Page 13 of Reign of Four

The words good girl only heighten that feeling. I half expect him to reach into the desk drawer and pull out a treat.

“Let’s make something clear, gentlemen.” Liam takes his time meeting the eyes of every man in the room. “You may have your opinions about this Bratva, or its leader, or his wife.” His palm digs into my hip, clutching me tighter. “But I don’t give a fuck about your opinions. You are here as advisors to ensure we win this fucking war. If you have a problem with how I run things, or whose company I keep, you can follow Kravinsky out the door.” With a nod, he silently orders Riot to clean up the mess.

A streak of blood follows Kravinsky’s body as Riot drags it from the room.

Liam taps his knife on the desk, and from this angle, I can see the map of the city laid out in front of me. Landmarks are highlighted, the Baranova estate colored red, multicolored lines and notations and symbols littered across the page.

I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m looking at, but I settle back into Liam and try to appear relaxed as he massages my hip and gets back to business, calling up the next man to advise him on not just our manpower, but our firepower and real estate.

I take it all in—the numbers, the trade routes, the strategy—and make a promise not to forget a single detail.

Even if I have to sit with the devil to do it.

Chapter 5

Mikhail

I know every single building in this city. Who owns it. Who designed it. Who paid for it. It goes further; I know who owns the land and what lies beneath it—whether that be a sewage system or a nuclear bunker or a whole lot of dirt. I know everything that happens in this city’s real estate, because I own the largest portion of it.

Up until recently, I owned damn near all of it—well, the Monrovia family does, and as its head of house, that means me.

So when I stare at a building I intimately know, from the architect’s name to the construction crew that built the damn thing to its current owner and manager, and can’t step inside, I’m pissed.

“What do you mean I’m barred from entry?” I bare my teeth at the security guard, some guy who should be on our payroll but apparently isn’t, and try not to laugh. This whole thing is absurd.

“There’s a gas leak,” the guard tells me, sounding bored out of his mind. I would be too if I got paid to babysit an abandoned warehouse. “Gotta wait for the city inspectors, then the repair crew.”

I look past the man to the empty office inside, spotting the still-steaming paper cup next to the half-full coffee pot. There are papers strewn across the admin desk, like whoever was there couldn’t clean up before the end of their shift, or before they were kicked out by an alleged hazard.

Or, if they were interrupted by my unexpected arrival.

I flex my hand, stretching my fingers. If Ezra were here, I’d have him tussle with the man to get him out of my way. But seeing as he’s not here, and my talents lie elsewhere, I’ll have to make do with another tactic.

I reach into my wallet and pull out a wad of cash. I only deal in hundreds, and by the guard’s widening eyes, I’d say he knows of my reputation. I can be a generous bastard when I want to be. “You got any kids—” I glance at the name embroidered on his uniform—“Mr. Simmons?”

He clenches his jaw. “You need to leave, sir. This is private property, and like I’ve told you, no one is allowed inside.”

I tap the crisp edge of bills against Billy Simmons’ chest, committing his name and face to memory. “On account of the gas leak.”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t move to take the money, so I remove one bill from the stack and tuck it into his shirt pocket. “Alright, then. Give Marcus my regards, will you?” I fold the money back into my wallet and turn to leave, already in the process of calling Andrei when Billy Simmons says something that sets my teeth on edge.

“You didn’t hear? Marcus died last week.”

The world comes to a screeching halt. Andrei chooses to pick up at that precise moment. “What is it?”

“Marcus is dead,” I repeat, lifting my eyes to Billy. “When?”

“Last Tuesday. His brother didn’t want the property, so he sold it to some out-of-state guys. The firm handling the estate jumped on it. Marcus’ body wasn’t even cold yet, man.”

“Get the name of the real estate company,” Andrei orders, “and every single person on staff, past and present, for them and the warehouse?—”

It’s clear he’s not talking to me, so I pull out a few more bills and tuck them into Billy’s shirt pocket. “Who’s the new owner?” I’m surprised I didn’t hear about any of this, but with how shitty my own real estate company’s been performing lately, it’s no wonder they missed a competitor swooping in.

“That’s above my pay grade.”

“Of course it is.” My smile tightens. Oh, how I so don’t have time for this. Andrei’s going to have to do some digging, and all the while, our woman is God knows where. Playing these games while Valentina is with Liam is like peeling your own skin off one slow inch at a time. Fucking unbearable.

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