Page 38 of Ruin

I am blindsided right now and it’s taking everything in me to keep that to myself. If the Albanians have heard it, and I have not…

“Good luck to anyone wanting to sever my head,” I laugh, but he doesn’t smile again, his gaze flicking to The Firm leaders at the head of the table.

“What of your sister, Kazimir?” Alejandro asks next, leaning forward from the opposite end of the room to catch my eye. “Bronya is not a threat to your position?”

The way my little sister’s name rolls off of his tongue like a caress makes me want to stab him in the throat. My teeth grind as I clench my jaw, my sister would never hurt me, but we are purposely not close, for safety reasons.

“Your men are supposedly not getting paid, due to the…errorsthat have been made,” he says then, The Cartel leader’s dark eyes glittering, “hers are.”

“Bronya is not your concern, Alejandro, especially when it comes to money,” I snap, hating that my father put her in such a spotlight when she was young, I’d prefer it if no one knew of her existence, let alone her business dealings.

I feel exposed, sweat beading along my hairline and it takes a monumental effort not to reach up and wipe it away.

I think of my father. Carting her around parties and business meetings, parading her in front of dirty old men with unsavoury intentions. There’s twenty years between us, and she would cling onto my hand at every event, scared out of her mind. She’s nineteen now, but I don’t ever want to force this shit on her.

“Why are we discussing this, instead of diagnosing the problem?” Charlie’s voice cracks out in a deep husk.

All eyes fall to him, the silence so loud, it buzzes in my ears. Charlie never speaks. Especially not in these meetings. He’s not looking at me when I turn my attention his way, instead, he closes his knife, places it down on the table, flicking it with his finger so it whirls on the glass surface like a spinning top.

“We need to cut the cancer out,” he rasps lowly, “this is internal sabotage,” eyes flicking up, he scans his gaze over the room, chin dipped.

Vito taps his fingers on the table, his laid-back posture straightening in his seat, “How do you propose we get to the root of the problem?”

But I’m already pushing up straighter in my chair, “You sound awfully certain of that fact,” I glare at the oldest Swallow son, hair rising like hackles on the back of my neck.

Charlie cocks his head, remaining silent.

I laugh loudly, slapping a hand down on the table in disbelief, shaking my head, I lean further towards him across the glass.

“You have some evidence of this?” my tongue slides over my front teeth, my lips sucking as I shake my head again. “I’d be careful if I were you,” I lounge back in my chair, smiling slyly. “It almost sounded like youknow.You have someone watching my operations, Mr Swallow?”

Holding my gaze, he licks his lips, not denying it. “I’m bored of talking about irrelevant things,” he says, eyes flashing. “I will go to the next shipment,” he declares lowly, his words smooth in a deep, broken way. “I will see if Bratva operations are up to par.” He sits straighter, bare chest heaving with his deep inhale, “If you have nothing to hide,” he swallows, voice quieting with overuse. “Then you have nothing to fear.”

Eyes narrowing on his, I see Kyla-Rose tense out the corner of my eye, her gaze slowly roving between me and her favourite cousin.

“I will attend on behalf of The Swallows, Gambino, Bancroft.”The Firm, The Mob, The Outfit.“We can reconvene after.”

I stare at him. Him at me. And despite the voices climbing in the room, I hear none of them. Not until his green eyes dart to his left, mine following suit, falling onto a scowling Kyla-Rose. Her teeth gritting so hard, I’m surprised they don’t shatter.

“All in favour?” she asks loudly, large grey orbs locked on mine, my lips morphing into a sinister slash as I hear all the ‘ayes’.“We meet back here in ten days,” she confirms, her gaze finally pulling from mine.

She nods to the room, and everyone starts to file out.

I don’t move, relaxing back in my seat, Vito Gambino stares at me from across the table, drawing my attention and I lift a brow.

“Yes?” I tease, cocking my head, lips in a permanent smirk.

The Italian licks his lips, flicking his eyes briefly onto Kyla-Rose, before coming back to me.

“Do not fuck this up, Kazimir,” face blank, words emotionless, but it makes my cocky half-grin falter all the same. “For all our sakes, get your shit straight. You are a much better man than your father,” he says quietly, pushing to stand, large hands smoothing down the front of his white shirt. “But there are still those that sit at this table who just see an Ivanov.”

I watch him leave, my eyes following him and his guard out of the room, staring in a trance at the empty space he sat.

Others mingle in the room, drinks in hand, I lift the dregs of my own to my mouth, knocking the watery vodka back in one swallow. It burns its way down my throat, warmth bursting in my chest, like hot little fingers snaking through my veins. I stand from my chair, Dima at my back, I motion for him to stay put and head out of the room.

I don’t want to be thinking about my father, the man is not someone I ever want to resemble. I don’t want to rule The Bratva through fear, I want loyalty from my men because I earn it.

Because they trust me.

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