Page 37

“Where is he?” I leap from the car, hurrying across the parking lot while scanning each face in turn. “Viktor? Where is he? Viktor!”
News that Viktor had been shot hit with the force of a freight train. The last thing I needed was the man with incredible knowledge and experience to end up dead because I sent him in my stead. There was already far too much at stake and I couldn’t afford to lose him, or anyone, right now. It would put us at war with the Cartel, which is very much something I’d like to avoid.
“He’s over there. Around the back of the van,” Ryan explains as I hurry past him with Erik following close behind. My heart races and I half-walk, half-jog toward the black van parked near the outskirts of the parking lot.
“Viktor?” As I round the vehicle, my mind bursts open with a flurry of injuries that will greet me. To my surprise—and immense relief—Viktor appears fine at a glance. He sits on the bed of the van, holding his arm across his body while one of our doctors works on wrapping a thick bandage around his bicep.
“Anastasia.” He greets me with a firm, flat smile.
“What happened? Tell me everything.”
“What do you think happened?” There’s a flicker of bitterness in his tone. “I got shot.”
“I can see that.” My gut clenches rapidly, feeding into the guilt and anxiety that fuzzes through my chest. “Why?”
“Why?” Viktor jerks his arm away from the doctor, seemingly satisfied by the patch-up job. “Because ofyou, Anastasia. I got shot because of you.”
I step back as Viktor wobbles to his feet and snatches his jacket from one of his men standing close by.
“Some context would be helpful.”
“Look around you, Anastasia. I met with the Cartel as you instructed and it went as well as throwing a snake into a nest of wasps. They’re pissed. Really fucking pissed, and they want their money.”
“I’m well aware.”
“Are you?” He pulls the jacket on over one arm. “We owe them millions and you haven’t paid back a single penny since you became Godmother. In fact, all you’ve done is carve us up and shut down every money-maker we ever had, leaving us open to anything our debtors might want from us. Doesn’t that cross your mind at all?”
“Of course it does,” I snap back sharply. “I’m well aware of my father’s dealings with the Cartel. How it was them who helped him transport people around the county as if they were cargo.And I know he stopped paying them and relied on his reputation as currency to borrow guns, men, and even more money.”
“Then why aren’t you doing anything about it?” His voice raises as he pulls his jacket over his injured arm. “Why haven’t you been making savvy business decisions to get us out of this mess instead of playing savior to strangers?”
“Because people are not a product, Viktor. Not anymore.”
He scoffs roughly, slamming shut the back doors of the van. “Bullshit. Anything is cargo when the demand is high enough. And the Cartel are tired of waiting.” He slams the other door shut and faces me. “You have until the gala to pay them. Or they’ll take what they owe in blood.”
“The gala…” My stomach tightness, and an unfamiliar pressure squeezes through my skull. “That’s only two months.”
“Exactly. I took a bullet for you because this is a warning. They’re tired, and I don’t blame them. Look around you, Anastasia. Look at the men and women who work for you. Every single one of them no longer knows where their next paycheck is going to come from.”
“That’s not true,” I snap, and it’s difficult to keep my voice level. “Everyone is taken care of.”
“Are they? For how long? Until you uncover another deal that you decide is amoral and then we’re back to pouring millions into fucking strangers while our own family and people suffer?” He surges forward and grabs my shoulders. “This is why they call you weak. A woman who can’t stomach the difficulties of this job because you turn soft the second someone turns on the waterworks.”
“That’s not true and you know it,” I yell back, jerking out of his grip. Around us, guards try to look elsewhere as if they’re not watching an argument break out. “I could have stayed in that sickening business and people would still call me that. At least my conscience is clear.”
“Oh, great!” Viktor yells. “We’ll all become Cartel fodder but it’s fine so long as your fucking conscience is clear.”
“No one else will ever be sold under the Remizova name, Viktor. You should have madepeacewith that by now.”
“I haven’t made peace with your throwing away millions in revenue while murderers breathe down our s looking for the tens of millions we owe them. Instead of taking care of the problem, you created another one that amplified the first, and now look!” He indicates to his arm. “How many more of our people will suffer before you wake up for this bad path you’ve taken us on?”
“I have stuff in the works?—”
“Oh, the fucking construction,” Viktor snarls. “Which you’re already discounting for the fucking Irish!”
The louder he yells, the louder my head buzzes. A sickly warmth prickles down my spine and spreads out at my tailbone, sweeping around to add to the nauseating tightness in my gut. I can’t tell whether I’m about to throw up or worse.
Maybe it’s the alcohol.