Page 67 of Scars He Gave Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 2)

Then nothing. More silence.

He’s dead.

My father’s death means I am the Bratva boss now. That means it falls to me to avenge this murder.

I take out my cell and dial the number I’ve been dialing for days.

It rings twice, then Alek finally answers. “Tomas. I can explain.”

No, he can’t. Nothing he can say is or will be enough. He killed my father. The man who took him and treated him like a son. The man who would’ve died to defend him.

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me,” I rasp. “I’m going to end you. Do you understand me, you son of a bitch?”

When I find him, it will be me who watches the life drain from his eyes. Who leaves his body to rot or maybe sends pieces to his family, torturing them the way he decided to torture me.

“They know about Asha.”

His voice is soft. Defeated. “And now you have to kill me. I know. But they know about Asha.” He repeats the words as if he’s the one who needs to hear them.

Asha is his daughter, a four-year-old who thankfully looks like her mother—blonde and blue eyed, as American as they come. His wife took the girl when she left him. Alek hasn’t visited her to keep her safe—for her own protection, since the Italians have eyes everywhere.

But he sends money. That must be how Roberto Totti and the Italians tracked her back to him. Had he not shot my father, I would have helped him protect her, but he never even came to me.

He hid. He lied. He shot my fucking father instead.

He coughs. I can’t tell if he’s hurt or just sick at the thought of what he’s done. “You’re my friend, Tomas, always, and … I need you to know … the Kuznetsovs have joined with Totti to defeat you. This was the first step. You shouldn’t have humiliated Katerina. Her family.”

Each of his words thuds in my chest like a bullet. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I’ll kill them all myself. One at a time. Ten at a time. It doesn’t matter. They’ll all die. But I need to know what they know. What Alek knows about their plans.

“How? What are they going to do? Give me something, goddammit!”

“I’m sorry, Tomas.” The line goes dead.

It would be so easy to act on the passion of the moment. To throw my phone, tear the room apart. But along with how to take a kill shot blind, I also was trained on how to close down, think, act beyond my feelings.

My father is a man who would never let the police into this place, a man who believes—believed—in the sanctity of our business. Who knew some secrets are meant to remain and who trusted I would care for the details that keep us safe as Russian Bratva.

I carry his body to the outer office and put him at the desk. Then I use a towel to wipe the blood trail that leads to the steel door and replace the wall panel over the sensor after I secure the room.

I don’t have a choice but to leave him there for the time being.

As soon as I’m on the street, in my car, far enough away I can see the police arrive and the ambulance pull in, I make a call. The first to set in motion a series of events that will cripple Totti’s organization and leave him open to my attack.

That Italian bastard will know my face. It’ll be the last thing he ever sees.

I don’t get to make the second call right away because my phone rings. My gut says bad news.

It’s Demetri, the lieutenant I left in charge of security at Sentinel. “Tomas, all the security alarms for the businesses have been disabled. I’ve been watching monitors, and nothing odd yet except that, but … something’s going on.” He might not be sure, but I know. This isn’t a glitch in a system or a coincidence. Killing my father kicked off whatever this is.

“All the alarms?” Something’s definitely going on. Fucking Aleksey and fucking Roberto Totti. “Alright. Keep watching. Don’t interfere. I’ll call you back.”

After the cyberattacks started, I made damn sure no physical attacks could take place. A little red-button safety switch of my own.

I dial Peyton next because when my gut says this isn’t an accident, I trust it. I also know an operation like this would take someone on the inside. Someone who has access to all of my father’s businesses simultaneously. Through the computer network. The one they designed.

Peyton. Corinne. Leila. All are suspects. But my money’s on him.

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