Page 50 of Triplets for the Russian Boss

Kostin

There are things a man shouldn’t do, if he doesn’t want to fall in love. The first of which is to cook for a woman. The second is to cum inside of her without a condom. Pleasure like that can screw with your mind in a major way.

But I don’t have the same focus on Bonnie as she might like. I know she’s emotionally dependent on me now, but I have other matters at hand that are considerably more pressing. For one, there’s the meeting I’ve called with the leader of the Devil’s Kingdom, about the shooting.

It’s a video call, like any modern business meeting between higher-ups, but the results of it will decide whether we’re going to have even more trouble on our hands, or if this was what we would consider a big misunderstanding.

Either way, I’d like to get this cleared up. Butting heads with the 37th Street Bratva is one thing, but going up against the Devil’s Kingdom at the same time would spell serious violence in the streets. It would be more than a war. It’d be a massacre, of which the likes of California has never witnessed.

I recline at my desk, the video screen rolling in on a metal table curtesy of Vladimir. He pushes it in front of my desk as I light a cigar and pour a glass of scotch. The meeting is in ten minutes, and I’d like to be prepared - as a show of respect and professionalism. It isn’t all guns and death threats in the Mafia.

“The Devil’s Kingdom, huh?” Vladimir says, locking the wheels on the metal TV stand. “They’re the ones with the drug operation, right?”

I nod, pulling one of Bonnie’s blonde hairs out of my stubble. “I’m thinking this is going to be a short conversation. Either they want us dead, for reasons I hope they explain, or we’ll get this worked out like civilized men.”

Vladimir shrugs. “You know best. If we have to go to war with them too, then I’m with you.”

“Hopefully not, but I’m not pussy-footing around the truth. This could get ugly before it’s coke and strip clubs, if you know what I mean.”

He nods. “I’m always with you, sir.”

“Good. Could you make sure Bonnie isn’t wandering out of her room tonight? She’s always so unpredictable.”

“I’ll be over there, just as soon as this TV is working,” he replies, hitting a button on the remote as he stands by my desk. “Shit, you know they invented TVs in the 20s, and they still haven’t found a replacement for remotes? I’m always losing these things.”

“Don’t lose this one,” I say as the screen comes on. “I’ll need to shut that Devil’s Kingdom motherfucker off at some point.”

Vladimir laughs. “You get to be the guardian of the remote. My job here is done.”

“Good work. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, for a briefing about things. I’d also like some updates on Jerry’s weapons.”

“Of course, sir. Good luck,” Vladimir replies, heading toward the door. He closes it behind himself with a gentle click, and I’m left alone in the room to dwell on my thoughts before the meeting.

I’m already connected over a private VPN, masking my location from the video chat software. I never did trust those technology companies. They’re more crooked than the Mafia.

I take few more puffs of my cigar, shifting the ash tray in front of me on the desk listlessly as I wait for the leader of the Devil’s Kingdom, Diavolo Morte, to connect to the call.

I take a sip of my whiskey, and when I put it down, the screen flickers on, and my attention turns to a man in a silver mask.

“We seem to have a problem,” I begin, wanting to cut straight to business.

“The problem would be you, yes,” Diavolo replies.

I chuckle, running the tip of my finger around the edge of the whiskey glass in front of me. “No, Diavolo, I think you might be mistaken. I’ve been minding my own business here, and your boys tried to turn me into swiss cheese at the shipyard. That’s not really playing nice, now, is it?”

“I don’t play nice with thieves.”

“What makes you think I’m a thief?” I ask, leaning in and sucking in more cigar smoke.

“You stole weapons from us, Kostin. Don’t play stupid with me.”

“The chemical weapons?” I ask. I’m not all that surprised, but I also don’t see the link between the Devil’s Kingdom and the 37th Street Bratva.

“The ingestible explosives that Jerry was working on, yes,” Diavolo replies, nodding his head slightly. “You’ve taken them somewhere, and we intend to get them back.”

“I assumed they belonged to the 37th Street Bratva,” I reply, trying to figure out what the hell is really going on.

“No, Jerry was a pawn, a double agent with a sick enough mind to pull something like this off. He took money from the Bratva with no intention of returning it. We offered to protect him when he was done, but you killed him first, and made off with the weapons.”

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