Page 32 of Unspoken

"Every syndicate has its tells. Who are they? These people after your brother. Italians? Armenians? Thoreau loyalists? Some other gang in the city that wants you and your business out of Vegas? Not many are brazen enough to plant a bomb in public." My words are a volley, fired with precision across the no-man's-land between us.

"My brother's car," Vlad interjects.

"Okay," I concede, but only just. This is a dance, and I know when to step back.

"His best friend died," Vlad continues, and there's a crack in his armor, the briefest glimpse into the abyss below. "He may appear collected, but he is broken inside. Alexander has not livedthis life. He is weak. He will not survive the game if he is dragged in."

"Sasha’s already dragged in, already a part of this," I interrupt, refusing to let him rewrite the narrative. "He's not on the sidelines anymore, if he ever was."

Vlad studies me, tilting his head with the curiosity of a predator sizing up prey—or perhaps an ally. "Do not grow too fond of your role, Mr. McKenna.Alexander'sexistence flutters on the whims of fate."

Hearing him emphasizeAlexanderinstead ofSashais like a cold finger tracing down my spine. It's a warning, a reminder of distance, of formality that should be observed. But the concern laced through Vlad's tone betrays him. He cares, more than he wants to show.

I nod, understanding the message. There's a long silence, filled with the weight of thoughts unvoiced and fears acknowledged. We're two soldiers in a trench, wondering who will break the stalemate.

Finally something in Vlad’s eyes flickers, like he’s made a decision. "The man who is after my family is called Shtyk," he admits, each word heavy with reluctant revelation. "My father's former enforcer."

The name is suspended in the air, like a ghost of violent past and violence promised. I’m trying to remember if I heard the name before, but I haven’t been on the force for five years and Russians only moved in recently. Besides, I’m not familiar with the current underworld politics much these days. Just the basics. Shtyk is a piece of the puzzle with the full picture remaining obscured.

"Your own people want your brother dead?" The question slips out before I can cage it.

"Shtyk wants to get to me," Vlad corrects. "Alexander is a collateral in Shtyk's play for power."

"Collateral," I repeat, suddenly tasting burnt rubber in my mouth. It's a cold reminder of how easily lives are tossed aside in this world.

"Exactly." Vlad's tone is flat, almost indifferent. But, again, his eyes betray a spark of something else—regret, perhaps, or anger. "Shtyk was my father's man for thirty years. Loyalty like that breeds its own army. He has a lot of support, people who do not appreciate the changes I have made."

"Changes?" I prod, because understanding the landscape means mapping out the minefields.

"Let's just say there were aspects of Yuri's business that did not align with my vision." Vlad's lips twist on the wordbusiness. "Especially the darker corners. Shtyk did not take kindly to their... eradication."

"Can we handle this Shtyk?" I ask, the protector instinct flaring within me. If there's a threat, I need to know how exactly to neutralize it so it doesn't come back.

"Handle him?" Vlad's laugh is a cold echo in the vast room, muffled by the carpets. "He is a bad man, Mr. McKenna. He has been slipping through the cracks, outside the law's grasp for decades. And he has a lot of experience doing that and avoiding the punishment for all his evil deeds. I have been trying to find him ever since Yuri's death."

"And until then? Until you find him?" I push back against the dismissal, seeking solid ground in shifting sands.

"You do what I pay you to do. Protect Alexander," Vlad commands.

"Is there anything else you can tell me?" I’m really grasping at straws now, but this urge to get to the bottom of it so no one bothers Sasha ever again is new and raw and strange. And I can’t seem to get a hold of myself. Can’t stop feeling all these feelings I can’t quite understand.

Vlad stares at me, a statue in his tailored suit, before he finally breaks the silence. "I have things to handle, Mr. McKenna. Time is not a luxury I possess." He gestures at the door. "Ivan will show you out." On cue, the door opens and Ivan appears as if he’s been eavesdropping on us all this time. His presence is a wordless order–my conversation with Vlad is over.

I don’t see the point in arguing and exit the office.

There are more questions dangling in front of me now than before this meeting. And the answers are buried deep within the heart of the Solovey empire. And I’m caught in the web, entangled in a game where the stakes are life or death, and trust is as elusive as the wisp of smoke from a snuffed-out flame.

CHAPTER 12

SASHA

Fuck’s sake, Vlad's gone again. Poof, off like a magician after a measly three days, leaving me with more questions about what’s going on than answers. Typical Vlad, isn't it? Our time together amounted to one pompous brekkie on the terrace, him sipping tea and me pushing eggs around my plate. He hired some local celebrity chef to prepare this nonsense. If you ask me, I can whip up a better dish. And I pretty much have two left hands.

"You like Logan?" Vlad asked that morning, eyes on his plate.

My stomach churned. A thought that my older brother somehow found out I have a crush on my bodyguard flashed through my mind. "Eh? Erm, what do you mean?"

"I mean is he doing a good job? Do you feel safe with him?"

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