Fractured Ties by Bethany-Kris Page 0,32
much shit came in and out of the place that it wasn’t all that unusual for people to miss anything that might not be on the up and up, when it came to the law. And if they did happen to see something, they were also the kind of people who were willing to take a bribe to keep their mouths shut about it.
Kolya wasn’t sure how long the Boykovs had owned the Compound, but it was long before his fucking time on this earth. Probably long before their organization had even been known as the Boykov Bratva, for that matter, but he wasn’t too keen on asking his father for details. That might appear to Vadim like his oldest son was interested in something, and there was no need to go ahead and encourage that nonsense.
Still, a great sense of nostalgia thickened Kolya’s blood as he moved through the Compound’s many hallways and sections without as much as the slightest of hesitation about his direction. The layout was familiar to him—as familiar as the back of his own hand, really. Unlike many who would get lost at the first corridor after the entrance to the main warehouse, Kolya could navigate this place with his eyes closed.
He could remember chasing after his grandfather—now dead from smoking two packs a day for three-quarters of his life—down this very corridor when he had been just old enough to walk. It was one of his earliest memories. It was quickly chased away when he passed a room they now used for storage.
He’d once hidden in the room with Konstantin when they’d come along with their father. Kolya hadn’t been quite a pre-teen in age. Bad shit went down between a meeting of vory, someone died, someone else got shot, and the rest was history.
Boys in this life learned young.
No doubt about that.
The main offices—ones used by the Boykov brothers, and their father when Vadim actually wanted to do work in here—were right in the heart of the Compound. The very middle building, with the most protection of any of their properties.
And for good reason.
Kolya opened up the two large metal doors, and barely felt their substantial weight under his palm when they slammed closed behind him. Already, he could smell the heady scent of ink clinging to the air, and hear the swoosh of paper as it was shuffled through the printers.
Next to the sound of sex first thing in the morning, or a man’s last breath under his hand, Kolya thought the Compound’s presses had to be one of the best things he’d ever heard in his life. He was pretty damn sure he could fall asleep to that noise and only dream of dollar signs.
That’s how much he liked it.
And it did sound like that, too—like money being made.
Because that’s exactly what was happening.
Counterfeit money, sure, but given their skills in the trade and the knowledge they possessed about faking cash, no average fucker, or store clerk, for that matter, was going to notice the bill in their hand wasn’t real. The paper was the same and so was the ink. Or … it looked that way on the surface.
Everything about their process nearly matched the official process but for one tiny detail—the Boykov signature on every bill.
It was a tradition in the trade.
Every counterfeiter had a signature.
Kolya had a good mind to go and check on the presses and the men working them today, as it had been a while since he’d spent any time in the Compound to actually work, but he didn’t have time. Before his need kicked in too much, he made a sharp right and headed down the spiral staircases that led to the one and only office downstairs, below the presses.
His and Konstantin’s offices were upstairs.
Vadim kept his downstairs.
His father’s patience was clearly thin enough, given his unwanted guest in the city, and whatever else Vadim wasn’t telling Kolya. It wasn’t unusual for Vadim to keep problems quiet until he couldn’t anymore. Then he simply sent someone in to deal with the issue for him.
Boss’s right, no?
Or that’s what his father liked to say.
Kolya found his father’s office was closed as he rounded the final steps, but it wasn’t uncommon. The unknown man posted directly outside the door, dressed in all black, was a new sight. The man barely spared Kolya a glance and he didn’t even speak as he came closer.
Reaching over, Kolya knocked with two knuckles against his father’s office door, although that