Page 6 of Ruthless Lullaby

Maron

"What the fuck do you mean it disappeared?" I roar into the phone, my grip tightening until my knuckles turn white. "How the fuck does a cargo ship just vanish into thin air?"

Pavel, my right-hand man, sighs heavily on the other end. "We don’t have the coordinates, boss. I've tried contacting Oleg Robarov, the captain, but the connection keeps cutting out. It's like they've gone dark."

I let out a string of curse words and run my fingers through my hair in frustration. This is the last thing I need right now. "This is not a fucking joke, Pavel. That ship is carrying the first batch ofTramoxinesamples. Important people are relying on it."

"I know, boss," Pavel replies calmly. "Give me some time to figure out what happened. Robarov is a seasoned captain. If he's not answering our calls, it means something serious."

I place my palm against my temple. "Chert Voz’mi, Pavel! What the fuck do you meanserious?"

"Look, boss. Whatever it is, I can contact the chemical plant and have them send more samples on another ship. It’s solvable. They can send us the cargo in two days."

I shake my head in annoyance. "No. I'll handle backup samples. You focus on finding the damn ship." With that, I end the call.

I puff air out of my face. With all the shit that’s been going on in my life lately, this is the last fucking thing I need right now. But then again, there is no good time for important cargo to go missing.

I rise from my seat and make my way to the cupboard. I open a bottle of Stoli vodka and pour myself a shot. I quickly gulp it down, feeling the intense burn all the way down my throat.

Tramoxine. That's what my billion-dollar baby is called. The game changer pill that's going to bring new horizons to a world that's full of messed-up, addicted, traumatized people. The entire world is sick, and I've got the magic cure.

The pill is the marriage of psilocybin and ayahuasca, two experimental, yet highly effective components used to cure trauma, mental illness, and addiction. The mix of the two that is Tramoxine, promises to surpass every single treatment that is currently available on the market. If used correctly, Tramoxine has the ability to rewire the entire human brain, eliminating past trauma, depression, insomnia, and other mental health disorders in just a matter of weeks. Sometimes days. In the early trials, we healed some pretty screwed-up people, with only a few sessions.

I drink another shot of Stoli.

Of course, most governments are too fucking narrow-minded to see the true power of substances like this, so the stuff is not strictly legal. Suits me fine. The dark web is crawlingwith potential customers who are willing to pay top dollar for a panacea cure like this.

All those Bratva boys, they're walking around with more baggage than a fucking airport. Who doesn't have a string of childhood traumas? Kids that grow up in the Bratva get beaten up and bullied all the time. Who doesn't have depression, and all of that fucked up shit? People take drugs and drink themselves stupid just to numb the pain, to forget the hell they went through. But not anymore. Since mental health has become such a hot topic on the internet, everybody wants to heal. And with Tramoxine, they finally can. In just a matter of weeks, it will free them from the confines of their fucked-up minds, with no shitty side effects.

I've poured billions of dollars into this little miracle drug, hired the best scientists money can buy. Research, development, trials - all of it happening under the radar at my state-of-the-art pharmaceutical plant outside of Moscow. Every worker hand-picked and vetted, loyal to a fault. And now, after years of blood, sweat, and more money than most people see in a lifetime, we're finally ready to run our first public trials.

My phone rings again. "Pavel. That was quick. Tell me what you found." I can practically hear his hesitation through the phone. "Boss, there's something else. That ship... it's not just carrying Tramoxine."

My blood runs cold. "What are you talking about?"

"The kidney is on board. You know, the transplant kidney."

"The kidney?" I echo, my mind racing. "For Jennifer Shirkova?"

"Da," Pavel says.

Blyad.

I grit my teeth as it all sinks in. The missing Tramoxine samples are a setback, yes. But losingthatkidney is a whole new level of fucked up.No, it’s not just about an organ; it's an opportunity to end a long-standing feud between two powerful Bratva families. Mine and the Shirkovs.

Leonid Shirkov and my father had some serious territorial feud between the two of them. After some bloodshed and then a reluctant truce, the two turned into sworn enemies. Before they could fix their shit, my father died. Since then, the bad blood between our families has festered, just waiting for an excuse to explode all over again. But then, Shirkov's daughter, Jennifer, got sick and needed a new kidney to survive. That's when old Leonid Shirkov came to me with a deal.

He said if I could get my hands on a kidney for his girl, he'd be willing to bury the hatchet. It is a chance to end this fucking multi-decade-long family feud once and for all. I jumped at the opportunity, pulled some strings, and got the perfect organ through my less-than-legal connections.

But now, the kidney's gone. Along with my Tramoxine samples. Vanished into thin fucking air. If I can't find it, and Jennifer Shirkova dies, all hell will break loose. The streets will run red as our families tear each other apart, and everything I've worked for will go up in flames.

Ublyudok!

I lean back in my chair, my jaw clenched tight. Fuck! This whole operation was supposed to be simple. Transport the Tramoxine samples and the kidney from Moscow to here, keepeverything under the radar. But instead? Instead, everything's gone to shit.

"Keep trying to reach Oleg, and get the last satellite images of the ship," I order Pavel, my tone leaving no room for argument. "I want that fucking cargo found, Pavel. I don't care what it takes. You call in every favor, every contact we have. We're not losing that ship, you understand me?"

"Yes, boss," Pavel replies, his voice grim. "I'm on it."

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