Til Death Do Us Part (Kornilov Bratva Duet #2) - Nicole Fox Page 0,29
I’d like it to stay that way. I knew too much before, and I don’t want to get into trouble again. I’d be happy to flip burgers and refill coffee until I die, thank you very much.”
I respect that. Sometimes, I have the same dream. Getting away with Molly and Theo, starting over somewhere else. I’ve considered it, but like it or not, this life has its hold on me, and I won’t be getting out anytime soon. I’m not even sure I actually want out.
“Then I won’t tell you more than you need to know,” I assure him. “Basically, I’d like to hire you to be my eyes. One of my guys is sneaking around on me, and I don’t trust him. Normally, I’d confront him, but something like that could split loyalties in the Bratva in two, and I can’t afford that right now. I need this to be discreet.”
George flicks ashes on the ground. “What do you think he’s doing? Could this get me killed?”
“Not unless you’re stupid, which I’m pretty sure you’re not.”
He raises an amused eyebrow at me. “Your confidence in me is inspiring.”
“I don’t know if he is skimming money or meeting with my brother, but I want to figure it out, and I’d like to pay you to help me,” I say. “My rate is far higher than what you make here at the diner. It shouldn’t take more than a few days.”
George clears his throat and stands tall, his cigarette dangling from his hand at his side. “I don’t owe you anything anymore, Viktor. I paid my debt. We are square.”
“If anything, I owe you,” I tell him. “You saved my wife and son.”
Once again, he raises an eyebrow. This time, in surprise. I hadn’t told him Molly and I got married.
“We don’t owe each other anything,” he says. “This is a business deal. I’m doing this because I trust you. I trust you not to risk my life and to pay me fairly.”
“Done.”
George drops his cigarette and crushes it under the toe of his boot before extending his hand. We shake on it.
“What’s the name?”
“Expect all of the details soon, but his name is Petr.”
His brows pinch together. “Your consigliere?”
I nod solemnly. “The very same.”
“Shit,” he breaths.
Shit, indeed.
The two men are young and obviously members of the Italian Mafia. They wear their colors proudly. It’s surprising considering where they are standing.
On my corner.
I was driving to the club to put together the information for George and get him the full details on Petr when I saw the men two blocks up. I parked the car and watched them for a few minutes to be sure I understood what I was seeing. A young girl, barely sixteen if that, walked over to them while I waited, and they shook hands. Innocuous enough if you aren’t paying close enough attention, but I wasn’t fooled. Even after only a few minutes, I knew there was no mistake.
The Italians are dealing on my turf.
The corner was contested territory a few years before, but I long ago settled that dispute. Prior to Fedor partnering with the Mazzeos, the Italians knew better than to send their men to my territory. Yet, here they are.
I know Fedor is behind it. Just like when he had a man waltz into Molly’s apartment with Theo in his arms, he is doing this to show me that he can. To show me he will take what he wants without consequence.
Well, fuck that.
The intersection is one block removed from the busier road, but there are still a fair number of people on the sidewalks and in the road. I shift the car into park and blend in with them.
I cross the street, watching as the men laugh and joke with each other. They make suggestive comments to women as they pass and pantomime things they want to do to them.
They are children. Idiots. They’d have to be to side with Fedor in this fight.
Well, I’m going to show them what a mistake that was.
As I approach them, one of the men with a thick head of dark hair looks at me and then away. Just as he is turning back towards me, eyes wide with recognition, my fist connects with his face.
He flies sideways, hitting a metal sign before sinking to the ground. His friend stands in stunned silence when I hit him with a one-two, knocking his head back and forth like a bobblehead.
They aren’t well-trained. The second man throws up