Page 17 of Bratva Menace

“You can grumble all you want, but your ass better not leave that chair again until the doctor is finished.”

Father grunted in acceptance.

Autumn looked at the doctor. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you, Miss DeValos.” Frederick pulled out a pair of surgical scissors from his medical bag and, with slightly shaky hands, cut my father’s shirt off his body. Blood stained Father’s skin, running down his torso.

As the doctor began to patch him up, Aleksandr took control of the meeting. “How many did we lose?”

Nikolai’s expression turned grim. “If we’re including the men who betrayed us, eleven soldiers and six family members.”

“We’re not including those fuckers as part of our losses,” Drea spat.

“Five soldiers then,” Nikolai amended.

That’s not too bad, I guess. Could have been worse. Much, much worse.

Aleksandr cursed. With a light touch, he pushed the bandage Drea held to his forehead away. Fury shone in his eyes. “We’ll have to notify the next of kin and begin the compensation payments.”

Every soldier who worked for us not only got paid a wage—a pretty fucking good one, if you asked me—but they also got a compensation package. Money that could be paid to anyone they designated if the worst should happen and they died in service to the Bratva. It was a way for them to know their loved ones would be cared for in the event of their deaths.

I opened my mouth to tell him I could do it, but Nikolai beat me to it.

“I’ll handle it.”

My mouth snapped shut, a sliver of annoyance cutting through me.

“Do we know what happened yet?” Arturo asked, his face a mask of anger and frustration.

“Based on the men who double-crossed us, I’d say it’s pretty obvious, don’t you think?” I said, answering Arturo’s question.

Everybody turned to look at me.

“What are you talking about?” Illayana asked. She wouldn’t know because she lived in New York, but the others would.

“All of the soldiers who attacked us were part of the group sent over from Russia to help replenish our numbers after Dominik’s attack.” When no one said anything, I added, “From Sergei.”

Duh.

Father cursed.

“Impossible.” Aleksandr frowned, though I could tell he was starting to put the pieces together. “I vetted those soldiers myself. I interviewed every single one of them, and there was not a single trace of deceit or ill intentions from them. Sergei might have sent them to us, but they had no love for him.”

“How sure are you that they all were a part of the group sent over from Sergei?” Nikolai questioned.

“Mark Karamazov, Isaak Rostov, Yakov Agapov, Nazar Grigoriev, Denis Kirov, and Mishka Orlova,” I rattled off their names as I pulled a metal case from my pocket and opened it, plucking out a joint. I lit it up. “Mark, twenty-seven years old. Star tattoo on his neck. He had a slight lisp when he talked, hated cilantro, and couldn’t dribble a basketball worth a damn. Isaak had a wife and three children back in Russia. He was glad to leave them. Thought it gave him free reign to fuck as many women as he wanted here without his wife finding out. I never liked him, but he made a mean borscht. Now, Yakov, he couldn’t cook. Like, he was really fucking bad. I think the dude burned water one time. I didn’t even know that was possible. But you know what he was good at? Tic-tac-toe. That squirrely little fucker beat me every. Single. Time.”

I took a deep drag from the joint, holding it in my lungs for a beat before exhaling, blowing out three perfect rings that drifted up into the air.

“Nazar was a snake. Didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. And you know why? Because he didn’t like music. What kind of person doesn’t like music? I’ll tell you who. Psychopaths. That’s who,” I said, pointing the joint aggressively at no one in particular. “Denis was a cool dude. I actually kinda liked him, but he’d always check out Drea’s ass whenever she walked past, and that’s a big no-no⁠—”

“He what?!” Aleksandr roared.

“Shh,” I whispered, holding a finger to my lips. “I’m in the middle of a tangent, and you never interrupt someone when they’re in the middle of a tangent. It’s rude. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. Lastly, Mishka. There wasn’t anything technically wrong with her, except for the fact that she didn’t think I was attractive, which, now that I think about it, should have been a massive red flag right from the get-go.” I frowned, then shook away the thought. “Anyway, if that still isn’t enough proof for you that I knew them, you can check their personal files. They’re organized alphabetically by last name in the archives room because I’m not a lunatic, and no matter what anyone says, alphabetically by their last name is the correct and only way to organize files.”

It was at that exact moment that Flora placed a platter-sized plate in front of me. My mouth salivated.

“Mmm. Mini burgers. Yum.” I groaned. I put out my joint and dove right in.