Page 2 of Sinful Promise

“You can’t trust this loser. He’s been paid to screw us. He’ll give you up to Ratmim. If anything happens to Ratmim, his organization will know it’s you. You know this.”

Alex is right. Our world is dark and unforgiving, and I don’t want to kick the hornet’s nest, but Ratmim took what’s ours, and there is a price to be paid. Without retribution, we’ll be viewed as weak. In our world, the weak don’t last long. We’ll be out of business or dead.

I have few rules in life, but blood and brotherhood come first.

I give Alex a quick nod, and a shot rings out in the cold night air. The man jerks and goes still. He betrayed us. A bullet to his head was merciful, as far as I’m concerned, but it’s also less mess to clean up. Alex will call a “specialist” to sanitize the brain matter sprayed on the dirt. We drag the man by his ankles toward the riverbank. The dead grass crunches beneath our boots as we make our way to the Volga River. July has been a dry month, and we need rain.

We dump the body on the embankment, and Alex pokes around in the tall weeds until he finds what he’s looking for. Bending, he picks up a cement block, half-hidden in the grass, carrying it easily with one hand. I find a rusty chain on the ground, and together, we run it through the block and wrap it around the traitor’s waist.

We take turns nudging the lifeless body with our feet, moving it closer to the river’s edge. With a final nudge, it rolls down the embankment, landing in the water with a splash.

We nod at each other: mission accomplished.

Despite the dry summer, the river isn’t dangerously low, and we watch the bubbles rise to the surface as the body sinks to its final resting place. The traitor will spend eternity in a grave of muck…unless the river runs dry one day. It happens. According to the international news, an old lake near Las Vegas has dried up, and they’ve been recovering bodies ever since.

Not good, but that’s a problem for another day. This is just another night of work for us. I turn and kick my military-style boots over the loose gravel as if to wipe away the memory of tonight. We walk in silence to my car. I dread calling my older brother, Nikolay. I’m embarrassed this happened on my watch. Granted, no matter who was here to run the family business, it would have happened. However, I take it particularly hard. It was my watch, and I hate mistakes. Any attack on us is personal. But in the wake of my father’s death, I’m peeved like never before. Yeah, it’s personal, all right.

Men who want to live don’t make a bold move unless they know the consequences and are prepared for it. The reason we have wars is because someone acts without thinking. The Bratva leader has to think about moves on the ground as well as the repercussions that could hit from numerous directions. Knowing the players is important because every action has consequences. And I am in the mood to deliver consequences.

It’s what I do for the family.

Alex doesn’t speak until we reach my black Mercedes. He gives me a long, hard look across the roof. “What are we going to do about Ratmim?”

“I’ll think of something. For starters, I’m going to check out Ratmim’s neighborhood. He’ll pay one way or another.” I push the button on the key fob, and the doors click as they unlock.

Alex opens the passenger door. “You’ll have to be careful. He’s with powerful people inside and outside of Belarus to come into Russia that easily.”

“Right.” I slide behind the wheel.

Alex is the size of an American linebacker and barely fits in the seat. He has ten years on me, but I’m his boss. He’s a man I’d trust with my life, and trust doesn’t come easily in the mafia. I depend on my brothers and Alex. I’ve never been in love. Frankly, I doubt I’m capable of it. A woman would take time away from work, and I don’t need the distraction. I might keep the company of women, but they are not locals. The women I associate with are the ones who live in luxury, the same luxury we buy with our ill-gotten gains.

I need to be vigilant to keep us all safe. The theft of our goods had to be planned. I wonder what gives Ratmim the balls to hit us. We’re not close to their border, so what makes us so special?

I start the car, and when I’ve fastened my seatbelt, I put it in drive and head out of the city.

A tanking economy normally leads to opportunist groups, low-level organizations desperate for a payday. It’s a nefarious way to make a living. We’ll snuff out the wannabes who cross into our territory. But whoever pulled a stunt like this won’t last long. We have a reputation to uphold.

“Why would Ratmim want our guns?” Alex asks.

Granted, guns are in short supply these days, but it means he is stockpiling them…or someone else is. Our business world is convoluted, many players on the board and not all of them known. Men like me lurk in the shadows in every organization and country. Political powers move us like pawns for their own enrichment, partnerships for violence and monetary gain that can’t be associated with political figureheads, men just as sinister, if not more so, than we are. They are not to be undermined. But then again, neither am I.

2

ROMAN

“We should find an indirect way to send a message. We don’t want to be walking targets for Ratmim’s allies in Belarus,” I say, thinking out loud.

I continue to drive as anger swells in my chest. Risk is one thing. It comes with the job, but I hate being fucked over. There is no honor among thieves, and Ratmim is a lazy prick who would rather steal than obtain his own contraband.

It irks me to no end. He’s under my skin and on my mind, two places I never allow anyone…not even women. Now that I think about it, especially women!

Especially women. Women have seized the hearts of my brothers, but their happiness is lost on me. The only light in my life comes in short spurts, stolen moments spent with family for special occasions and the infrequent vacation. We have enough money to buy anything we want. But there are parts of my soul that no amount of money can fix. I’m a sinful man. I take lives, acting as judge and jury. There is no doubt in my mind that I’m soulless.

The only good in me is my mother’s doing. I have manners and can be a gentleman when required—highbrow society demands etiquette. She taught me how to schmooze with the billionaires. She has grace and good taste in men, but I possess certain qualities that allow me to slide into the jet-set world when needed, making contacts and moving products. Working in public is a great cover.

Women are readily available, but I view them as mere distractions and liabilities. They have no idea what I’m capable of. There might be rumors of what we do, but without proof, I’m golden, and the family is protected.

My brooding thoughts circle back to the events of the night. The situation is an affront too glaring to ignore.

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