Page 58 of Silver Sinner

We fudged the lines, but given how many cars that gang stole, it wasn't hard to find a crossover.

The door at the far end of the warehouse suddenly clunks open and a figure walks in. Tall. Thin. Blond hair scraped back into an elastic that barely holds itself at the base of his neck.

Trik Barsukov.

He walks with a swagger befitting men who've earned their reputation through respect and deals, not bloodshed like the Badger. Most fear him because of his trigger finger and his penchant for getting high off his face and slaughtering people who piss him off. I see him for what he really is: a weak man struggling to escape his father's shadow and eager to use brutality to do it.

"Are we still fucking talking about this?" Trik drawls as he joins his father. "Fucking bullshit is what it is. You Irish cunts overstepped into our territory, fucking unkillable roaches scurrying all over what's ours, killing our people, stamping out our business. You think you're fucking untouchable, don't you? Think you can do whatever the fuck you want?" He sniffs deeply and wipes at his nose with the heel of his hand. "I could fucking take you. I'll show you what happens to fucking Irish rats!"

Pavel drags his son back by the arm as soon as he starts toward Adrian, but the damage is done. As soon as the threat leaves that bastard's mouth, I grab Adrian's shoulder and pull him backward, taking his place in just two steps.

"I've spent the past two decades overlooking small infractions you vermin have inflicted on my people and territory in the name of a greater peace between our families and organizations," I growl out quietly, silencing even Trik's furious sneering at his own father. "Each death caused by your recklessness, each cookhouse that exploded on my territory, and each death you caused even if we couldn't link it back to you—I kept it all because vast losses over something minor was not pain I wanted to inflict on my people."

The air shifts around me as Moses moves his weight from one leg to the other, likely thinking of his sister's avoidable death.

"Now I see that in doing so, I have let the festering virus that is you and your family grow unchecked for too long. You bite at the ankles of the Italians, allies of ours. You push the boundaries of your border with the Yakuza and cry when they snap back. Also allies of ours. You even turn your back on your own people when it suits, because last I checked, the Andolovs are our allies, not yours. Your friends are thin and few, and they will not run to your side if you pursue this."

I cast a cold eye over both of them, fully blocking my brother from view as I draw up to my full height. Pavel's mouth opens, but before he can retort, I sigh and a subtle flinch moves through the pakhan.

"If you're thick enough to start this war over some shitty fucking cars, then so be it. I'll meet you head-on, and I will flood this city with the blood of your men. I will make you pay for every infraction I have ever turned a blind eye to, and I will make you regret the moment you let that cunt speak for you and threaten my brother. Understood?"

"Boss." Moses' voice suddenly warms my ear, low and strained. "We've got a problem."

I grunt in acknowledgment.

"The shadow outside Layla's place missed check-in. I sent someone, and they've just reported gunshots coming from inside." Moses' words remain a whisper, but they might as well have been yelled given the sudden lance of fear that stabs through my chest.

Gunshots?

"I have to go." I turn on my heel, and Adrian grabs my arm as Pavel's protests rise up from behind me.

"You threaten me and then walk away? Who the fuck do you think you are!"

"Don't go," Adrian hisses. "Nothing can be more important than this."

"There's nothing more to discuss here," I murmur, clicking my fingers. The signal has the majority of my men close in around my brother to protect him from Pavel. "There's nothing more I have to say to him. If he wants a war, we'll give him one."

With that, I leave Adrian safe in the hands of his guards while Pavel's indignate screeches chase me.

Hold on, Layla!

21

LAYLA

Green leans back and aims his gun at the ceiling, then fires two shots that draw involuntary screams of fear from my lips. Then the gun is back in my face as he laughs darkly.

"Come on," he coaxes, nudging the barrel at my jaw. "This would all be over if you just fucking told us the truth, cunt."

I'm trembling all over, unable to breathe without my teeth chattering together. My only respite is that fear and adrenaline dulls the pain from the blows to my face—a small mercy given everything that's happening. The yellow masked man vanished at one point, and all I heard was crashes and bangs from the lounge. He returned with a growl, and the green mask backhanded me with such force that my teeth reopened the wound on the inside of my cheek.

How long has it been since these men broke into my home? How long since I last saw Maddie? An hour, maybe longer.

I thought I was going to die.

Maybe I have.

Blood continues to well slowly at the cut and I'm past shame, simply letting it dribble out of my mouth.