Page 20

I shove open the cafe’s door and look around the vacant interior. The worn tables and chairs look like they’ve been gathering dust for years. An unpleasant mix of stale coffee and mildew coats my nostrils, but I tune it out and step forward. My men are waiting outside; this meeting is personal. If Fyodor is telling the truth, I need him to feel confident enough to speak. If he’s lying, I plan to handle that on my own.

He’s seated in a corner booth with a hood pulled low over his face. He glances up when I enter, and from the look of his gait when he stands, that wound from when I shot him is still bothering him. Good.

“Fyodor, you better not be wasting my time.”

He winces as he slides back into the booth. “Sit, Boss,” he manages. “Let’s talk.”

I choose the seat across from him, resting my hands on the table in plain sight. “Make it quick.”

“Remember how you shot me?”

I arch a brow, unamused. “I recall it vividly.”

He offers a bitter laugh. “Figured. That bullet’s still lodged somewhere in my leg, and the docs say it’s not worth digging out. Suppose you left me a permanent reminder.”

“If that’s all you came to say, I’m leaving,” I growl, half-rising.

“No, wait.” He holds up a trembling hand. “I have news about Pavel’s murder. You want the truth, right?”

“Speak.”

Fyodor licks his cracked lips. “You’ve been trying to pin down whether Evan Thorne was set up or if he’s really behind Pavel’s murder.”

“That’s right. And what have you got for me, Fyodor? Because if you’ve dragged me out here for nothing…”

“No, it’s not nothing,” he interrupts. “The thing is, it’s not a setup. Evan’s been involved, more than you ever suspected. And I… I’ve been helping him.”

I blink, sure I heard him wrong. “You’ve been what?” My voice is a low growl, disbelief threading through anger. “You… You have been helping Evan Thorne?”

He straightens his spine and looks at me with a smug pursing of his lips. “We set the wheels in motion long before Pavel died. I reported your movements. He had enough ammo to sabotage your deals, pick off your allies, and sow mistrust among your circle. Guess you never suspected a foot soldier like me could do so much damage behind your back.”

I draw in a deep breath, trying like hell to keep my cool. If I’m going to get as much useful information as possible, I’ve got to keep my head. “Start at the beginning. How did you link up with Thorne?”

“I got fed up,” he responds simply. “I’ve been with the Barkov family for years, following orders. But I was always treated like a dog. No respect, no chance to move up. Then Thorne approached me, offering me money and a chance to prove myself. I gave him scraps of intel at first, stuff about your shipments, your expansions. He used that to sabotage some of your business from behind the scenes.”

My teeth clench on their own. “We did lose a few minor deals. I suspected a rat but never pinpointed who.”

He shrugs, pained. “I was careful. Then Pavel got suspicious, started digging too deep. So Evan arranged the perfect solution—take out Pavel, pin it on the Rossis, or on whoever else, as long as it turned your attention away from him. We set it up to look like a sloppy murder by unknown rivals. You bought it for a while, but not forever.”

A surge of raw fury slams through my chest. “Pavel was family. You murdered him for money?”

Fyodor lifts his chin. “I didn’t pull the trigger personally. But I led him to the alley and gave the hitters his exact location and timing. That’s all Thorne needed.”

My vision darkens. “You scum. You cost me one of my most loyal allies.”

“It wasn’t personal. I had to prove my worth to Thorne. He demanded a big sacrifice to show I was serious.”

“Then you made a fatal mistake,” I hiss, rising to my feet. “You lured me here to feed me what? Another lie?”

He shakes his head, swallowing hard. “No. I was supposed to lure you here and kill you. That’s what I told Evan I would do, anyway.” I slam my hand on the table and he flinches. “But! But, that’s not why I really wanted you here. I need to ask for protection. Evan’s demands keep getting bigger. He turned on me, threatened to turn me in if I didn’t produce more intel. If I help you, maybe you’ll let me walk away alive.”

A harsh laugh bursts from my throat. “You think you deserve mercy after betraying us and killing Pavel?”

He pales, but a hint of desperation shows in his eyes. “I’m valuable! I know Thorne’s next moves. He’s planning a major strike to destabilize your empire. All I want is safe passage out of the city once I help you stop him.”

