Page 71 of One of Them

We all knew that. It wasn’t a secret she turned to her closest allies. Lorenzo was likely the only trusted person she had left. It fuckedwith my mind more than I admitted, but I understood the reasons. My fingers itched to dial the motherfucker and give him a piece of my mind. The fact she trusted him spared him my visit.

Beyond my promise to serve the brotherhood, I had family to think of.

Taya was damn right about that. We were deep in this in far too many ways. Alisa’s marriage contract was just one thread tying us to this clusterfuck.

A week after we had lost contact, a fist pounded on the door of the house. Water still dripped down my bare torso, landing on the wooden stairs. I haven’t slept. Barely ate. Now even my shower time got interrupted.

The warm air hit me from the outside when I opened the door. It sneaked past me, into the air-conditioned space. I scrutinized the Bratva’s messenger standing on the doormat. His muddy boots stained Alisa’s welcome mat with its quote: “Enter at your own risk.” I vividly remembered the day she had it custom-made, since I drove her to the market. The mat didn’t match the house, but its occupants.

Ever so slowly, I raised my eyes back to the man holding out a piece of paper.

“There’s a doorbell for a fucking reason,” I fumed, ignoring the message.

It seemed he had trouble locating the button. Even now, the man remained unmoved.

“Use it!” I ordered.

The messenger’s smile slipped.

My hand shot up, grabbing him by the neck as I hauled his head toward the doorbell. Bang after bang, I rang it with his skull, smashing it against the bricks the bell occupied. The melodic sound echoed through the empty house as I hummed to the rhythm.

On the sixth ring, matching his previous pounds, I let go. His body crumpled, landing on the mat. The sight brought me the biggest joy of the week.

I bent over, picking up the paper. The corners were stained red when I stuffed it into his mouth.

Up the stairs, I followed the water droplets leading me back to the shower.

Ilya demanded my immediate presence.

A simple phone call would have sufficed. A text? Even better. But no. Ilya reverted to the old ways, back to dictatorship. They put on a show of force.

The silent transfer of power had forced Ilya to relinquish some control to Malek. Given he hadn’t delivered on his promises, with Taya now in the wind, there was no other option. The precise details of their control remained undisclosed.

Malek’s previous efforts ensured that none of the members protested or even dared to question. We all returned to reality as if she had never existed. She was this myth we were chasing. Our success was based on a whisper of rare sightings.

There was no wedding day in sight, either. Alisa hung her wedding dress atop the closet door in the guest bedroom, and it remained there, catching dust.

The rest of the organizations watched each move closely. Sniffing out signs of weakness like rabid dogs. It was a matter of time before everything got out of control. We had to be ready.

For that to happen, I needed to call a family meeting. Before I could do that, I had to deal with the Pakhan.

The club served one purpose during the day, and that’s what I was here for. Staff cleaned the remainder of last night’s party when the door cast light into the dark space. I entered the damp basement through the disguised entrance. Giant metal door hid the memories of Bratva’s methods. It swallowed the screams, sealing them shut within the space.

Out of the six rooms, only one or two were typically in use. Since she escaped, this floor had experienced more foot traffic than the dance floorabove us. I tried to be here for every interrogation. My presence hadn’t raised any red flags, since I often was. Little did they know these days, it was for an entirely different reason. Before, I was the Bratva’s enforcer.

Now? I was their protector first. Alisa’s. Luka’s. Andrei’s. Mila’s. Taya’s. Even the Italian might count. I analyzed all the extracted information closely.

Whenever I could, I diverted their attention elsewhere. Maybe I was hoping to conduct my own investigation, find peace of mind in the process.

Beyond my selfish interests, I still belonged to this organization, and its future placed above the two men’s egos.

Ilya awaited in his chair, swirling a shot over ice against the ambient light.

“You are late,” he complained.

I bit my tongue, unaware there was something to be late for. The guard on duty held the massive door open for both of us. Ilya paused at the threshold, handing over the empty glass. As if the guard was his waiter, not a made man.

I silently encouraged the guard to act up. To throw the glass against the wall. Smash it against Ilya’s face for the way he was treated. Despite my efforts, the guard lowered his head, letting us pass.

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