Page 16 of Innocent Bratva Virgin

Ivan’s little diatribe did nothing to ease my fury. I had the perfect opportunity to let off a little steam when he leaned around the driver’s seat to look back at me. Aiming away from his face because I wasn’t going to hear that kid of his cry because he had a black eye, I smashed my fist into his shoulder.

“Ahh!” He pulled back, glaring at me. “You fucker. I’m trying to help you.”

I had saved a few phrases in my phone's clipboard so that I didn’t have to type them, and the TalkBack could read them off at a moment’s notice. As I glared right back at Ivan, I chose the perfect one for the current situation.

“Get fucked.”

The robotic voice didn’t do the insult justice, but it got the job done.

“You know what, fine. Be that way. You’re still going. Even if I need to drag Adley out to help.”

I hated that Ivan knew how much I liked her. I’d pretty much do anything for the woman, whom I considered the sister I wished I had instead of his dumb mug.

“Let’s work,” read the TalkBack, and I stopped paying attention to Ivan and went back to keeping an eye on the Italians for Lev and Sergei.

Being cooped up in this car with my brothers had already proved to be a test in both physical and mental constitution—what with Abe’s constant farting and Ivan’s uncanny ability to stick his nose in other people’s business—and it was only worse now that I was apparently going to see Emory again.

It was a bad fucking idea to see her. I’d already proven as much with my little solo session last night, and the nightmares had been just as bad as I had predicted. I didn’t want to be dragging up this shit. I needed all the sleep I could get, and being exhausted while we were out on a stakeout for our employers wasn’t good.

“Why you gotta keep pestering him about the talking shit? I mean, we’re the only people who have to deal with Vlad, and if I can muscle my way through a conversation with the guy, you certainly can.”

I wasn’t a fan of Abe speaking for me, but it was something I got used to, thanks to that “talking shit” he’d so tactfully brought up.

“Shut up, Abe.”

Ivan clearly wasn’t in the mood to talk anymore, and you know what? Good. Fuck him. I was sick of him treating me like I was fucking broken or something. It had been a long month of dealing with his pestering, and when I didn’t show up for the next appointment and he got saddled with that sweet no-show fee, maybe he’d finally give up.

We all went silent, keeping an eye on the building in front of us while we tracked what was going on through the remote listening equipment. The conversation the Italians were havingwith one of the local suppliers didn’t sound like it was going well. We’d used the crew before, and the Vadims had even contracted with the group to get arms and protective gear.

“They don’t sound pleased with the increase in prices. We’re going to want to inform Lev and Sergei.”

I grunted in response, agreeing with Ivan’s assessment even if I didn’t want to be dealing with his dumb ass right now.

“These assholes have been price gouging for weeks. It was just a matter of time before it started trickling up to the highest families. If they’re increasing on the Italians, the Vadims are next for sure.”

Abe had actually offered quite the astute observation, and I reminded myself that for as much as the guy was a grade-A dick, he was also smart. He knew this business, and he was ruthless when it came to exploiting opportunities or closing off loose ends.

The air was tense in that building, and we could feel it even from here. Listening to the conversation, I could pick out Emiliano’s voice. He was furious with the suppliers, and we’d pegged the ring leader as Marcos.

The local suppliers went through generals like fucking toilet paper, and Marcos had just come up from the lower rungs of their “corporate ladder.” He was clearly trying to make a name for himself on the scene, but he was pissing off Emiliano in the process. That likely wouldn’t bode well for him.

As if on cue, the first shot rang out—guessing it was from the Italians—and chaos erupted behind the closed doors of the renter-free office building.

“Dammit. Well, there’s no harm in helping rid the Vadims and ourselves of a few riff-raff. See who you can take out withoutgetting spotted. Meet up at the house or send word if we get separated. Let’s go.”

Abe and I filed out of the car after Ivan’s go-ahead, and we stalked across the street, sticking to the shadows. Getting in and out of place unseen was a specialty of all of ours, but I was the damn king.

I slipped past the north side of the building, plastering my back to the wall and keeping a close eye on both exits just in case. Shotgun blasts and the quieter moans of silenced pistols rang out from inside the building.

Our intel said that the meeting was at the back, and I rushed silently in that direction as Ivan and Abe took the other side of the building. Two windows looked into the hallway just outside the defunct conference rooms. I spotted the overeager Marcos with his back toward me at first glance.

Palming my gun, I leveled it through the window and made sure to fire only when there was enough other fire to cover the sound.

Pop, pop.

Two quick shots, and the guy was down. One problem for the future was taken care of. Still, the Vadims—and the Unholy Trinity—would have the following general to worry about once these rats regrouped.

With my primary objective for this impromptu mission completed, I looked around the back of the building for anything else that might be of interest. Marcos and Crew had parked their car at the rear, and I was curious to see what they might be carrying along with them. It didn’t hurt that the Italians’ cars were just off to the northwest, not even a block down.

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