Page 13 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

“Ah, I see,” I say.

And then I rip the paper out of his hand, and tear it a few times, letting the scraps fall where they may. When their stupid fucking paper is nothing but dust in the wind, I quirk a brow at them. “Anything else?”

“What you just did doesn’t change anything!” the loud-voiced one blares. “You are conducting illegal business here and you have no choice but to comply with the law.”

Beside me, Ludmil steps forward, but I stop him. I want to deal with this myself. I do not like to be told how to run my business. I do not like to be told I have no choices.

I walk up to them, nice and close, so there’s no more room for them to misunderstand me. “Listen,” I tell them, so reasonably, “I know who signs your check, and I know why you’re here.” One of them starts to speak. I hold up a hand. “Stop. Whatever you’re about to say, I don’t care. Point is: I own this project. The permits, the labor, the land. And one thing you need to know about me is that I don’t tolerate delays. Not from my own men, and certainly not from hired suits waving around documents that can’t be found.”

They tremble and swallow their fear. They are starting to understand.

“When I’m delayed, I take measures to combat that. To speed things along.” I spread my hands. “At the end of the day, I’m a businessman. I do what it takes—whatever it takes—to ensure business runs smoothly.”

Ludmil gets his cue, pressing both pistols into the back of both of their heads.

“Do you understand?”

It’s remarkable, what happens to a man when his life gets wagged in front of his face. He becomes so very amenable, so perfectly understanding.

The mouthy one swallows again, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “We understand.”

I nod to Ludmil. “Please walk these gentlemen out. Unfortunately, we won’t be able to buy what they’re selling.”

Behind them, the men are on their feet, the workers too. They’re too far away to see or hear any details.

The foreman claps me on the back. “Welcome back.”

I look from him to the foreman. “Next time anything like that happens, call me. Business must go on.”

On my way back to the SUV, where Ludmil is waiting, I allow myself one look at the construction workers. All are back on the job.

That was solved easily enough, but Walsh probably expected just that. He doesn’t need to actually stop any of my projects—just stall them, and the distractions are enough. I don’t like being distracted.

The Skull Kings haven’t taken our nice hints to back the fuck off lately. We’re ramping up to less-nice hints soon.

Inside the car, Ludmil is waiting. “They got the message.”

“Good.”

The suits are nowhere to be seen. Probably zoomed off in their limo to go crying to Big Daddy Walsh.

We sit in silence as the drive begins.

“All good?” Ludmil asks.

I nod, saying nothing.

“Is it about last night?” he presses.

“No. It’s about just now. I’m tired of the delays, of Walsh.”

“We could try to see if we could hire one of our boys to …”

I shake my head. “That would solve the issue for a few weeks, maybe a month. Problem is, the city can always be bought, for the right price.”

Ludmil doesn’t bring up the related problem—my refusal to buy us a city official of our own. I’ve watched the news, seen the movies—corrupt politicians, cops—the bigger web you weave, the more spaces there are for it to collapse with a gust of wind. Of course, we have some on our payroll—such is the cost of doing business. But not big-league men—more like city councilors and the like.

Besides, city councilors might help you when it suits them, but they have none of the Bratva’s to-the-death loyalty tying them to our aims. If it’s in their best interest to fold and give us up, they’ll do it. Every single time. Unnecessary risk like that is best avoided.

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