Page 4 of Hating the Bratva

“You need us to vet your employees?” I ask, looking away from the screen to Rick. Mikhail would have no problem slapping some people around to get answers out of Rick’s employees.

Rick shakes his head. “I’ll take care of it.”

I stare at him for a minute. I trust the guy, maybe only because I know that this robbery is hurting him more than it hurts us. He’s the one that has to cover our losses because if he didn’t, he’d pay with his life. I still never put too much trust in anybody. That’s when you become a fool. I stand from the desk and button my suit jacket.

“We’ll be in touch,” I say before stepping out of the office. Mikhail pushes off the wall as I come closer.

“What are we going to do?” he asks, following me outside.

“Well, first, I gotta tell Gavril.” As second in command, I always have to deliver the bad news.

“Shit, good luck with that. Gavril’s going to be pissed.”

I grimace. “Yeah, I know.”

“Any theories in your head of who might have hit us?”

I lean against my Range Rover as we talk. I look around, making sure no one is within hearing range.

“You didn’t hear this from me,” I start.

Mikhail nods. “Of course.”

“The Miami brotherhood has been having some financial problems, but I can’t see why they would hit us. We don’t have any beef with them.”

Mikhail runs a hand over his beard. “Except for that issue with Ivan.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“You know. He went down there to visit. Got too messed up and fucked someone’s wife. They wanted Gavril to take care of him, but Gavril refused.”

“How come I didn’t know about this?”

“I thought you did. You know everything. Maybe Gavril is trying to keep it quiet for some reason.”

“How’d you hear about it?”

“Ivan told me.”

My entire job is knowing everything that could be a threat to this brotherhood, and I can’t do that if my Pakhan is keeping secrets from me. He’s never kept anything from me before. What the hell is this about?

“You think he’s trying to shut you out?” Mikhail asks.

I shake my head. “No, I think he has some kind of plan that he doesn’t want to tell me about.”

Mikhail scoffs. “Great, that means we’re not going to like it.”

“Probably not. I’ll see you around.” I slap hands with him and watch as he gets into his car and drives off. I hop into my Range Rover and head toward the clubhouse.

The clubhouse is a giant compound located several miles off the highway. A twelve-foot fence surrounds it, and Vory take shifts standing outside with their rifles across their chest. I give Dustin a two-finger salute as I glide through the gate that he’s opened for me. Three metal buildings make up the compound, each connected by one long hallway that stretches between them. I park closest to the main building and get out. The autumn Boston air fills my nose with a mix of freshly cut grass and freshly baked bread. The cooks must have already started making breakfast—some of the Vory stay here full-time along with Gavril. I scan my finger at the door before walking inside. Pool tables, big screen TVs, a kitchen, and a bar fill the space. It’s the hangout spot for the whole brotherhood. It’s also the place where we hold meetings.

I spot Katya at the pool table with Luka, and I slap him on the back as I pass by. Gavril’s office is off to the side of the main living space. I knock, but there’s no answer. Fuck. I was hoping he’d already be up and working. I’ll have to visit him at his place. The Pakhan has always lived at the compound. It’s a tradition. He’s the biggest target in our organization, which means he needs twenty-four seven protection. When I become Pakhan, I have no plans to stay at the clubhouse. The old traditions are outdated, and although they’ve served their purpose, we’re overdue for some change.

I walk down one of the long hallways to the second building. This building is more like a hotel, with rooms on both sides of me. There are enough rooms for every member of the brotherhood, just in case shit hits the fan. Gavril’s apartment is at the very end of the hallway. It’s the largest room in the compound. With three bedrooms, a kitchen, and everything else, they’d never need to have to come out.

Taking a deep breath, I knock on the door. I shove my hands in my pocket as I wait. A moment later, Nina, Gavril’s wife, opens the door. Nina’s a petite woman with long black hair. She’s ten years younger than Gavril, and from my understanding, the Bratva arranged their marriage.

“Hey, Alek. Early, isn’t it?” she asks.

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