by K. Marie
“Two days ago, after the incident at the marina.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Garland—about the boat, about any of it? I thought we had an agreement.”
“I was going to tell you in due time.”
Bullshit! Garland thought he was protecting me by not telling me things. But, repeatedly arguing the same point with him was tiring; and as pointless as a hamster running on his never-ending wheel. So, I just sat fuming and worrying. And thinking.
“Who was the other dead body?”
“Other dead body?” Garland questioned, brow knitting in confusion.
“Back in the elevator, you said another dead body. Who were you referring to?”
He regarded me silently, a hint of something flashing in his eyes before quickly distinguishing. Anger? Sadness? Or maybe it was a combination of both. However, when he finally answered, his voice sounded flat and devoid of all emotion.
“It was Vlad…whoever destroyed my boat left his body there as some sort of taunt.”
Thirty-Two
G A R L A N D
Sometimes, we have to hurt the ones we love for their own good.
I kept repeating the phrase in my head as I stood on the runway just outside the plane; watching Camry struggle to staunch her tears. She’d tried putting on a brave face in front of the others—especially Autumn, but it was now crumbling.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make this any harder than it already is,” she murmured in apology, eyes dropping to look at the ground dejectedly.
I lifted her chin with a finger to bring her eyes back to mine. “This is hard for us both, but it’s the right decision. Until I know who’s doing these things and why; none of us are safe.”
“I know that, of course, but my heart refuses to listen to my brain. I keep imagining all of the horrible things that could happen—that has already happened, and I-I; I’m just afraid this might be the last time I see that gorgeous face of yours,” Camry said in an attempt at humor.
I pulled her against me in a hug. “I won’t say don’t worry about me, because I know that you will. Just take care of yourself and the kids, Camry, enjoy the island and know that I’ll soon be there to join you.”
“You promise?”
“I absolutely promise.”
After a moment, Camry pulled slowly out of my embrace and looked up at me with a fierce look and fire in her eyes. “I’m holding you to that, Vidov, you promised me forever, and that’s what I’d better get!” she snapped.
And with that, my beautiful wife turned away and made her way up the stairs of the plane.
That’s my girl. I thought proudly, the first real smile I’d attempted in days slowly forming on my face. A warmth spread inside my chest as I stared after her.
Camry was emotional by nature, but she also possessed a spine of steel that made her a fighter—she always came out swinging when faced with adversity. If she crumbled, it was never for very long; Camry quickly rebounded, reassessed, and came up with a battle plan.
As the engines of the jet gave a readying whine, I forced myself to turn away and made my way back to the car. Now that my family would be safe over the Atlantic, it was time to go to war.
Three hours later, my entourage and I walked into a cavernous room full of boisterous men who’d probably had their fair share of Russian vodka.
Striding towards the center of the room, all sound immediately ceased as I approached the man who’d been holding court with all the pomp of a king. Stopping in front of him, I treated him to my most disapproving of stares. Tense seconds ticked by in which all gathered seemed to collectively hold their breath; waiting for action, or else, for me to finally speak.
“Is there no opportunity you won’t seize in which to throw a party? You ever hear the saying, ‘It’s not all about you’?” I questioned with a derisive sniff.
“I know no such saying, but I do know much about partying,” he retorted with a casual shrug, looking unconcerned. “Miami is a boring, boring place. So, I figured I’ll bring the vodka for the party, and you’ll bring the guns; just like we do in Russia, no?” Vasily said with a shark’s grin, thick accent sounding as though he’d never left Russia.
“Only you, would supply men with Vodka and then hand them guns,” I snorted in amusement.
“Men shoot better with vodka in their systems," Vasily affirmed with a decisive nod.
“In that case, lets us go find them something in which to shoot.”
Vasily and I left the men behind as we strode through the vastness of the auto body shop that reeked of spilled oil and gasoline. The shop was located twenty miles north of Miami in Sunny Isles and belonged to his cousin, Ilya.
After a perfunctory rap of his knuckles against the wooden door of an office, Vasily swung it open and stepped inside. “All work and no play, this is no way to live,” he clucked in disapproval to his cousin.
“Not all of us Russian’s are eager to destroy our liver’s with vodka,” Ilya tossed back on a grunt.
He stood from his desk as I walked over to shake his hand. At six-feet-two-inches, I was considered tall, though next to Ilya, I was anything but. At six-feet-five-inches and with a large solid frame, the man looked to be a giant. And with the addition of all the tattoos covering his neck, arms, and hands, he cut quite the scary-looking figure. I was damn glad to have him on my side.
“It’s been a while, my friend, you stay down in Miami with all the fancy people and never come to visit Ilya,” he said with a huge smile, clapping me on the shoulder.
“As much as I enjoy your charming company and bad jokes, there are too many hostiles in your neck of the woods,” I returned.
“Yes, but there are fewer now, right?” he stated knowingly.
Both the Chvetski’s and the Ostrovsky’s were Sunny Isles locals.
“The sooner you stop with all the chatter, the sooner we’ll learn if there can be a few less. My men are impatient to kill someone,” Vasily interjected in a bored tone.
