Page 22 of Stolen By the Bratva King

Itake a puff from my cigar and blow it out as a smoke ring into the air. My phone vibrates on the coffee table. I reach for it, pressing it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Boss, bad news,” a familiar voice murmurs through the receiver.

I stub the cigar out on the ashtray on the living room coffee table and plant my elbows on my knees. It’s hard not to groan. I’ve had enough bad news to last me the rest of the year, but here we are.

“What is it?” I ask Vlad, my most trusted captain, my right-hand man for everything.

“I just got a tip from one of the guys working on the South side. Police got wind of the gun trafficking downtown. They are tracing it back to you.” He pauses. “To us, I mean.”

He’s speaking fast in Russian, and I hold my hand up in the air as my pulse comes to a grinding halt. “Whoa. Just slow down, Vlad. Back up. What do you mean they’re tracing it back to me?”

Vlad takes a deep breath. “A local judge has been murdered. One of the guns has been tabbed as being associated with our organization.”

I dig my palms into my eyes and stand up. “What else do these cops know?” I realize I’m shouting and toss a wary glance over my shoulder, lowering my voice because I know Hazel is in the bedroom, probably listening. Even though I’m also speaking in Russian, I don’t want her to get upset if she hears me raising my voice. “Those guns shouldn’t have tracers on them, and all the serial numbers should have been scrubbed off on all of them. This isn’t my doing. I’m not in this gun business, but I’m smart enough to know that.”

“I know, boss. We are trying to sort it out as we speak,” he says, aiming to pacify me. “It’s a sloppy situation.”

“Who’s we?” I ask.

“Me and my crew,” Vlad reassures.

“This is bad.” I lean back on the couch, sinking my shoulders into the cushions, gazing up at the ceiling. I try to ward off a headache sprouting at the base of my neck.

“Well, the good news is, the police don’t have a warrant,” Vlad says, then after another, slightly less confident pause adds, “yet.”

I want to put my fist through a wall, but I restrain myself because I don’t want freak Hazel out and have her come running in here asking me what’s wrong. I can’t have her believing that I’m not in control. It makes me look weak, and she’s writing a story onme. There’s the pressure to perform looming around me like the paparazzi.

“They’re going to be keeping a much more watchful eye on you, I’m afraid,” Vlad continues.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I belt out. “This is exactly why I don’t want to be involved in this chaos.” I’m jabbing my finger in the air and angry spittle is flying from my lips. “I know that asshole Oleg is behind this. I told everyone on my crew, no guns. That asshole never listens. I’m a fool for putting him in charge of anything.”

Vlad blows out a puff of air, but his silence is not exactly commiserating.

“What, you’re telling me you don’t agree with me?” I hiss.

“I’m not saying that boss,” Vlad reassures. “I’m just saying that this is just a complicated mess. Oleg probably sold that gun to someone who used it to kill that judge, and whoever did the hit probably tossed it, not thinking it could be traced back.”

“Or not caring who it got traced back to, leaving that worry to the dealer he got it from,” I grumble.

“Right,” he says solemnly.

I chew my thumbnail. The wheels are turning in my head as I try to piece everything together.

“Just try to calm down, Dave,” Vlad says in a cautious voice, and I know he’s attempting to avoid my explosive temper.

But things are slipping through my fingers and falling through the cracks. I’m losing control of my own organization, and I’m pissed. I’m angry at myself just as much as I am at them.

“Now that clown has brought unwanted attention back to our business. I never wanted this gun running in the first place!” I shout, no longer caring if Hazel hears me.

“Alright, I know,” Vlad’s whispering now. “But you’ve got to relax.”

“Don’t tell me to relax. This needs to be dealt with.Now. I met with Oleg earlier at the apartment on Lake Street. I threatened him and he finally admitted that he’s running this stupid gun trafficking operation. I didn’t see him at the warehouse during the gun fight, and I didn’t recognize the dealers I saw there who were shooting at me and Miroslav. He must have enlisted his own dealers behind my back. When he confessed at the apartment, I pulled my gun on him and he jumped out the window.” It’s a long-winded explanation but I manage to get all the newest facts spilled out.

“Did you go after him?” There is a level of shock in Vlad’s voice. “When he jumped out the window?”

“No.” I grit my teeth and clench my fists until my knuckles turn white. “I thought my threats would be enough to spook him. I knew I wouldn’t be able to chase him, and I didn’t want to attract attention to myself running down the street.”

“Good call,” Vlad agrees, sounding relieved.

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