Page 4 of Stolen By the Bratva King

I take a longer drag of my cigar and let the smoke flood my mouth before looking away. “I’m always concerned. About everything.”

“You seem more stressed than usual, boss.” Miroslav’s eyebrows knit.

“That’s what happens when you’re in charge of keeping an entire business afloat and you work with reckless idiots.” I grumble under my breath and scrub a hand over my stubble.

I make a mental reminder to shave later. Stubble makes me feel messy. There’s already enough of that going on in my life right now.

My burner phone rings and my unease spikes through the roof.

“What?” I bark, my agitation rising to the surface.

Miroslav isn’t missing the mark. Iammore on edge lately. There is corruption going on inside my counterfeit rings and I’m losing control of the crews one by one. There’s been talk of gun trafficking and my own men running it behind my back.

“Are you on your way?” Vlad, my captain, asks through a connection that sounds grainy.

“Where else would I be going?” I mutter.

“Do you need backup?” He asks. “I know you’re suspicious that you’ll find more than just money at the shipment today.”

I pause, thinking. “Where are you?”

“Across the bay,” he says.

I shake my head and puff out cigar smoke simultaneously. “No. What good will that do me?”

“I can get there if I need to.” He sounds eager. He’s always been anxious for approval, and that’s why I keep him as my captain. He’s as loyal as they come.

“You’re too far away. I’ll be there in…” I trail off and glance out the window. “Under ten minutes.”

“Good luck. If things go south, I’m a call away. I can help you put them in line,” he says.

“I have Miroslav with me.” I toss a conspiratorial smirk to my burly, bull of a driver who has a neck as thick as a tree trunk and fingers shaped like sausages. “I don’t need luck.”

“You know how to handle those clowns,” Vlad emphasizes. “Remind them who the king of this dynasty really is.”

A muscle stiffens in my jaw. “I do what I have to do.”

“Always,” Vlad agrees.

“I’ll let you know what happens,” I say, then snap the burner phone shut, shoving it back into my pocket.

We ride in silence the remainder of the way to the warehouse, where the largest of my business dealings are set to take place today.

When it looks like Miroslav is about to pull up in the front of the building, I shake my head and point straight ahead. “No. Go to the back. We might need to make a clean, fast exit.”

Miroslav nods and turns the wheel. “I don’t know about acleanexit.”

The energy in the car is coiling with tension because we’re both anticipating a fight. My stomach is twisted up like an old wad of rubber bands. That’s why I’ve been smoking so many cigars lately. They’re the only thing that help curb my frustrations, aside from women and drink, but I’m over both of those for the time being.

I don’t want to start a war with my own crew, but it’s time to weed out the people who aren’t following my commands. This warehouse is supposed to be used exclusively for counterfeit money shipments, but gun running talk is becoming more prevalent and it’s making my already simmering temper boil over.

I don’t want things to fall apart under my authority. It’s not something I want to admit to myself, much less to anyone else, even those I trust the most. You should never show weakness to those who are supposed to kneel at your feet.

My father taught me that hard lesson, but it was one he had to learn himself because he got killed anyway. There’s simply no room for mistakes in a game of snakes and knives.

I need to get a handle on who is betraying me first. Sometimes you have to play the long game, feeling out the players and testing the waters to find out who’s loyal and who isn’t.

Other times, the war starts in a split second and the ground falls out from beneath you.

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