Page 113 of Fall of a Kingdom

How much longer did we all have together?

Chapter39

SASHA

Fuck.

I was back in New York, dogged by memories of mistakes I’d made. This concrete jungle chewed up lesser men and spit them out like tobacco from a ball player’s mouth.

I felt both alive and dead here.

“The Slovakians are pissed,” Dimitri said into the phone.

“I’m sure they are,” I replied as I descended the staircase of the jet.

“What should I tell them?” Dimitri demanded.

“Tell them nothing.”

“I can’t tell themnothing. I have to give them something. We don’t want to lose their business. If they take their business elsewhere—”

“Are the fires under control?” I interrupted.

“Da. Armen checked in. He’s paid off the port police and they’re giving us some breathing room. There will be an investigation, but it won’t turn anything up, no matter what.” He paused. “Are you sure you want to come down here?”

“Why? Because I almost died in a fire?” I said in a droll tone. I’d never tell my first in command that I still had nightmares about that fateful night. Showing weakness was never an option. “What about you, Dimitri? You were in a hit and run and yet you still get into cars. You even drag race,da?”

He sighed. “All right, Sasha. I get your point.”

I wasn’t even off the tarmac yet and I felt the frenetic energy of New York pulsing in my veins. It was palpable and I sensed it like a forceful entity. I’d grown accustomed to the serenity of Martha’s Vineyard and the few weeks I’d gotten to spend in Scotland had relaxed me even further.

The city lights glowed against the dark sky, and I was momentarily entranced as I walked toward the car. I’d been awake for hours and I was ready to sleep, but there was still more to be done.

My driver opened the town car door for me, and I slid inside the sleek comfort of the sedan. He closed the door and then climbed into the driver’s seat up front.

“I’ll be there soon,” I said and hung up.

It only took about thirty minutes to get to the ports due to the late hour I had arrived, and traffic was minimal. When I got out of the car, tar and oil scented the air. Hazy smoke filled the sky.

I wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted me. Four of my cargo ships were decimated.

It was one thing to know you’d been hit. It was another to realize you were bleeding out from a metaphorical bullet wound.

This was equivalent to a bullet wound to the chest.

Dimitri and a few other rough men were on the pier having a smoke, talking in low tones in Russian. Dimitri saw me and came to me immediately.

“How many ships did we lose in Boston?” I asked.

“Seven.”

I exhaled. “I need to find a fight.”

Dimitri cracked his knuckles. “Let’s do it.”

We went searching for trouble. It wasn’t hard to find. By the time the sun was streaking up over the city, Dimitri and I were sitting on the edge of the pier, sharing a bottle of vodka. My knuckles were bloody and raw, and I had the beginning of a black eye.

“Do you feel better?” Dimitri asked.