Page 15 of Until Death or Defeat

“I’ll fucking show you, you’re going to regret underestimating me, I promise,” she declares loudly.

I keep walking and open the door to the roof, smiling to myself. I’m not sure what I just got myself into, and neither is she.

Present

“I’ll handle it, Andrei, let me make some phone calls. We’ll be at the warehouse by sundown.” I sigh to myself as I end the call, looking around the office.

My father left yesterday, and now everything has suddenly landed on me. He won’t be back until the wedding, which unfortunately is happening in only a week.

Tomorrow night I will have to announce it to all the Families at the event, and somehow make it fucking believable that there’s more to it than just an alliance. If certain groups thought this was just a business arrangement, they may be threatened by both of our families, thinking we’re trying to grow and take more power for ourselves.

That, and how everyone loves the fucking Santoro family so much that they will question our intentions and think we are taking advantage of them.

It will be easier if they believe that she and I have been secretly rendezvousing like Romeo and Juliet, which isn’t far from the truth at all, considering we have been for the last nine years. It just hasn’t been full of love and desire, instead it’s been full of hatred and violence.

“Hey, let’s go,” I yell out into the hallway as I step out of the office, walking to go find my jacket by the door. Roman and Max eventually come walking down, tucking in their handguns to their waistband.

“Are we still meeting at the warehouse, or is the shipment back at the port still?” Roman asks, and I just toss a nod in response.

I hate that this has always been where we go, the fucking memories tied to that warehouse just distract me while I’m there. Maybe now that I’mpakhanI can try to find somewhere else where we can keep all of our inventory.

The air is thick with tension as we enter the warehouse. The warehouse smells like cold metal and gun oil, and it transports me back again. My eyes flicker as we walk up to the group standing around the makeshift tables, trying to push my memories down.

“Pakhan,” Viktor says with a smile as we approach. “Finally, huh?”

I throw back a smile as he pulls our playful handshake in with a quick congratulatory hug, patting my back. Most of the men have been waiting for me to take over, besides that I had great relationships with them, my father was not the easiest man to be around.

“Let’s save the celebration for later,” I say with a smirk as Ilook around the group, “for now, tell me what’s happening with those shipments.”

The sharp clinks of the crowbars prying open the crate bounces off the cement walls, and I pick up a paper with the inventory for this case, taking it with me as I walk closer to check it. Roman glances at the paper and then back to the crates that are taking up half of the warehouse.

“This isn’t right,” he mutters as he looks out, trying to count the crates. “There’s only forty-two crates here, it’s supposed to be forty-five,” he glances at me, and I furrow my brows as I double-check his math.

“Who the fuck signed off on this?” I turn back to the other men. All their eyes look to Ivan, who looks unaffected by the news. “Explain,” I spit to him as I walk closer.

He shrugs his shoulders. “It must’ve been an error at the port, these things happen.”

I restrain myself from losing my shit and run my hand over my mouth before I respond. “Do they?”

Ivan nods. “I’ll follow up with the contact, we’ll sort it out.”

I step closer to him, standing over him like a shadow. “You’ll ‘sort it out’, will you? Because from where I’m standing it looks like you’re too comfortable letting my shipments come up short.”

“Come on Artem, it’s three crates, it’s not worth blowing a gasket over. I’ll call the guy we picked it up from.”

My eyes look to Roman and Max, who both are avoiding my gaze not wanting to be in my crossfire. I grab tightly on Ivan’s jacket, yanking him forward until our eyes are inches apart.

“Every crate. Every bullet. Every gun. They’re allmine. So, when something ofminegoes missing, it’s your responsibility to fucking keep track of it. Are we clear?”

Ivan puts his hands up in mock surrender, a smug smile on his face. “Crystal.”

I release his jacket. “Good, because if this happens again, your concern will be sorting yourself out of a shallow grave.”

Ivan straightens out his jacket, his smirk gone now, replaced with a subtle flash of anger that he didn’t bother to hide. “Understood,” he mutters, keeping eye contact with me until he turns to walk out of the warehouse without waiting for me to dismiss him.

“You gonna let him get away with that attitude?” Maxim playfully asks as he picks up a gun from the crate to inspect it.

“Watch how you hold that thing Max, it’s a gun not a fucking potato,” I sigh, only eliciting a laugh from him as he continues to casually hold it and pretend to drop it. “As for Ivan, let him stew. Men like him dig their own graves. I’m just waiting to throw in the dirt.”