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“Why are they doing the dirty work for the Bratva?” Saff asked.
“Seems to be a loyalty thing. Or a mutual dirt thing. These fucks can’t try to back out when they got blood on their hands too.
“So, now, it’s important for you to tighten your hold on all your local crews and businesses. Check in. Make sure shit is how it should be. This will not be the only business and crew that the Bratva will try to take.
“If you notice that someone who used to always pay on time is suddenly full of excuses, it’s time to bring some of your crew, and pay them a visit. If you can’t find a legit reason for the lack of cash flow, you’re going to need to bring them in for questioning.”
There were nods and grunts of approval coming from around the room, everyone ready to knock some heads together if they had to.
“The other concern about the Russians right now is that they are making friends.”
“What kind of friends?” someone in the crowd asked.
“Ones in high places. Suddenly, a few beat cops that have been loyal to us don’t want to talk to us anymore. It wouldn’t be paranoid to assume it goes to detectives, judges, and maybe even higher.”
“Great,” someone grumbled from the crowd.
You had to understand that sentiment. After years of a rivalry with the other four New York Families, it was nice to be experiencing a little peace.
It was naïve to think it would last, though.
“Elian is taking the lead on this case. So unless shit is going down in an emergent kind of way, I want you deferring to him. He will keep me updated on shit, and we will both figure out the next best move. Anyone got any questions?”
“I got one,” one of the men asked, raising a hand a bit, “We getting a break on meat at Rico’s new place?” he asked, making a chuckle move through the crowd, cutting the tense mood.
Renzo and Elian went through a few more minor details before Renzo said the meeting was over, but anyone was willing to hang for a bit. Though I suspected the only reason he offered was because his wife’s brother had swung by to take her out to dinner right before the meeting started. He would always rather be with his wife these days than hanging with us.
I waited until everyone seemed to get involved in conversation before I made my way out of the apartment door, heading to the elevator, then out of the building. After scanning the street, and not seeing Cinna anywhere, I stopped and reached for my phone.
This time, though, I wasn’t texting.
I was calling.
And calling.
And calling.
My stomach churned into knots when it kept going to the machine, thinking of her on my doorstep, beaten, sobbing, broken. Of her in her apartment, having a panic attack after fending off another attacker.
It had been almost a full day since she’d checked in. And while it wouldn’t be something she would normally do, I figured that since we were working this together, and because we’d… gotten closer, that she would at least shoot me an update.
“Come on, pick up,” I grumbled, walking further down the street, not wanting anyone to talk to me if they exited Renzo’s building.
“Hello?” a voice picked up, small, unsure, young. And… male.
“Who is this?” I asked. “Joel?”
“No…, ah, no. This is Lip.”
Lip?
Who the fuck was Lip?
I mean I knew Cinna’s soldiers by name, but not all of her associates. Could this be one of them?
“Who are you? Where is Cinna?” I asked, something about the way my stomach was clenching telling me that shit had just gotten bad.
“She… someone took her. She dropped her phone. I—“