I circle the table, towering over him. “You want to help me kill your partner in betrayal?”

Fyodor bobs his head. “Yes. He’s crossing the line, Boss. If he topples your family, he’ll eliminate me too once I outlive my usefulness. This is the only chance I have left.”

Rage coils in my gut, but a sliver of strategic thinking edges in. If he truly has inside knowledge, it could be crucial. But can I trust him? He’s a coward, a turncoat. The kind of rat who will say anything to save his skin.

His gaze flits to the door. “So, do we have a deal?”

For a moment, I pretend to consider. Then I snatch his collar and haul him to his feet. The table screeches against the floor, toppling the empty sugar jar and a chipped mug. He yelps as I shove him face-first into the wooden surface.

“G-Grigor!” he sputters, coughing against the splintered tabletop.

“You want a deal after betraying my family?” My voice reverberates off the walls. “I’ll show you how I negotiate with traitors.”

He thrashes, but I tighten my hold, twisting his arm behind his back. A strangled cry rips from his throat. “Stop!”

“Did Pavel cry out like this when you set him up?” I growl, pulling him upright by his hair. “Did you relish the payoff while he bled out in that alley?”

He trembles, and his eyes bulge with fear. “I… I was just following orders from Thorne. He’s the real mastermind. You have to believe me!”

I drag him toward the door, ignoring his frantic pleas. Outside, my men stand guard by the car. I thrust Fyodor at two of them, who grab him by the arms. “Get him in the trunk. We’re taking him to the warehouse.”

One of my men nods, and Fyodor’s protests turn into screams as they shove him into the trunk and slam it shut. I slip into the driver’s seat of my own car with adrenaline scorching through me. If he thinks I’m going to let him slither away with a simple confession, he’s dead wrong.

In about thirty minutes, we arrive at a warehouse on the outskirts of the city. The overhead lamp gives off just enough glow to see the row of metal tools along one wall. My men drag Fyodor to a steel chair in the center of the space. He fights back, but his battered body can’t match their strength.

I watch impassively as they bind his wrists and ankles with zip ties. He pants, trying to catch his breath. Blood drips from a cut on his lip.

“Stand back,” I tell my men. “This part is mine.”

They nod and retreat to the edges of the room. Fyodor’s eyes dart around as his panic mounts. “Boss, please. Let’s talk. We can handle this civilly.”

“Civilly?” I echo. “You put a bullet in Pavel, or arranged it. Then you sold out your entire Bratva family to Thorne for pocket change. Now you want civility?”

His face pales. “I made mistakes, but I can fix them. I can give you everything on Thorne’s next move. We can stop him together, show the Irish who’s boss.”

“You think I need you to show me anything?” I crouch down, staring into his face. “You said you have direct knowledge of Evan’s involvement. Start talking. The more you give me, the longer you live.”

“He… He’s planning to strike at your distribution centers. The Irish want a foothold in your territory. Evan’s providing them inside intel, resources, plus a scapegoat—your family. They’re forging evidence that you’re behind a series of hits on local politicians, stirring up a war in the city. Once the authorities zero in on you, the Irish swoop in to pick up the pieces.”

Dread pulses in my chest, but I bury it. “How do you fit into this?”

“I was the messenger,” he stammers. “I relayed info from your men, your schedules, your expansions. They used that to sabotage deals, frame certain actions. Evan wants you out of the picture, permanently. He’s always hated the Barkovs—you, Aleksei, all of you—for the way you treated him. Said you never showed him respect.”

My mind races, recalling how we used to deal with Thorne. We cut ties for a reason, but I never thought the resentment ran so deep. “He wants revenge. Is that it?”

Fyodor nods vigorously. “He believes you overshadowed his ambitions and took resources he felt belonged to him. The debt to the Irish is just one part. He’s colluding with them for personal vendettas, too. He’s certain he can destroy you from within.”

Evan Thorne, once a reluctant ally, devolved into a bitter enemy out for blood. My entire family stands in his crosshairs. “And you willingly joined him?”

He grits his teeth, and tears form in his eyes. “I was desperate. Tired of being treated like dirt.”

“Pavel never treated you like dirt,” I remind him. “He welcomed you. We all did, to a point. But your greed took precedence.”

