Page 26 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

“That was necessary.”

“Phoenix,” my mother sighs, “where was the evidence?”

“Those men were seen with Ozol last week.”

“You don’t know why.”

“And I don’t care,” I reply. “Anyone connected with that fucker is bad news.”

“We’re getting some disturbing reports,” Papa warns.

I tense. It’s true that I’ve been chasing bloodlust of late. But that’s the only language men like Viktor Ozol seem to understand. The only way to get through to them.

He’s become even more evasive in the last year. When he surfaces, it’s for short bursts of time and he’s always surrounded by security fit for a fucking emperor.

And yet, despite all that precaution, Astra Tyrannis has become even more active.

Last month alone, seventeen more women were sold on the black market. Most of them were under eighteen. My sources are well-placed but I still find myself a day late and a dollar short every goddamn time. I get news, but it’s always a little too late to do anything about it.

That’s one of Astra Tyranni’s strengths. The organization moves fast, and it covers up its tracks with expert skill.

They leave behind no trace. Women are stolen, sold, violated, and in many cases, left for dead. Their bodies and their stories surface. The men behind the horrors never do.

“I wouldn’t pay attention to that shit,” I say dismissively.

“Phoenix,” Papa says firmly. “My son, you’ve carried out seven different hits in the last two weeks alone. You’re starting to concern even our allies.”

“I’m doing what needs to be done.”

“You don’t have evidence that Ozol has anything to do with these crimes.”

“I have my gut.”

“You gut is not proof!” he thunders.

I notice Mama’s arm linger on his arm for a moment, calming him, before she speaks. “Mijo,we’re just concerned about you,” she says. “And we’re not the only ones.”

I narrow my eyes as I take a sharp left towards the tip-off location. According to my GPS, the route to my destination should normally take forty minutes. At the speed I’m driving, it’ll only be probably half that time.

“There’s nothing to be concerned about,” I reply brusquely. “I have the situation under control.”

“You lost nine men last month.”

“No one ever said this business was clean or easy. They knew what they were signing up for. You’re telling me you never lost men?”

“Those fights were necessary,” he growls. “A good don knows when to engage an enemy and when to hold off.”

And there it is. TheGood Dontalk. An Artem Kovalyov Classic, patent pending. That didn’t take long at all.

“Some enemies only take advantage of that,” I counter. “If I back off, the whole thing gets much fucking worse.”

“Mijo,” Mama says in the gentle tone she uses when she’s afraid to upset me, “I know what you went through when… when they disappeared.”

“For fuck’s sake, don’t—”

But of course, she doesn’t listen to me.

“Obviously, you want revenge,” she continues. “Obviously, you want to see the people responsible burn. But you’re turning this into a personal vendetta.”

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