Page 37 of Silver Sinner

"Yes, actually. What's so urgent that you demanded I leave?" Having my lovely morning ruined wasn't ideal, but given Moses' 911 text, it's got to be important.

"Get in." Moses nods to the car and, after glancing back at Layla's apartment, I slide into the car and stifle a yawn. Within seconds, the vehicle pulls away from the curb and we drive into the city.

"Adrian called me. Said you weren't answering your phone and thought something had happened to you. I told him you were busy, so he gave me an earful instead."

"About?" I tap through my phone and find several missed calls from Adrian that came through while I was tending to Layla. Didn't even hear my phone ring, but then again, nothing could have taken me away from her.

"After we cleaned the store last night, he did some digging to see who we would need to pay compensation to if anyone came looking for the missing cars and men."

"And?" From the low tone of Moses' voice, something isn't right.

"They weren't nobody."

My eyes snap up. "What?"

"They…" He sighs. "They worked for the Barsukov family. Technically."

Technically? My heart sinks slowly into my gut and a lick of anger warms my thoughts. "You're kidding."

"Nope. The gang themselves were pretty low-level. Street rats, drug addicts, that sort of thing. We were right about them boosting cars to make money; that's all they did, but Adrian found this." Moses passes over his phone where a screed of text from my brother lights up the screen. "They sold the important parts and sent the cash to the Krakov family. The Krakov family are small, but their eldest son Darius works right under Markov. And Markov is a general for⁠—"

"Pavel Barsukov," I cut in, finally reaching the bottom of Adrian's text. "Fuck."

We've been at odds with the Russians more times than I can count over the years, but the Barsukovs have been a particularly irritating thorn. Where other families would look the other way when something small gets caught up in larger business, the Barsukovs are like starved dogs snapping at every bone they can find. Everything, even as something as minor as a parking ticket, brings down the full weight of that family. They claim it's because they're all loyal to one another, but I see it for what it really is; Pavel is a warmonger. He throws his weight around because he can, crushes every little guy he gets under his boot, and scours the streets for an excuse, any excuse, to start a war. He's a sadistic little fuck. Him and his son.

And I just gave him an excuse.

"There's no way we could have known before we went in there," Moses says, cutting through my thoughts. "God knows what they would have done to that kid by the time we even found that paper trail."

"Doesn't matter," I mutter. "Pavel's been looking for a way to squeeze my balls for years, and I just gave him one. He won't let this slide."

"There's a chance he doesn't know." Even as Moses says it, I can tell he doesn't believe it. Pavel Barsukov is like a spider with a web spread all over the city. The slightest disturbance, no matter how far down the chain, and he's scuttling along to see what blood he can squeeze out of the stones unfortunate enough to end up in his web.

"Can we get ahead of this?" I glance at Moses and hand his phone back. "Or cover our tracks?"

"Adrian scrubbed that place from top to bottom, wiped the cams and more, but you know Pavel. He's got spies everywhere." Moses' voice quivers ever so slightly and my gut tightens. "We left too big a trail. Layla called the cops and that's already out of our control. If Adrian could find the connection, then Pavel will as well."

I nod slowly. It was unavoidable. Had it been any other situation, then I would have been more careful, but I was distracted by Layla's pain and the urgency to return Maddie to her mother. The chances of a local street gang having ties to the Russian mafia is as likely as Moses parting the river that flows below the bridge we're crossing, and yet here we are.

I watch Moses out of the corner of my eye as his hand flexes against his thigh. Moses spent years of his life trying to find a way to destroy Barsukovs to avenge his sister, but had no such luck. They've been far too slippery and over time, he claimed to make peace with what happened. I've never believed it. Moses carries that pain like a badge only shown to a few people, and has quietly awaited the day the Barsukovs overstep enough to justify the losses we would suffer in a full-out war against them.

That day has never come.

"Alright. Call Adrian. There's a chance we can get ahead of this before Pavel starts spouting the horror of an unprovoked attack on Russian territory. The last thing we need is every Russian getting trigger happy while we're still trying to calm the cartel."

Three hours later, I sit at the back of the Callahan bar nursing a whiskey while waiting on Adrian. He only responded to my invitation with a one word ‘ok,' which tells me he's beyond pissed. I can't blame him. I was careless. Even with Maddie's life on the line, I know better than to clean out an entire place like that without knowing who's holding the reins. I was so angry, so furious that someone had dared harm my peace that I just wanted them gone.

The bitter alcohol burns its way down my throat and I set my glass down, then raise my hand for another as Adrian comes into view. He pulls off his leather gloves and shrugs off his coat, then sits across from me in a chair that creaks under his bulk.

"You're a fucking idiot."

"I know."

"The Barsukovs. Do you have any idea what kind of position this puts us in?"

"I'm aware." I hesitate as the bartender replaces my drink and sets one down for Adrian, then scurries away. "It wasn't planned."

"I know. That's not like you." Adrian sighs deeply and lifts his drink. "I did everything I could to cover our traces, and then Moses tells me that woman called the cops. She basically threw cheese to a pack of starved rats."