Page 132 of The Bratva King

Gunfire cracks through the room, followed by the thud of bodies and shattering glass. The softer pop of my men’s silencers cuts through it. Naked women race out of a back room, screaming as they cover themselves. My men know better than to hurt a woman, whether she’s a girlfriend or a sex worker. Our beef isn’t with them.

I move through the room methodically, overturning tables and smashing slot machines with the butt of my gun. Glass and circuitry crunch under each blow. Pasha is doing the same on the other side of the room.

I find an Italian woman staring me down. Defiant. Family. For half a second, I consider killing her.

“Tell your family this is what happens when they fuck with me,” I say quietly. “Tell them I’m done being patient. Tell them the next time they come at me or mine, I won’t stop at property damage. Unlike them, I don’t hurt women and children.”

She lifts her chin, her lip curling with disgust. Hatred rolls off her. I let it.

“You good?” Pasha asks.

“Yep.”

One of my men walks back into the room, clutching a handful of cash, blood running down his arm and soaking the bills. He looks at the wound and shakes his head.

“Tell me I get to keep it,” he says with a smirk.

“Burn it,” I tell him.

“The money?”

“All of it.”

He pulls out a lighter, sets the stack of bills on fire, and tosses it onto the desk. The flames spread quickly to the paperwork as smoke fills the small room.

We leave the same way we came in. Casual. Unhurried. Like we just finished dinner.

Sirens are closing in by the time we’re back in the SUVs. Fire department. Police. They won’t find anything useful. No cameras in an illegal gambling den. No witnesses willing to talk. Half the city will know what happened here before the sun rises.

We’re twenty minutes down the highway when my phone rings with an unknown number.

I answer anyway. “Yes.”

“Mr. Sokolov.” The voice is older. Refined. Heavy Italian accent. “This is Don Castellano.”

I say nothing.

“I understand there was an incident at one of our establishments tonight,” he continues.

“I’m not sure I would call it an incident.”

“You know we have rules,” he says.

“Do we? I thought we were saying fuck the rules.”

“I’m out of town. I understand one of my men got a little carried away.”

“You killed a man. And you’re following a child.”

“You’ll remember that you shot my men first,” he says.

“And you’ve been sabotaging my fucking building.”

“We are expressing our disapproval.”

“Fuck your disapproval. I bought the property. The casino will open. There’s plenty of business to go around. If this continues, I will take your businesses. All of them.”

He clears his throat. “The bomb was unauthorized. The man responsible has been dealt with. But I assure you, we have not gone after your girlfriend or her son.”