Page 6 of Miki

A little voice in my head said there never would be a right time, but I ignored it. There was no point thinking about love when there were far more important things to deal with, like having an enemy to track down.

On top of that, I wanted to concentrate on dispersing with some of our criminal activities over the next few years. Being born into the Bratva, my family and I had no option but to live a criminal life. But now I was Pakhan, there were things I could do to change that. Or at least minimise that part of our lives.

Uncle Maxim was based in St. Petersburg and he was the overall leader of the Rominov Bratva. His oldest son Viktor was in New York, and I oversaw the UK, but we both answered to Uncle Maxim. Thankfully, after everything that had happened to us in the last five years, Uncle Maxim understood why we didn’t want to be a part of this life anymore and agreed we could leave so long as we found trustworthy allies to take our place.

Like myself, Uncle Maxim could be brutal when running the Brotherhood, but he was also a reasonable man who loved his family deeply and would do anything for them. Even if that meant letting them go.

So, my intention was to offload most of our criminal activities, a bit at a time, and concentrate on the more white-collar crime we had been specialising in of late.

The drugs smuggling route we managed for Uncle Maxim and our cousins in the States would be the first to go.

As we broke for photographs, I pondered my next moves.

Finding the right groups to take over the various parts of the route from us would not be easy, but I had some in mind. I needed to meet with them and make sure I chose wisely.

When you ran a criminal organisation, you couldn’t just walk away. Not with all the enemies ready to seek revenge. It was necessary to set things up to ensure we remained surrounded by allies. Our future, and the future of my Bratva family in Russia and America, was at stake.

My father had always tried to keep a low profile here in the UK, which was helpful, and since taking over, I had done the same. I worked hard at maintaining the image of Russian Oligarchs and staying off the radar of the authorities, and I would continue to do so.

It was my dream for us all to be fully legitimate one day, but it was complicated and would take a lot of planning and I couldn’t afford to make the wrong choices. Love would have to wait. I didn’t have time for it.

As everyone gathered for a group photograph and I watched all the smiling faces, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Today, everyone was happy and safe. I hoped it stayed that way. Unfortunately, I didn’t believe it would. I had a sense that things were far from over and I only hoped that whatever was coming next, we could all survive it.

But that was a concern for another time. For now, life was good, and it was time to celebrate.

Unwilling to let my thoughts disrupt my enjoyment of the rest of the day, I pushed them aside, plastered a smile on my face and headed off in search of a drink.

CHAPTER 3

EILIDH

GLASGOW – THAT NIGHT – THE MEETING

Iarrived at the address on the paper for my meeting with John Aldridge, with a few minutes to spare. It was a row of shops with offices above. I approached the door and confirmed it was the correct address. A small plaque above a buzzer stated, “Aldridge: Private Investigators.”

Earlier in the day, I’d done a quick check of the address and so I wasn’t surprised by this. Not surprised, but full of questions.

Who hired him? Why hadn’t he come forward with these photographs sooner?

The door opened almost as soon as I pressed the button.

Feeling both excited and apprehensive, I climbed the stone steps to the upper floor. At the top, there were several small offices, all of which seemed locked up for the night except for one. A tall, thin man stood at the entrance.

“Miss Campbell, or should I say, Detective Constable Campbell, please come in,” he said, beckoning me inside.

“I’m John Aldridge, and I am glad you came to meet me. May I say that I knew your dad, and I am sorry for your loss,” he told me.

“Please, take a seat,” he gestured to one of two chairs in front of a rather messy-looking desk with paperwork piled on top.

Several boxes were dotted about the room.

Was he moving in or moving out?

How did he know my dad? Where did he get the photographs? Why did he wait so long before sending them to me?

My head was buzzing with questions that I badly needed answers to, but I wanted him to tell me what he knew first. So, I did as he asked and sat down, keeping my mouth firmly shut.

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