Page 9 of Immaculate Corruption (Romanoff Bratva)

He nods and waves a hand, dismissing the matter in full. “Positive. Call me in a week and I’ll have what you and your little boy need.”

“Thank you, Arnie. You’re a lifesaver.”

He winks at me and scoots me towards the door. “No, I’m an old crook, and that’s all I’ll eve be. Some people never change, Arya. No matter how hard they try.”

4

Dima

When I wake up, I call Gennady.

“Dobroye utro,” he greets. “Up and at ‘em early this morning, I see.”

I glance at the window. Through the slats and the blinds, I can see it’s still dark outside. The alarm clock on the side of the bed reads 4:45 AM. I’ve slept barely two hours and I feel like I got hit by a truck.

But there’s a fire burning in my chest, too. I’m still fucking livid at Ilyasov for reneging on the terms of our deal—and yet, at the same time, I can’t help denying that it feels good to have a target again. A singular purpose. One life to snuff out.

It makes shit so simple. The whole world of possible actions narrowing down to two steps.

Find Giorgio D’Onofrio…

And kill him.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

“I have a work trip to take,” I rumble. I explain quickly to Gennady everything that happened with Ilyasov.

When I’m finished with the story, he whistles softly. “Can’t trust a fuckin’ Romanoff, am I right?”

I can’t help but laugh. “Watch it,mudak.”

He’s right, though. My family history is steeped in blood and lies. There’s always another twist, another secret hiding around the corner.

Arya trusted a Romanoff. Look what it cost her.

“So,” Gennady continues, “where do you wanna meet up for the ride down to Atlantic City? I’m in Flatbush right now—staying above an awesome pita shop, by the way, which you gotta check out once we get this whole rebellion situation sorted out—but I could find my way to Newark if you want to just scoop me up from there, so whatever you—”

“Gennady…” I interrupt.

His tone sours at once. “No. No, no, no. Hell no. Don’t fucking say it. Don’t say what I know you’re about to say.”

I sigh and say it anyway. “You’re not coming with me.”

On the other end of the phone, Gennady explodes. “What the fuck are you talking about, Dima? Of course I am! You’re not about to go fucking Rambo on enemy turf without any backup. Are you out of your mind? Have you completely lost your…” He lapses into Russian, “Vy dumayete, chto sobirayetes' popast' vo vnutrenneye svyatilishche v odinochku, ubit' dona i vernut'sya obratno, ne buduchi ubitym po puti?”

I let his anger burn itself out until he’s huffing and puffing on the other end of the phone.

Then I say quietly, “It wasn’t a question,sobrat.”

“You’ve done a lot of dumb shit in your life, Dima Romanoff,” my best friend grimaces. “But this might top the list.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t. At all.”

He can hear it in my voice, though—I’ve already made up my mind. There’s no going back. No changing route.

“I wasn’t calling to argue with you, brother,” I tell him. “I was just calling to let you know.”

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