Page 73 of Scars He Gave Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 2)

“How do you know about Aleksey?”

Pavel smiles. “I know more than God ever intended for an old man to know. I know Aleksey killed your father. I know you’re his friend. What I don’t know is if you ordered him to do it.”

There are lines that are never crossed, and Pavel just obliterated one. I pause for a moment to gather my words. When I do speak, my words are icy cold. The tone of a don.

“Old man, my father was your friend. I’m not. You need to be much more careful about how you speak to me.”

I’m giving him a warning because my father loved him. But he’s only getting the one.

To my surprise, he chuckles. “That is a good answer. A tough answer. Your father would be proud of you.” He stands and walks out, a hand on my shoulder as he passes. “Tomorrow’s another day.”

After Pavel leaves, I linger and brood. There’s not enough hours for me to untangle all the complications having Aleksey on the wrong side means, so instead, I devise my own plan for dealing with Totti.

An organized attack on everything they own that we can reach. Businesses, property, personnel.

We’ll be covert and attack the port first. Patrols there are sporadic and we own the harbormaster and enough dockworkers so the dock is our best choice. We can attack from both sides—land and sea.

I play out the possible scenarios. We might lose a few men, but they will die bravely, with honor, the kind of death all Bratva men hope for.

By the time I’ve narrowed down the details, decided which men will be placed at every location, the room is filling again.

I glance at Kostya. “Have you found him yet?” My voice is low and he shakes his head just enough to give an answer only I can see. My fist curls in frustration.

After the call to order, I listen to the ideas my lieutenants present. Together, we incorporate details from each one into my plan. Details that include taking Katerina as leverage if we have to.

I don’t like the idea of it. I think of that night where she and I talked about what our marriage meant. She has spent her whole life being raised as her father’s pawn. All she wanted was a chance at a different kind of life. A life of her own. Part of me pities her.

But there’s no time for pity now. This is war. Feelings come secondary or not at all.

“Alright then. We are in agreement.” I nod to Vasilev, who slides open a wall panel and begins dispersing the weapons we have stockpiled here. When everyone is armed with weapons and assignments, I glance at each one. They’re waiting for the big speech, for the inspiration my father always provided before we started an operation where one or more of us could die. They deserve inspiration and to know my devotion to them runs as deep as theirs to me, to the Bratva, to the Syndicate.

I hold my rifle over my head. “For our legacies, for Bogan Dubrovsky, for the Bratva!” I shake the gun and men cheer. They deserve more but this is what I have to give. We don’t have the luxury for much else.

It’s time to get our men into position.

Time to earn my place as my father’s heir.

* * *

An hour later, the men are in place waiting for my signal. Our spies have said that the Italians—Roberto Totti, his son Roberto Junior, and several of their higher-ups—along with Leonid Kuznetsov and his most trusted men, are in the warehouse where Totti stores his shipments of cocaine, guns, and money.

As I lift my arm to speak into the microphone sewn inside the cuff of my shirt and initiate the assault, a black SUV I’ve ridden in a thousand times pulls in front of the warehouse door.

It’s Alek.

For a full ten seconds, I consider starting this war by shooting my friend for his betrayal.

But I wait—because he isn’t alone. And I want to see who else dares go against the Dubrovsky Bratva. Who else will soon die by my hand?

Aleksey walks around the front of his vehicle like there aren’t fifty different kinds of Russian weapons taking aim at his head right now. Then he opens the door and drags a woman from the passenger seat.

Corrine.

My gut clenches as he walks her inside the warehouse. When we made the plan, we chose this spot because I don’t want collateral damage I don’t have to answer for. The dock would have a minimum of workers since it’s well past dark.

But now, the one piece of collateral damage I absolutely cannot afford has just been trotted out in front of me.

“Fuck!”

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