Page 7 of Flames of Ruin

***

As I round the corner in the hallways of my father’s estate, I hear the sounds of hushed, frustrated voices.

Stealthily inching closer to the cracked doorway, I recognize the men to whom the voices belong.

The Fourth Circle.

The name given to these four men by the citizens of Edinburgh. In their own countries, their organizations are at war; killing anyone who stands in the way of their plans without regard for societal status. Here in the states, they operate differently. The heads of each of the crime families put their own hatred aside and form a business truce so as not to bring unwanted negative attention from law enforcement.

Fueled by deadly avarice, they have made it their mission to take over the city; to rid it of the cancerous leeches known as the lower class that inhabit Raventown, a smaller suburb in the city's epicenter. In their eyes, these innocent people have done nothing but suck the upper class dry.

“Mass murder is not how my Bratva brigade operates, Dante. We like to avoid unnecessary run-ins with the law.”

I would know that seething voice anywhere, as I have been around him most of my life: Dimitri Parshikov. He is one of the four kings of the Russian Mob, directly underneath his leader, or Pakhan, Mikhail Petrov. It’s not mass killing he truly cares about, it’s control. It’s ensuring that his brigade has the upper-hand and chooses when and how these people will pay for merely existing among the elite.

“We said we would help you clean up Edinburgh in exchange for our rights to the docks and railways. No one mentioned anything about going on a killing spree.”

Dimitri’s voice is angrily followed up by Enzo Silvestri, a strong Italian influence in Cosa Nostra that lives on the outskirts of Boston.

“So drugs, murder when it benefits you, human trafficking, and money laundering are fine, but this is where you two mafia lords draw the line in the sand?” The hairs on my neck stand as I recognize the snarling voice.

My father, Dante Reign. Successful businessman of Vanguard Enterprises by day, and crime lord by night. He has been running the drug rings and overseeing the weapons trade in Edinburgh for as long as I can remember.

“What happens to the cargo after it is distributed is out of our hands.” Enzo snaps.

It’s fucking sick. Enzo has a daughter, yet the man aids in human trafficking, letting Dimitri use his docks for their sick desires.

“We kill when someone threatens our families or livelihoods. There are other ways to gain control of Edinburgh without breaking our codes of honor.” Dimitri pauses. “Knocking off certain politicians, perhaps.”

“Oh, so murdering them is okay?” I can hear the angry grumble in my father’s voice as he speaks.

“They’re corrupt fucks anyhow. The world could use less of them.” Enzo says flatly.

That’s when I hear Craig Demassi pipe up.

“Fellas, we did not become successful businessmen without hurting a few people in the process.”

“A few people?!” Enzo shouts, “Poisoning the water system that runs through Raventown would kill more than a few people. It would kill thousands.”

“I am so very impressed that you can do math, Enzo.” My father sneers. “Once it is done, then we go in, buy up the properties, and begin the cleanup. The criminals become the heroes, and we own Raventown. That’s the first step of our plan, gentlemen.”

I hear footsteps approaching, and Dimitri’s voice grows closer. “My men will not be a part of this.”

Before the door can swing open, I hear the click of a gun. “Remember, we made a deal. Anyone who backs out on that deal can easily be replaced, Dimitri.”

A deafening silence falls on the room before another voice speaks.

“When and where?” Enzo asks in a hushed voice.

“Raventown has four water line access points. Tomorrow night at nine o’clock. We each dump the vat of chemicals through the water tunnels at the access points, and we watch as the cancerous epicenter of our city crumbles.”

***

After tucking CiCi in when Dr. Anders leaves, I hurry down the hall to the room where I house my weapons and do most of my intel gathering. Striding past Shado, I begin typing on my computer into a database on the dark web.

“So you’re him. Draco. The Dragon.”

I try not to respond to the name given to me by my father and his associates. My mother named me Drake, but Dante Reign did not deem it strong enough for a man that he hoped one day would uphold his legacy.

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