Page 34 of Wrong Number. Right Don.
Sasha nods. “Every crate is gone like we never loaded the trucks at all.”
I pace behind my desk, clenching my teeth. This couldn’t have been a random act. Someone knew exactly what they were doing. Our routes are regularly rotated, our deliveries are staggered, and only a few people know where they’ll be at any given time. Whoever pulled this off had our playbook.
“How did they get past the alert system?” I wonder aloud.
“They disabled it.” The certainty in Sasha’s voice lands like a punch. At least he’s taking this seriously. “They cut the lines before anyone even knew they were close. In and out in minutes. A clean hit.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. My mind races through every possible name, every rival crew bold enough to make a move like this. One name keeps popping up as the obvious contender.
Semion.
“You think Semion would be that bold?” Sasha asks, reading my expression the way only a brother can.
I don’t answer right away. Jumping to any conclusions could be disastrous in this line of work. We don’t move on another crew’s territory unless we’re certain they hit first. Semion’s crew has been too quiet lately, though. And when men like him go quiet, it usually means they’re planning something big.
“I think it reeks of him,” I tell him honestly. “But we’re not doing anything until I have proof.”
Sasha moves to the liquor cabinet in the corner, pouring two fingers of vodka into a glass before bringing it to me. I down it all in one swallow.
We fall silent for a moment, each of us turning over the implications of this attack on our relationship with Semion’s Bratva. He could be testing our defenses, probing for weakness. Or worse—this might be only a warning before something bigger.
“And if it wasn’t Semion?” Sasha asks after draining his vodka.
“Then we have a bigger problem,” I say. “Someone we don’t even know is after us, and we don’t have the bandwidth for that right now.”
The idea that there’s someone out there smart enough and well-equipped enough to move like this without us noticing until it’s too late infuriates me. That level of precision doesn’t come from street punks or wannabe gangs. It comes from men with decades of experience, who have endless resources.
“We need to tighten up the whole operation,” I say, walking back to my desk. “We won’t have any more blind drops. Double the guards. Rotate drivers mid-route. Encrypt every damn thing, even internally. This can’t ever happen again.”
“I’ll handle it,” Sasha says. “By the way, I’m really sorry about ruining your night. Shitty timing.”
I lift my gaze sharply, surprised.
I shrug. “It is what it is. This is the life we chose.”
Sasha nods, but he doesn’t leave. Instead, he props a shoulder against the doorframe, folds his arms, and flashes a shit-eating grin that promises trouble.
“You know,” he says, drawing the words out like a long drag on a cigarette. “Apart from all this, you seem relaxed tonight.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but I don’t rise to the bait. He grins, cocky and unrelenting.
“Come on, man,” he drawls. “Don’t give me that look. I’m your brother. You’ve been different lately.”
I glance up from the screen. “Different how?” I scoff.
“I don’t know,” he drawls, drumming his fingers on the doorframe. “Softer. Distracted. Whipped, maybe?”
I snort and close the laptop. “Do you have a death wish?”
“No, but you do.” He points at me, grinning. “And her name is Nicole.”
I shake my head, but the ghost of a smile tugs at my mouth.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Admit it,” Sasha pushes. “You’ve got it bad for Nurse Nicole.”
I stay silent, which, unfortunately, is answer enough.
