Page 28 of Dark Desires

CHAPTER 8

ALEXEI

“That fucking prick Barnes.”

Luk looks like he wants to pitch his drink against the wall. My brothers and I are seated at the large, oval oak table in the dining room of the Ivanov mansion, a fire roaring in the fireplace nearby.

It’s technically Luk’s home, along with his wife, Maura, and their children, but the house functions as an informal base of operations for business as well.

“The way he squirmed and tried to get out of it. Christ, he was practically giddy when that Fed showed up and told us to take a hike.”

Yuri, our other brother, leans in. He gives his drink a little push with his fingertip as he considers his words.

“You’re telling me that Barnes didn’t give us information about what happened? For how much we pay him? He must have a death wish.”

“Times are different now.” Lev swirls his whiskey in his glass. “The cops aren’t helping like they did back in our father’s day.”

Years ago, a well-placed bribe would’ve opened every door we needed. Now, we’re stuck in a back-and-forth with the cops, and now the Feds, and it’s clear our hands are tied.

Luk lets out a frustrated huff. “The city’s gone soft. They don’t respect the old ways anymore. Can’t even pay off a detective without some bullshit. What’s the world coming to?”

Our sister Elena strides in, her usual quiet confidence wrapped around her like armor.

“Evening, boys.”

She’s been holed up in her tech cave for hours now, no doubt digging through databases we aren’t supposed to have access to. She drops a folder on the table, then puts her hands on her hips, a pleased smile on her face.

“I got what you wanted,” she says. “Pulled some strings—digitally speaking. Autopsy photos, preliminary reports, the works. Anything that looked like it might have information on what De la Rosa has been up to in Chicago, I pulled.

Lev raises an eyebrow, impressed. “You’re a miracle worker, El.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” She winks at the group.

I open the folder, flipping through the images. The bodies are a mess—gunshot wounds, knife slashes, all sorts of gruesome shit. But what catches my eye are the tattoos, dark ink on skin, barely visible under bruises and blood.

“Those are Mexican,” I say, tapping one of the victim’s tattoos, a fearsome-looking Santa Muerte. “Likely Colombian, too.”

Elena yanks back a chair and plops into it. “I thought you’d recognize them. Looks like we’ve got more than just locals coming after us. Colombians and Mexicans, side by side. That’s not a coincidence.”

Luk sits back as if the reality of the situation has just dawned on him.

“They’re forming an alliance,” he says.

“That’s right,” I add. “The jobs these pictures are from are surprise hits on local crime families, Mexicans and Colombians working together to get a foothold in Chicago.”

Elena’s face goes dark. “And there’s more, if you boys can handle it.”

Yuri chuckles. “You think there’s anyone at this table who isn’t used to the gruesome and dark?”

She shrugs. “Well, there’s gruesome, and there’s… this. Let me just show you.”

With that, she pulls the folder toward her and flips through the pictures.

“Here,” she says. “A local drug dealer.”

She passes the picture to Luk, and his face falls. Then the photo goes to Lev, then to Yuri. Each of them turns grim at the sight of whatever’s in the photo. Yuri passes the picture to me.

“That’s something you can’t unsee,” he says.