Page 41 of Owned By The Bratva King

“I’ll sort this out,” I say. “I promise. I’ll do whatever I must to ensure you’re safe.”

I silently beg her to say something, but she doesn’t, and I have no choice but to leave.

I make it to my car without incident, and before long, I’m at my downtown office. No one notices me arriving because I can use my pass to park in the underground garage.

I take the elevator up to the penthouse suite to find Leon in the lobby. Sitting beside him is none other than Ricky Lubomski.

“You brought him to my legitimate place of business? I don’t have time for this.” I gesture at Ricky. “What happened to your arm?”

Ricky raises the sling. “Vercotti happened. I’m getting scared, man. The guy is way too volatile, and your breaking his toes was the last straw. He thinks I’m spying on you for him, but you don’t give me nothin’, and he’s losing patience.”

“So what do you expect me to do about it?”

“I have some information that you’ll wanna know.” Ricky’s eyes meet mine. “But I need some assurances. Protection. I don’t want to associate with that fucker anymore, but you gotta take him out. Otherwise, he’ll come after me for double-crossing him.”

I’ll never know why Vercotti would trust Lubomski with anything, but he never had much foresight. Running mafia operations demands a sharp mind to stay ahead of all the moving parts, and Vercotti is too emotionally driven to be disciplined.

I usher the two men into a side office and close the door. “What do you know, Lubomski?” I ask.

“Swear you’ll stop him getting to me.” Ricky’s eyes are wild. “Swear it, and I’ll tell you. You must be able to see I’m freaking out over here. I came to Leon for help, for fuck’s sake.”

Leon raises his eyebrows at me. Even he isn’t baiting Lubomski, and these guys hate each other. It must be serious.

“Ok, you got it,” I say. “Now spill.”

We have no choice but to let Ricky go; Vercotti will smell a rat otherwise. Once the hoards of the press have left, Leon will sneak him out, but I need to give my statement first.

Luckily, I always keep a clean suit here, and there’s a bathroom next to my office, so it doesn’t take me long to get smartened up.

“What do you wanna do?” Leon asks as we take the elevator to street level. “If even half of what Lubomski said is true, we could be in trouble.”

“Nah. Forewarned is forearmed. We’ll lock down and wait for Silvio and his men to show up. They won’t expect a fight, but they sure as hell will get one.”

“Attacking your house is insane.” Leon thrusts his hands into his pockets. “Why didn’t he do this sooner?”

This question has been on my mind. I stopped Vercotti going into the bakery, and now this news coverage? It doesn’t take a genius to work it out. And Silvio would be delighted to make me suffer; in his warped mind, it would be an eye for an eye if he hurt Quinn.

“He doesn’t want me, at least, not yet,” I say. “He’s coming for Quinn because he’s worked out that she matters to me. I have to get her out of her apartment immediately and to safety. When the press leaves, get rid of Lubomski first, then collect Quinn and take her to the yacht. Viktor will do his part.”

“Are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?”

“You bet I am,” I reply. “Break out the tuxedos, tovarisch.”

In the lobby, the crowd of journalists are visible through the frosted glass, jostling for position. It’s like a scene from a zombie apocalypse.

I give the doorman a nod, and he opens the door, urging the mob to back away. The hubbub reaches a crescendo as I step out, and microphones are thrust into my face.

“Mr. Kazanov! Who is Quinn Sullivan to you?”

“Roman! Look here, let’s get a good shot!”

“Sir! Marcia Ingles, CBN. Is your dalliance with the baker an abuse of power?”

I hold up my hands and appeal for silence. The noise dies down, and I clear my throat.

“Good morning, everyone. Thanks for coming.”

33

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