men are hurting. Irish blood stains the streets. Any more and I might up the price.”

“It’s the last stretch. I need you to trust me a little longer.” Every word is a thinly veiled threat, a balance of power that we both need to flex but would never admit outright. He’s right, though. We’ve both spilled more blood and lost more men than we ever anticipated.

---