Anton
Eileen’s father was right about one thing—it does get worse before it gets better, and we can’t afford any more losses.
In the week since Ronan’s funeral, three different Karpov businesses were targeted—two cyberattacks and a small factory fire—the source of which we’ve yet to uncover.
“You can’t sit there and tell me you haven’t made any headway,” I tell Jonas Aslanov, Ilinka’s eldest son and second in command. “Is she really siding with the Kuznetsovs, now?”
“She said it felt like the safer bet once the Sokolovs and the Aronovs switched their support to Sergei and Paul.” Jonas offers a tense shrug. “I tried to talk her out of it, Anton, I swear.”
“Does she understand the repercussions?” Andrei asks, seated in the chair next to Jonas, on the other side of my desk. “If we withdraw our funding, all of her charity galas will fall. Nobody’s going to touch her.”
“Sergei has a few senators in his pocket. He promised her uninterrupted charity events for the next four years, at least,” Jonas says. “His Senate buddies need juice for their reelection campaigns, and their districts fall under the Kuznetsov turf. He can put his money where his mouth is.”
“And if Ilinka decided to stick with us, he would’ve made it harder for her to go ahead with those events, because of the same senators, who have ties in the local council and connections to the federal government. Which would’ve led to funding cuts. He would cripple her,” I conclude, shaking my head in dismay.
Jonas gives me a wondering look. “Would you be able to prevent that?”
“Not right now.”
“We should’ve twisted a few more arms for D’Arcy and Bennet,” Andrei mutters. “Had they won those Senate seats, we wouldn’t even be worrying about who can do what to Ilinka Aslanov’s charity funding.”
“My mother lives for those functions and for the billions she raises to help so many good causes,” Jonas says. “She would rather sleep with the devil than lose any of it. She always says that it’s all worth it.”
“In this world? I can’t really blame her.” I sigh deeply.
“It doesn’t help us. Who do we have left, now?” Andrei asks me.
“The Fedorovs, but even they’re shaky at this point. The other families are too small to count once Sergei pulls his numbers together for the next council meeting.”
The odds are not in our favor, and Jonas knows it.
“Either way, you have my sympathy,” he says.
“Your support would’ve been more welcome,” I reply. “I have no use for your sympathy.”
“We go where the power is, Anton.”
“I’ll remember that when the tables turn.”
I can see the flicker of fear in his eyes. Deep down, Jonas is aware that they’re betting on the wrong horse, spurred by fear and nothing else. Sergei Kuznetsov has proven that he’s unable to lead the Bratva—having to resort to cyberattacks and acts of sabotage to weaken us is all the evidence I need that he isn’t mature or intelligent enough to hold the grand seat.
“Though other fools and madmen have held my chair before me, before my father, those were not better days,” I tell Jonas. “Every time Sergei promises that he’ll help restore the Aslanov’s former glory, he neglects to tell you how bad it really was in that era. There’s a reason why you have little family left on your father’s side.”
“It’s my mother’s decision, Anton. I can’t overturn it.”
He stands, giving Andrei and me one last nod before he heads out.
The heaviness of what we just learned settles in as my brother and I exchange glances.
“Do you have a contingency in place for Laura if the shit hits the fan?” I ask.
“Yeah. There’s a security detail prepped and ready as well. What about Ian?”
“He knows the drill. He hasn’t left Eileen’s side since we got back from the funeral. If I’m not with her, he is, and he’s got a dozen former FSB gentlemen at his beck and call, if needed.”
“I hate that it’s come to this.” Andrei sighs deeply. “Ciara made a fatal mistake.”
“We can’t help her, not right now.”
“He will kill her, you know. I’m pretty sure he had a hand in Ronan’s health declining the way it did, and dare I say, his sudden death.”
I give him a hard look. It’s something my brother and I have discussed before, suspected. “I’ve yet to share that suspicion with Eileen, so I hope you’ve kept it to yourself.”
“Laura is aware, but Eileen won’t hear a thing from us.”
“Good. She doesn’t need the aggravation. Not without evidence, anyway.”
Andrei sits straighter in his chair, suddenly more energized. “You know, we could investigate that whole thread. Discreetly, of course. What was the physician’s name again?”
“Rattner.”
He pulls out his phone. “Let me handle this. If Kuznetsov is going to play dirty, we might as well do the same. I don’t think we can afford to be cautious at this point,” he says while texting someone.
“You’re right, we can’t.”
A rapid knock on my office door brings our conversation to a halt.
“Come in,” I respond.
Kacey, one of our assistants, enters slowly. I don’t like the look on her face. “Sir, we just got a call from the brewery.”
“Which one?” I ask. “We own five.”
“The South Side one. Fire and police services were called.”
Shit.
My brother and I stand on the other side of the street watching the terrifying blaze. Our entire building is engulfed in roaring flames, black smoke billows from the shattered roof to the sky. Dozens of firefighters struggle to stop the inferno from spreading as explosions boom throughout the brewery, orange tongues lashing out as rescuers guide the last of our employees to safety.
A triage point has been set up at a safe distance. Three more ambulances arrive, while multiple police officers do everything they can to keep the bystanders safe. Paramedics treat those suffering from smoke inhalation, providing oxygen masks and checking vitals. In the meantime, I’m trying to process how the fire could have started as I watch the horrifying aftermath.
“Two people are dead,” Andrei mumbles. “According to Officer Friendly over there, six people are still missing. I haven’t seen anyone else come out.”
“The arson investigation unit will come in once they have it under control and the fire is completely out,” I reply.
“Sergei is going to pay for this.”
“He’s getting more brazen.”
“It’s fucking war, Anton. We need to start responding accordingly. Insurance will cover the loss, but it still puts this location out of business for at least six months. This was our top producer, too, dammit.”
I give him a long, tired look. “He knows where to apply pressure, but he’s not invincible, Andrei.” I take a deep breath. “We’ll double security at all other business points. And you’ll have all the support you need to follow that line on Rattner. Let’s uncover some useful dirt on this fucker before he burns something else down.”
“Or worse, before Ciara gets served a steaming mug of polonium tea. I wouldn’t put anything past Sergei right now.”
I thought we had it in the bag. Perhaps I was naive, or perhaps I had too much faith in the other families. They weren’t raised like we were. They bought Sergei’s act, right down to the last number. But it’s still just an act.
I need to find big enough cracks in his mask so I can drive a mallet through them. You don’t threaten the woman I love and expect to live a long, fruitful life.
“Rally the other families,” I tell Andrei. “We need a sit-down with them immediately, before the next council meeting. I’ll reach out to the Benedettos and every other ally we can muster. The Bratva’s turmoil will reverberate across the board. The Camorras should know.”
My brother gives me a cold grin. “Oh, that’s dirty. I like it.”
“The Italians don’t like Sergei. Might as well take advantage of that.”
“The others won’t take kindly to outside support, though.”
“Then they shouldn’t have allowed Sergei to drag the Donovans into this, fiduciary powers or not,” I reply.
If there’s one thing I learned and will forever uphold from all the teachings from our father, it’s that if the enemy goes low, we meet them there and destroy them with everything in the Karpov arsenal. Going high when someone goes low only leads to humiliation and early death.
We’re Russians. Slavic fucking warriors.
We might as well act like it.
