Page 29 of Lucky Strike

“What?” Tristan frowns, shaking his head. “How short?”

“Three M-16s from the March shipment to Dublin and two AR-15s from the most recent one to Darby.” Darby’s one of our main contacts for shipments going to the Middle East and North Africa, one of several middlemen.

He thinks for a moment. “You don’t think it’s connected to what happened in March, do you?”

“I don’t know. Marty’s out of the picture, so unless he was working with somebody we don’t know about...” I rub a rough hand over my face. We’ve never been short hardware in any of our shipments. Ever. There’s a reason people depend on my family to get them their shit. “Darby’s looking into it to make sure it didn’t happen on his end, but the fact that our Dublin shipment was compromised too tells me it’s us. Someone, somehow, is getting into those shipments and stealing.”

“And there could be others.” Tristan tousles his hair over and over, antsy, something he’s done since we were kids. “That haven’t come up yet. We need to check our shit. You talk to Johnny?”

Johnny B is one of the oldest in the game. He’s been working for Dad down at Conley Container Terminal, where Kelly Logistics Inc.has its main office, for decades. Because we have a healthy collection of legitimate accounts, we have our own dedicated warehouse as well as easy access to the main shipping yard. Conley’s where all of our outgoing shipments originate, some by truck, others by cargo ship. It’s easy to get hardwareout when it’s concealed beneath boxes of organic potato chips or high-thread-count bedsheets.

“Yeah. He sent me this.” I grab my tablet and open up to a set of photos Johnny sent me last night. Ivan and Ilya Sokolov, the local Russian crime syndicate’s top guys. The Sokolovs are a couple generations deep in Allston, with family and solid connections all over Boston and the Tri-State area. Their grandfather had a decent working relationship with ours back in the day, but it’s cooled over the years as our families branched into different industries.

We’d been doing a good job of leaving each other alone until one of my guys had an affair with Ivan and Ilya’s cousin. Theirmarriedcousin. Idiot. I had to relocate Ryan to Chicago to work with one of Dad’s guys just to smooth things over. We haven’t had any run-ins since then, but there was no love lost, either.

I hand Tristan the tablet, tapping the screen. “These were taken yesterday right outside Conley. Johnny said he saw Ilya talking to one of the Blades again.” The Southside Blades are a Southie street gang with ties all over the state. We’ve had a solid alliance with them for years, but this is the second time they’ve been seen talking to the Sokolovs, and it doesn’t sit right with me.

Tristan grabs the tablet and enlarges one picture, squinting at it. “They don’t look too buddy-buddy to me.”

I look at the photo again, studying the body language between Ilya and the Blade. “Maybe not at that moment, but Johnny’s been around long enough to know when something's up. The Sokolovs work out of Chelsea Street—they have no reason to be at Conley. And talking to the Blades?”

“Didn’t the Feds crack down on Chelsea Street recently?” he asks. “Maybe the Sokolovs are looking for something else ‘cause their spot got hot.”

“If that’s the case, and they want to do business at Conley, they need to run it by someone in the family. Coming around like that, uninvited, is making a statement.”

“Or it’s just stupidity. Ilya Sokolov’s not the brightest crayon in the box.”

“But Ivan is.” I tap the tablet. “What business does he have with the Blades? They’re part of completely different ecosystems.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Tristan concedes. I know it is. As far as we know, the Blades stick to coke and meth. Weed too, despite it being legal in Boston. Why pay $80 for an eighth when you can pay your trusty neighborhood plug $25? The Sokolovs, on the other hand, are all about the club scene and designer drugs. They have a corner on Boston’s ecstasy, LSD, and ketamine markets. They sell coke and shit too, but to a different demographic.

“And you know the Russians don’t fuck with anybody but their own,” I say. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they had something to do with these missing guns.”

“Mm, I don’t know.” Tristan leans back, arms folded. “That’s a stretch.”

“Is it, though?” I raise my eyebrows. “They’re certainly capable. They have the resources, the intel.”

“Eh, so they know how to hack shit. Doesn’t mean they had a hand in this.”

Maybe, maybe not, but I have Dad’s instincts. He’s led the syndicate since we were kids, but he trusts me with the day-to-day operations lately because we think the same. “I bet you.”

“Yeah? What d’you wanna bet?” Tristan waggles his eyebrows. “The condo on Seaport?”

“Sure, and what’ll you bet? Your bong collection?” I scoff. “Be serious.”

“I happen to like my bong collection.” He slaps my shoulder. “I’ll make a few calls, talk to Angel, see what I can find out.” Angel’s an old friend, and one of the Blades’ higher-ups.

“Do that. If I’m right, and I am, we’ll need to act fast,” I say, my mind already racing. “We can’t have another clusterfuck like the Mexico shipment.”

“Yeah, that ain’t happening.”

“And keep it quiet. We can’t let those fuckers know we’re onto them.”

“Sneak attack.” Tristan cracks his knuckles, a vicious smile spreading across his face. “My favorite."

I grin. This is where my brother’s talents shine. I love knowing he’s got my back no matter what. The Sokolovs are tough. They have massive resources and connections at their disposal. But so do we, and we’ll defend our family, and our livelihood, no matter the cost.

As Tristan heads back to Callaghan’s, I take one last look at Ilya and Ivan Sokolov’s unyielding faces. A ripple goes through me, but it’s not fear. It’s adrenaline. Family is everything, and in this town, no one messes with ours.

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