Fractured Ties by Bethany-Kris Page 0,4

didn’t make any effort to pretend to like them, though.

“But back to the brigadier issue, as I will handle the Markovics.” Vadim passed him another dismissive glance, adding, “Because you’re a captain, he won’t think much of you going into his business. I would like it to be done with little fanfare on his end. He isn’t aware that I know of his misdeeds and have been keeping track of them for a while, so he won’t be expecting this move on my part. Nor will he be suspicious of you, yes?”

His father smiled.

It wasn’t at all friendly.

“Strip him of his stars while you’re at it,” Vadim added. “Really drive the point home for me.”

The upturned spider tattooed on Kolya’s right hand itched a bit, much like the stars on his chest stung at those words. To strip a man of his tattoos—before his death, no less—was akin to pissing on his grave while his grieving family looked on. And only another vor could do the job when the boss gave an order like that.

“Great,” Kolya said.

“Excuse me?”

Kolya checked the attitude that he hadn’t meant to let slip out. “It’ll be done.”

“Who’s the mark?” Konstantin asked.

“Ivan Kozlov.” Vadim nodded. “Now, get the fuck out of my sight.”

• • •

Konstantin was already reaching to shut the door of Kolya’s Hummer before he had even finished tugging on his leather gloves. Driving gloves, actually, but Kolya rarely used them for driving.

Killing, yes.

Not driving.

“Good to see you again, Kolya,” came a voice across the street.

Kolya eyed the figure leaning against his younger brother’s car. “You brought the Markovic shit along?”

Konstantin shrugged. “He was bored.”

Yeah, Kolya bet.

Kazimir—or Kaz, as he preferred—was the second oldest son of Vasily Markovic, the one Russian with all the pull in Brighton Beach, New York. Despite being the same age as Kolya, Kaz got on far better with Konstantin than the older Boykov brother. He was a cocky fucking thing—Kaz, but his father, too.

All the Markovics were, really.

Sometimes, Kolya thought it was Kaz’s cockiness and attitude that was going to kill him someday. That, or his goddamn mouth.

Kolya did share one thing in common with Kaz, although it was rarely ever a topic of conversation between the two whenever they were unlucky enough to have a face-to-face meeting. Kaz, like Kolya, was the son of a Russian mob boss—the son, as some liked to say. The one being looked at to move higher in the organization and take over their father’s position when the eventual time came for it to happen.

The thought irked Kolya.

It was never a question of if he wanted the position, simply a matter of him being given it whether he cared to have it or not. He’d never really given it much thought, but apparently, his thoughts wouldn’t make a difference at the end of the day.

Or, that’s what he was always told.

“Where’s Ruslan?” Kolya asked, referring to Kaz’s older brother.

“That’s how you greet me,” Kaz said, smirking a bit, “by referring to me as shit, and then asking where the fuck Rus is?”

Kolya fixed the straps on his gloves, tightening them until he felt the tell-tale pinch of the metal hooks biting against his flesh. “Ruslan doesn’t make me want to beat a lesson into him every time we meet up, pizda.”

Kaz bared his teeth at that comment.

A warning if Kolya ever saw one.

He knew the pussy remark would do it. Kaz fucking hated that shit. Kolya was the type to push a man’s buttons, just because he knew the guy had ones that were easy to press, whenever the fuck he felt like it. Also, all in all, Kaz was decent people, and he could give it as well as he took it.

Kolya respected that.

Didn’t mean he had to be pleasant.

“Asking to go a round, yeah?” Kaz asked. “Thought the last time when I busted your mouth up taught you something, Kolya.”

Little shit.

“Can’t say it did, but I’m willing to let you believe that shot was something more than a miracle.” Kolya shrugged. “Maybe later, yeah? Business to do, Markovic.”

“Lucky you.”

“Or lucky you,” Kolya tossed over his shoulder.

“I get a fucking headache just listening to the two of you,” Konstantin grumbled, following to catch up with his brother. “Try to get along, yes?”

Kolya scowled. “This is me getting along, Konstantin.”

Konstantin tipped his head to the side, bowing to the matter. “Fine.”

“Anatoly is already in the place, then.”

“According to his last text.”

“Would have liked for him to be across the goddamn state.”

“Vadim wanted—”

“Vadim wants