He lowers his head. “I know. I’m sorry, Boss.”

I press my lips together, stepping to the small table where an assortment of tools lines the surface. My men stand silent, aware that I need no help for this. I pick up a wrench and test its weight in my hand. Fyodor’s breathing hitches.

“You betray your family, kill my ally, then run to me for mercy because Thorne turned out to be the nastier dog? You have some nerve.”

He squirms and begs, “I can still be useful! Let me prove it. Let me help you lure Thorne in. We can set a trap, bigger than what he planned for you.”

His desperation is palpable, but I’m not swayed. “I’m done with your bargains. Start talking about the details of the distribution center attack, or you’ll be praying for a quick death.”

He whimpers, nodding frantically. “Alright, alright. The Irish plan to ambush your supply trucks next week. They have men stationed at the old shipping yard near the canal. Thorne gave them the exact route, times, everything. They’ll pose as your guys and intercept. Also, they’ve bribed a police lieutenant to look the other way.”

I scowl as my mind parses the new intel. If he’s telling the truth, I can reroute or fortify that shipment. “Keep going.”

“Evan wants to make sure you’re tied up in other conflicts, so they’re spreading rumors that you’ve been taking out minor gang leaders. They’re forging documents, emails—all pointing to you. Once the cops see that, they’ll swarm your territories. Meanwhile, the Irish slip into your territory, seizing your assets. It’s a pincer move.”

My blood boils. “What about the murder of Pavel? How does that tie in?”

“That was the first real blow to break your unity. Thorne knew losing him would throw you off balance and keep you chasing ghosts. Then he’d inch closer to dismantling you from behind the scenes. It almost worked, until you got suspicious.”

I stare at him, hatred pulsing. “You destroyed a good man’s life for that snake.”

He lowers his head, mumbling, “I regret it.”

I snap my fingers at two men. “Bring the table here.”

They comply and drag a small metal table next to Fyodor’s chair. I pick up a short blade, letting the threat of it linger. “You regret it now that you’re caught. That’s not the same as remorse.”

He trembles. “I—I can still give you more details about the police ties. Maybe names, the lieutenant’s location.”

“Spit it out,” I order.

He rattles off a name: Donovan, a dirty cop. Then an address for some hush meeting spot. Each word comes out in gasping breaths as if it pains him. My rage bubbles higher. He’s listing everything, no honor among traitors. I wait until he finishes.

“You done?” I ask quietly.

He nods, and tears streak his cheeks. “That’s all. You know everything I do.”

I weigh the truth of his statements, deciding they ring consistent with the fragments we already uncovered. “So it was never a setup to frame Evan, was it? You and Thorne truly murdered Pavel, hoping we’d chase someone else?”

He swallows and nods. “Yes, Boss.”

I exhale as the final puzzle piece drops into place. Pavel died at the hands of a man he considered a comrade, orchestrated by a snake we once called an ally. My knuckles tighten around the blade. “You disgust me.”

“Please,” he rasps. “Don’t kill me. I gave you everything.”

I tilt my head, feigning consideration. “You gave me your confession, yes. But that doesn’t change the fact you killed a brother. That crime can’t go unpunished.”

He jerks against his bonds. “No, please, Boss—”

I move swiftly, pressing the blade to his throat. He freezes, and his eyes go huge with terror. “This is for Pavel,” I whisper, pressing harder until he chokes out a final gurgle. Blood seeps across his collar as the life drains from his eyes.

A hush falls over the warehouse, broken only by the rasp of Fyodor’s last breath. I step back, watching him slump in the chair with his arms still bound. My men remain quiet, respecting the gravity of the moment.

A wave of grim satisfaction courses through me—an avenger’s victory, but an empty one. Pavel is still gone. This only ensures that one traitor won’t walk free.

I wipe the blade on Fyodor’s shirt before tucking it away. “Clean this up,” I instruct the men. “Make sure there’s no trace.”

They nod and step forward to handle the corpse. I stand aside, rolling my shoulders to release the tension. My mind races with what I’ve learned. Evan is no victim, no scapegoat. He’s orchestrating a full-blown coup against the Barkovs. And now I have enough intel to dismantle his plan.