Page 5

Anatoly

I focused and worked for hours, checking out the dark web and investigating the Cartel. Then, I noticed some strange activity on our system.

It’s a fucking hacker trying to get into our system.

Nyet!

It’s not happening.

I type on the keyboard, shutting the son of bitch out. I need to find out where the fucker location is. I will get the fucker, and learn who the suka is.

What does he want?

Who is he working for?

Fucker!

I got you!

I look at his location, and it’s here in New York. It’s at the Fuego Club, the Mexican Club. Is the Cartel trying to hack into our system? I’m going to check out this fucking club.

I grab my cell phone and text my Soldiers.

Czar~ Meet me at Fuego Club and bring two Soldiers.

Denis ~ Da.

I put on my suit jacket and take long, urgent strides out of the office. It takes a few minutes to get to the Fuego Club. I drive into the parking lot; it’s full of cars, and the damn line to get into the club is long. I slide out of the Range Rover and close the door. Da, no more Audi for me. I look to my right, and my Soldier is walking up to me.

“Boss, I have Soldiers inside and some surrounding the building,” Denis says, stopping next to me.

“Da, let’s get inside. I want to fucking search the damn place,” I hiss, adjusting my Glock.

“Da, we’re ready,” Denis utters, nodding.

We walk to the back door; my Soldiers are standing at the door. They have already taken out the Cartel’s Soldiers who were guarding the door. I don’t give a fuck; they can fucking kiss my ass.

I’m going to find the fucker that had the fucking balls to hack into our system.

My Soldier opens the black back door, and I walk inside, looking around the hallway.

This area appears to be for employees only since I don’t see anyone. I look at the door on my right; there is no nameplate, but it has to be the office. I like to have my office on the top floor to keep an eye on the club, but that’s their beef.

I pull out my Glock from my holster and look down the hallway. I grind my molars and look at my Soldier, lifting my chin. Denis tries the door, but it’s fucking locked. I raise my brow, and Denis moves back, raises his huge leg, and kicks the door. It’s a fucking wooden door, they should have a steel door, stupid mudaks.

I walk inside with my Glock in my hand and look around the office. It appears empty, and I don’t see any other door. I walk over to the PC; it’s on.

So, where the fuck is the svoloch’?

“Search for another door,” I hiss, curling my lip.

“Da,” Denis says, nodding.

He looks around the office, searching for another door. I move my fingers on the keyboard, searching for any information on the suka that was hacking into our system. But I can’t see anything of that sort. This is nothing but orders, inventory, emails, and accounting for the club.

“Boss, nothing,” Denis says, walking out.

I continue to search for any clues on the PC and I open the external drive. I insert my USB and copy everything on the PC hard drive and external drive. I’m going to fucking search everything.

Then I noticed a name that I know, Capo Fuentes. What the fuck! I know that Cartel owns the club, but I didn’t realize it was Fuentes. I need to learn more about Cartel’s Capos and the Boss.

I need to gather more data on everyone and everything.

I grind my molars, looking for more. Then I pull out my cell, swiping my fingers over the screen to look through my contacts. I press on Fuentes to make the call. It rings once, and on the second ring, he picks up.

“Anatoly, what a pleasure,” Fuentes hums.

I look at the screen, lowering my eyelids.

“Fuentes, I’m at your Fuego Club,” I hiss, wanting him to acknowledge that it’s his club.

“Si, I hope you’re enjoying the music, the fuego in your blood,” Fuentes says.

I can feel his fucking smile; the man is far too pleasant; it makes me wonder what he’s up to.

“Fuentes, stop your bullshit. I’m here because I’m searching for the motherfucker that was trying to hack into the Bratva’s system! Was that you,” I hiss, closing my eyelids and rubbing my neck.

“No, no! Never! Anatoly, I’m on my way over. Don’t leave; we need to talk,” Fuentes yells excitedly.

“You have five minutes before I tear down your club,” I growl, ending the call.

A few minutes later, Denis returns, pointing his Glock at an average-height, stocky Mexican man with a goatee and thick black glasses.

“Boss, I found this suka in the storage room,” Denis hums, staring at the man.

“Who the fuck are you, and make it quick before I blow your head off,” I snarl, pointing my gun at his face.

“I’m the manager, Jose Garcia,” Jose says in a low voice.

“What the hell! Were you hiding from us,” I hiss, lowering my eyelids.

“No, I was taking inventory. I don’t know who you are,” Jose says, pushing his eyeglasses up his nose with his stubby finger.

“Fuentes will be here shortly. Tie him up,” I hiss, looking around the office.