Ilya and I grinned—we were both well acquainted with Vasily’s flair for the dramatic and his love of battle. If ever a wingman was needed in a war, he was the one you’d want by your side. I had lost two out of three of my most trusted warriors; with Victor down and Joe on his way to Greece, there was no one more trustworthy or capable than Vasily.
“Yeah, yeah, they’ll get their chance,” Ilya reassured his cousin, dropping back down into his chair.
After reaching to open a drawer of his desk, Ilya's hand disappeared inside and reappeared with a small white envelope and handed it over to me. “That’s all I was able to find. I had a friend ask around discretely, and he came up with a hit on one of the guys. I hear they always work in a group, so my guess is, you find one you find all. Everything you need to find him is in there,” said Ilya, forefinger pointing towards the envelope.
I’d put out some feelers to identify the men who’d been sent to takeout Savin; the ones who had ambushed Viktor and his team. Since the Ostrovsky’s ran a lot of the industry in Sunny Isles, I guessed that to be the best place to start. And Ilya was the point man. He’d lived in the city for twelve years, and because his auto shop business operated between dubiously legal lines, he always kept an ear to the ground.
“No longstanding local connections that you know of?” I asked Ilya, thumbing through the contents of the envelope.
“My source says he’s a fairly new face around here; perhaps a couple of months at most, I’d guess the others were too.”
Interesting.
“Sounds like foreigners, maybe,” said Vasily.
My thoughts, exactly.
After thanking Ilya, Vasily and I gathered the men together and gave out instructions. Under normal circumstances, I’d typically do a more thorough reconnaissance—which gave me more of an advantage over my prey, but I didn’t have that luxury. Someone was waging war against me and declared open season on my family.
The bodies were beginning to pile up.
Vik
tor clung to life, Vlad was dead; I had a dead bodyguard, and one was missing. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared for my family; that’s why I’d sent them away.
This thing seemed deeper than I’d initially thought, the various moving parts of the puzzle were starting to come together to paint a much clearer picture—a more extensive operation. It looked as though hits were coming from several different directions but for a common goal. I believed everything to have initially started with Vlad—and perhaps he’d played a small role, but, it was bigger than just him I realized.
Vlad.
Having been running on autopilot the past few days—not sleeping or allowing myself time to think, I hadn't focused on dealing with that particular disaster. Or, perhaps I had been merely avoiding it. Seeing Vlad lying there dead on the dock had speared straight through my heart. It hurt, even though I thought I’d stopped caring. Vlad was a fuck-up, he lived a reckless lifestyle and was bound to end up dead sooner rather than later. Only, it looked like he might have met his end because of me.
That was the thing I kept trying to avoid. Did someone kill Vlad to send me a message?
I was far from being the poster-boy for morality; I have taken lives and had plenty of blood on my hands. I couldn’t bear knowing if Vlad’s blood was now on my hands as well. To be honest, I should have probably dispatched with him myself years ago; he’d brought me nothing but problems and put me in danger. However, I couldn’t do it.
Of course, guilt played a part. And who knows? Perhaps I’d even seen Vlad as that last piece of thread that connected me to Zina and Max.
I felt I owed it to his sister to look after him, but I also viewed Vlad as a little brother. Sure, he was annoying-as-fuck and thrived on debauchery and chaos—he was also family. Vlad wasn’t always an asshole and a screw-up but was once a good kid who’d had some tough breaks in his life. Viktor never understood my bond with Vlad; he didn’t know that whenever I looked at Vlad, I sometimes saw him.
Both Viktor and Vlad had had some tough breaks as a kid, but Viktor had Romanovich and me. Otherwise, he could have turned out just as bad as Vlad. After the death of his father, sister, and nephew, his mother and I were all Vlad had left. So, I tried to do for him the same as I would any brother. Only, his reckless personality dominated over anything good he might have accomplished.
I had already broken the news to his mother; which was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. Now, I needed to plan to have Vlad’s body transported back to Russia.
He would be buried next to his sister.
At 12:38 p.m. the following day, I received my first glimmer of hope.
Ever since Dr. Yanovich discontinued the sedation medication in Viktor’s I.V. yesterday afternoon, I had been holding my breath, fearing the worst. However, though Viktor hadn’t yet opened his eyes, he’d just started groaning; the first sound he’s made in days.
“Now that Viktor’s regaining consciousness, I’ll prepare to start weaning him off of the ventilator to assess his ability to breathe independently. But I have to caution you not to expect too much the next twenty-four hours; he’ll still be in and out of consciousness. It’ll take the medication some time to work its way out of his system,” explained Dr. Yanovich.
“What will happen once he’s regained full consciousness?”
“More tests will be run, and he will be evaluated. I’ll be looking for any internal damage, as well as assessing his cognitive and motor functioning.”
Viktor let out another low groan.
“Is it possible he’s feeling pain?” I questioned in concern.
“It’s possible, but I have him on a high dosage of pain medication—he should be comfortable.”
“Should be, doesn’t work for me. Do whatever’s needed to ensure he isn’t suffering.”
It might have come out terser than intended.
“Well, increasing the dosage runs the risk of him remaining unalert and unresponsive,” argued Yanovich.
