Page 2 of Tarnished Reign

I stare at him, pissed with his stupid question. His gaze lowers and he shuffles his feet. I guess that’s what I get when my reputation as a crazy fucker precedes me. People don’t like to challenge me.

“Yes, they are fucking dangerous, but they’re also stupid, as evidenced by the fact they kidnapped Mila and are holding her on a boat, in the goddamn bay, like sitting ducks.” I look at each face in turn, taking my time. “Anyone who is scared, leave the room right now. I don’t mean the normal trepidation and anxiety we all feel before something like this. That’s natural and good. But anyone who is scared of these guys, please fuck off. I don’t want you on this.”

I stare at them, but no one moves.

“Good. We get on the yacht here.” I point to the floorplan of the yacht, which is taking up much of the dining table surface. “Except for four of you, who will board here, distracting Dorian’s men.” I point to a ladder leading to the main deck.

“The decoy boat will do a close run on the other side of the yacht to distract them while we approach from here.” I tap the far side of the vessel.

“We will be in a dinghy, silent, small, and no engine,” says Alexis.

“You can all swim, right?” I check.

They all nod.

“Once on board, any male in your direct line of fire is a target. Fire at them, but keep it controlled. Keep Dorian alive if possible because I’d really like some alone time with that fucker.” He is the piece of shit leader of the gang who took Mila. “We need Mila found first and foremost. Never forget, this is an extraction operation. Any revenge comes second to that. We bring Mila back alive. She’s one of our own.”

There is a murmur of agreement, which ripples around the room. These men aren’t soldiers. They aren’t trained in the same precise way I was in the Marines, but they are trained. My stepfather, Jacob, runs a tight ship as the Pakhan. He has strict rules. Hence, we don’t have beef with the local cops, and we don’t generally run into trouble with other groups. This is only the second time someone has come for us, and I am determined to make every one of them pay—but only after we have Mila safe.

After I got my stepsister to safety the last time someone dared to mess with us, Jacob asked me to be his enforcer.

I was unsure at first, scared that the angry beast inside me that had been channeled into a controlled machine by the military would become something dangerous without that structure. I needn’t have worried. The beast finally has an outlet now, and I get the pleasure of knowing the only people I hurt are scum, or enemies of my family.

In this raid, the men we will kill are not the priority, they are collateral. Unimportant meat sacks who we will execute for daring to cross us. Few will mourn the passing of people traffickers.

The men are talking amongst themselves. I glance at the sideboard. A picture of Mila, taken two years or so ago, beams out at me. She might not be a blood relative of Jacob’s but she’s family, nonetheless. Which means, she’s my family, too. You never abandon family. Not for anything. My first stepfather, Anton, taught me that lesson at a young age in Italy when he abandoned his vows to my mother.

Then I discovered my own father, the man I’d hero worshipped the idea of had also abandoned us, and worse. Jacob never has. He stepped up and I owe my adoptive father everything. Including this opulent life in California.

“So you think there are some fuckers in this gang who were in the original group who took Nataliya?” Riley sidles up to me, speaking low, so the others can’t here. He came with me on the previous extraction, and he is a good man to have on side.

“It looks like there might be a few who were in that gang.”

“Should have taken every single one of them out. Hunted them down like rats until none were left alive in our city.” He grinds his molars.

He’s not wrong. San Francisco is our city, and I do believe Jacob was too lenient not killing every single person even loosely affiliated with the gang who took Nataliya. At the time, he thought that by getting her back, and killing everyone directly involved in taking her, painfully in many cases; a strong enough warning had been sent.

He made a mistake when he didn’t cleanse the entire city of the trash.

Now, here we are again, another woman of ours targeted.

“Boss, what do we do about the other women, the ones on the yacht with the men? There are rumors we’re supposed to take them.” The kid asking is young, dumb, and full of cum as the saying goes. He is a damn good shot though and has a nice propensity for violence that can be useful.

There’s an edge of hopefulness to his voice. I sigh.

This is where Jacob has gone off script. He’s so angry at what has been done that he’s letting his rage cloud his judgement. He’s demanded we free Mila, and let the trafficked and kidnapped women go, but he wants us to keep a couple of the girls on the yacht, and use them to make a statement.

It’s a very shitty plan and I’ve tried to talk him out of it.

He insists we take the yacht, raid and take their homes, and take some of the leaders’ women. Then use it all for show to say don’t fuck with us.

It’s a plan. Except … I’m not going to screw some cast-off girlfriend of a drug runner.

I am most certainly not going to be posting #yachtlife pictures on Instagram.

I suppose we could hold a party on the yacht, and get our contacts to do the catering, invite a few of the city’s underground elites, along with a sprinkling of the lowlife street bangers, and let them spread the word about what we’ve done. A girl or two of Dorian’s on my knee for the duration would be enough. We’d have the yacht, after all. The victors amongst their spoils.

It would be whispered amongst the criminal groups, don’t mess with the California Bratva or they’ll murder you, take your houses and yachts, and keep your women.

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