Page 11 of Scarred Bratva King

He pulls open the back door for me, shaking his head with an amused snort. “You should have burned the place down. He could have shot you.”

“Mrs. Bukowski would have burned,” I reply. “I have no interest in killing the innocent.”

He slides into the driver’s seat, pulling the door shut behind him with a solid thunk. “Innocent? She’s fucked half the KGB in her time.”

I clap him on the shoulder. “And sold the intel to us.”

“Dmitri wants a word by the way.”

I arch a brow. “My cousin?”

He nods, lighting the cigar with a flick of his silver lighter. He blows out the smoke before continuing. “You know another Dmitri who’d give you orders?”

“I thought he retired and put my father in charge.”

“Wants to speak to you, not Victor.”

“What about?”

“No idea. He just said it was something about family.”

The word grates on me, as it always does. Family. It’s a concept we love to wield in this world, like it’s supposed to mean something. Loyalty, yes. Control, always.

But family? That’s just another negotiation. I can’t imagine a wife and kids and all that bullshit. Family to me means what you can leverage and who you are loyal to, that’s all.

Ivan turns the key in the ignition. The engine purrs to life, its low rumble filling the silence between us. “It’s always something about the family,” I say out loud.

The SUV glides down Moscow’s icy streets as I dial Dmitri’s number.

“Maxim,” he growls when he answers. “I heard you came back from the dead.”

“Apparently so.”

“One day out of a coma, and you’re on the first flight to Moscow. What was so urgent?”

“The GPS on my stolen boat,” I reply curtly, keeping my eyes on the road. “Arseni didn’t disable it.”

“Arseni? What’s he got to do with your boat being stolen?”

“He stole it.”

“Explain.”

“How much do you know, Dmitri?”

“Only that you went to talk to him and ended up in hospital with two gunshot wounds. He disappeared. I assumed whoever shot you killed him. Now I find out you’re in Moscow hunting him down. Help me fill in the blanks here.”

“Arseni betrayed us. Lombardi paid him to kill me only he fucked up on two fronts. Bullet didn’t hit my brain and GPS was still working on my boat. I tracked him to Moscow. Boat’s in his garage. He went straight to Mrs. Bukowski to get his rocks off.”

I don’t mention the woman I saw fall into the river while I was on the boat talking to Arseni. I say nothing about jumping in and dragging her to shore. I know what he’ll tell me. I compromised the meeting, lost focus, went soft. Maybe he’s right.

“So Arseni’s dead?” he says when I’m done explaining.

“You think I’d let him live after he cheated us?”

“I think you’re supposed to ask the Pakhan for permission to kill a member of the Bratva.”

“I don’t need my father’s consent to get justice.”

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