I stared silently.
“I, um, I’ll add additional medication that doesn’t have a sedative effect. The two together will take care of any discomfort. But ideally, I’d like to have Viktor alert enough to communicate his level of pain.”
I nodded my approval.
After Dr. Yanovich left, I moved closer to Viktor’s bed and observed him silently. Only five days had passed since he'd gotten shot, but it felt like an eternity. So much shit has happened in that span of time.
I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. Whoever was waging war against me was doing a damn good job of it. But Vidov’s were nothing if not fighters, and winners. I was determined victory would be mine.
Reaching for Viktor’s hand, I gripped it in mine; noting the contrast between his now pale-looking skin and my golden hued. “You’re in serious need of some sun, Malen'kiy run,” I murmured, also noting his skin’s coolness.
I’m not usually the touchy-feely sort, but Camry is. Whenever she visited with Viktor, she always held his hand and talked to him. She said keeping human contact was essential and that Viktor might actually be able to hear her. Who knows if it’s true?
Hell, I miss her already. I missed all of them.
It was weird to come home to a silent house. It was also strange to remember that just one year ago, coming home to silence was the norm. Who knew I’d come to love daily shouting, screeching, crying, and uproarious peals of laughter?
My attention jumped back to Viktor when he emitted another sound.
“Camry says you can hear me, so I’ll believe her. Now, since you’ve been unconscious the last five days, I should probably get you all caught up on current events,” I told Viktor with a gentle squeeze to his hand.
I started speaking, relaying everything that had happened since he was injured; most of it all hellish. I spoke for long minutes, alternating between English and Russian, hoping some of it was penetrating. I talked about Renata, his older sister, explaining how she’d changed her cell number again for the umpteenth time and was living who-knows-where.
Just like their mother, Oksana, Renata was a hot mess, and a bit touched in the head. She moved around from place to place—presumably with men since she’s never been known to keep a job. I currently had people looking to locate her.
I continued talking to Viktor, and it wasn’t until a particular name was mentioned that I received another low groan from him.
“Ah, I see that got a reaction from you,” I muttered in humor. “The question is, was it one of angst or joy?”
Something was going on between Viktor and Marie. I wasn’t quite sure what; or if it was a good thing or a bad one.
I liked Marie, she played at being tough but had just as big a heart as Camry. She was intelligent, street-smart, fiercely loyal to those she loved and didn’t take anybody’s shit. She’d be a good challenge for Viktor. However, I also knew Viktor’s track record with women.
“Sorry, I had to send Marie away; it was no longer safe for her to be here. Though, something tells me when she returns things are going to get a lot more interesting,” I said in irony, giving his hand a small squeeze.
After the flowers arrived yesterday with the note, I knew it was no longer safe for Camry or Marie to come here.
“No one you love is safe.”
My heart froze in my chest when I read the words. I immediately grabbed my phone to call Camry; terrified that I’d miscalculated my enemies reach and had left her vulnerable. Those were the longest and most terrifying couple of minutes of my life when I couldn’t contact her.
Shit, I’m now paranoid as hell; the circle of people with whom I trusted grew smaller by the minute. When I told Camry not to leave with her guards, I meant it. I didn’t know who to trust at that moment. Whoever was behind the attacks knew too much—seemed to be watching my every move.
However, I trusted Joe implicitly, which is why I sent him to Greece with my family. The other men who made up the security team were men he trusted implicitly; men who
worked for him and Viktor at the security firm. With Viktor down, I was left with Stack as the last of my trusted trio. The other men hadn’t yet earned that level of confidence.
I stilled suddenly, eyes shooting down to where Viktor’s and my hands were still joined.
His had just moved.
Staring intently, I waited to see if it would move again; willed it to move. “I know you can hear me, Malen'kiy run, so stop being an asshole and squeeze my hand again.”
Thirty seconds ticked by in silence before I felt it—it was weak, but definitely a squeeze.
Viktor was regaining consciousness, and apparently coherent.
Before I could become too elated, my phone started vibrating in my pants pocket.
It was a text from Vasily.
As someone needed to be here with Viktor, they’d carried-out the operation in the wee hours of the morning without me. The hit team that was sent after Savin was found precisely where Ilya said they’d be. Only, there were even more men there than anticipated; more than was sent for Savin. After all the gunpowder had settled, only two of the men were still alive to talk. One of them was Akim, the missing bodyguard.
Vasily was exceptionally skilled at getting men to talk—unlike me, he actually relished the shit. He was ready to share with me what he’d learned.
After shooting a quick text to Romanovich, I stuck the phone back into my pocket on a weary sigh.
“Hopefully, by the time you fully wake, this shit will be over,” I told Viktor, before reluctantly leaving his side.
Thirty-Three
C A M R Y
How strange it felt, to find myself standing on a bluff overlooking a sandy beach; surrounded by nothing but turquoise water for miles on end. The temperature outside was perfect, and as the sun radiated down from a cloudless sky to bathe me in warmth, the gentlest of breezes blew in off the sea; causing loose tendrils of hair to feather across my face and neck. However, most of this went largely ignored as I stared unseeingly out into the distance.
