Page 81 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

“Hello to you, too,” Gennady cracks. “I’m doing great and thanks for asking.”

“Gennady, cut the shit.”

“Someone’s in a pleasant mood this morning. To answer your question, yes, I have news.”

“Fucking finally.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Shit has been a mess here. It’s like chasing ghosts, Dima. No one knows who’s doing what. Who’s calling the shots. Who’s working for who.”

I grit my teeth, imagining the mess I’ll have to clean up when this is all over. “Whatdoyou know?”

“We already knew Zotov allied with one faction of the Albanians, thanks to our run-in at the diner a few weeks back.”

“Six weeks,” I remind him. “Down to the day. It’s been six fucking weeks.” The words grind out between clenched teeth.

“Right. So they’ve been allied for a while, but I finally found out what they’re working on.”

“Well?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

“What do you think it is?”

“I don’t fucking know,” I snap. “You’re my eyes and ears right now.”

I’m tired of hiding in an unfamiliar city. Tired of picking up scraps of information like a fucking pigeon.

So I don’t want to play guessing games. I want Gennady to tell me what’s going on.

“Women,” Gennady fills in with a dark edge in his voice. “I heard rumblings of trafficking a few weeks ago, but now, it’s obvious. They are… young, Dima. It started with the usuals. Runaways, junkies, that kind of thing. But it’s getting worse. Some of them barely legal, some of them not even that. Girls just getting snatched up off the streets. It’s fucking bleak, to say the least.”

I squeeze my eyes closed in silent rage. “What are the cops doing?”

On his end of the call, Gennady sighs bitterly. “I haven’t heard anything yet. I’ve spoken with a few of our contacts in the police force and they aren’t on Zotov’s side. You know how the blue can be. They don’t trust change or new leadership. None of them are willing to risk their careers covering for a don they don’t know.”

“He’s not a don,” I growl.

Gennady clamors to correct his mistake. “Right, obviously, but that’s what he’s calling himself. He’s claiming to be the new leader, but the police aren’t going for it. Not yet, at least. So, there’s no guarantee anyone will cover our shit if someone gets suspicious about the influx of prostitutes in the red districts. Or the increase in overdoses. If Zotov doesn’t cover his ass and keep things inconspicuous, we could have a full-scale raid on our hands.”

“Overdoses?”

Gennady sighs. “Oh, right. Something else I learned. Apparently, he’s cutting our drugs now.”

“Fentanyl?”

“That’s the stuff. It’s only been a couple weeks, but I’ve already heard of a few long-time buyers getting the body bag treatment.”

I curse in Russian under my breath. An elderlybabushkafeeding the birds on a nearby bench gives me a dirty look.

I turn away from the old woman and lower my voice. “He’s going to destroy our reputation. The Bratva’s reputation.Myreputation.”

“Zotov doesn’t care about any of that,” Gennady says. “He’s all about the end game.”

“That works—until the game ends. Until everyone’s dead or in jail.”

“Try telling Zotov that.”

“How about I kill him instead?”

Gennady chuckles darkly. “Works for me. I’ll help.”

---