Page 57 of Pretty Little Toy

Besides Ilya won’t want to commit to me beyond our short-term agreement anyway. Nicolo might have fallen for Anya, but he’s rash and spontaneous with little self-control. The complete opposite of my older, more mature and incredibly disciplined Russian. Ilya might have a temper, but he knows how to control himself–and others–far better than anyone else I know.

Resolving myself to the facts, I join Trent for another day of ballet practice. And for once, I endure the torture of my partner’s ridiculous chatter in an attempt to take my mind off my decision. Because whenever I think about it too deeply, a ragged hole opens up in my chest.

24

ILYA

Agitated by my most recent call from Artem, I ride in the back seat of my Escalade with my bodyguards, Erik and Yefim, as my driver takes us to the warehouse my captain specified. From the sound of it, I’m not going to be happy about what I find, and I grind my teeth as I consider who might be responsible for the break in.

As the car pulls into the lot, I’m glad to see Artem and Yuri’s soldiers are already actively scouting the area, looking for any tracks we can follow.

“Talk to me,” I command in Russian as Artem arrives at my car door just in time for me to exit.

“They cut the locks, bolt cutters from the looks of it. We haven’t found the missing guards, but…”

I glance at my captain as he hesitates. “But what?” I demand as we walk toward the warehouse door.

“We just confirmed we’re missing some of the product.” Artem’s lips press together in a flat line.

“How much?”

“A hundred kilos and counting.” He flinches as he says it, his face twisting in discomfort.

“Fuck,” I growl, my scowl intensifying.

I crouch to inspect the broken lock left in its final resting place on the ground by the door. I would agree bolt cutters, top-quality to if they can cut through the locks we put on this place. Opening the door, I head inside to a bustle of activity as my men shift large packets of white powder as they count what’s left.

A hundred kilos hurts, but it’s not the end of the world. My bigger concern is the message it sends. Whoever did this, their more than capable of not only overpowering my men but they have somewhere to distribute that kind of product. Three good men are missing, taken sometime during the night while on guard duty, which means whoever this is knows reconnaissance on my Bratva and has the manpower to execute a robbery.

My mind errantly shifts to Nicolo Marchetti as the passing thought occurs to me that this could be his way of exacting revenge for taking Anya to a sex club. He could be fucking with me, and I would almost consider it an even payback–if my men weren’t missing. But when people’s lives are in the balance, it stops being a game, and I don’t believe the Marchettis are actually crazy enough to want an all-out war with the Shulaya. Not for something that petty.

No, something in my gut tells me this is bigger.

“You think it’s one of our bordering allies?” Artem asks as if he’s plucked the suggestion right from my brain.

“Maybe,” I mutter as I look around for any other signs of disturbance.

But whoever did this was meticulous, only taking exactly what they were after, no excessive signs of destruction left behind to indicate rage or revenge as motives. In all honesty, this scene vaguely reminds me of the first signs we got that a rival Bratva was entering our territory, back when my father was stillpakhan. They started with small-scale break-ins in order to take and move our product before our investment could pay out. A double profit for them because they didn’t have to pay for the cokeandthey got the market value when they sold it.

I say as much out loud as I consider who might be trying to open an operation in Chicago. I haven’t heard any whispers of a known clan looking to expand, and the product grab would point to a newer operation, one that can’t afford the overhead costs of transporting their own goods.

“You don’t think it might be the same Bratva, do you?” Fyodor asks.

I shake my head dubiously. “We spent over a year hunting down every last one of them. I trust our skills. We tracked every last hint of their presence and exterminated them like the cockroaches they were. And we’ve heard neither hide nor hair of the Temkin since. No, whoever this is might be modeling their strategy after the Temkin, but I don’t think it can be the same clan.”

Silence falls over my men as they watch me carefully, waiting for my next directive.

“We will get to the bottom of this, but in the meantime, no one should panic. Don’t start looking for ghosts around every corner. I want increased security at all warehouse locations. Triple the men on each shift, and make sure they’re armed and ready at all times. Whoever did this is sharp. And double efforts for masking our trafficking patterns. I want it to be impossible for a person to tell if we’re coming or going.”

“Gospodin,” Artem confirms with a bow before turning and barking a command at his men.

“I want a full report on the missing product when you’re done. Where are we on finding the men?” I ask Fyodor.

He shakes his head, his lips pressing into a thin line that brings his full beard up to swallow them whole.

“I want them found, Fyodor,” I growl. “Whatever it takes. The sooner the better–alive if possible.”

“Yes,Gospodin.”

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