Page 24 of Mafia and Scars

“Whose are they?”

“I don’t know yet. But they seem to be freelancers. Ex-military.”

“That’s not good,” he huffs.

“No shit.”

“Well, do you have any good news?” Nikolai asks.

“The ocean views are nice in LA.”

Nikolai lets out a laugh, and I know he’s itching to flip me off. “Anything else we can go on, Viktor?”

“No.” And that’s the worst part. There’s nothing. No leads. No information.

“Come back to the Kremlin.”

“Now you give the orders?”

“Fuck off. Grigory is going to want a debrief as soon as possible.”

“I’ll be there in a few hours.” And I hang up. Because there’s nothing left to talk about. I like everything to be short, sweet, and to the point.

I lean my head back against the seat. There are many variables and unknowns that created this situation. I hate it. No, I loath it. The unknown in equations. And in this world, those mean that it’s only a matter of time until things come to a head. And it’s never with a whimper but a bang. An explosion that’s messy, bloody, and deadly. “Fuck!”

I start the car and let out a deep breath. I’m at a ten right now. Too stimulated to be any good to anyone else. I pull out my phone and let the familiar melody from Tinkerbell’s video fill the car.

Once I’ve watched it and calmed down, then I’ll start the journey back to Vegas.

But then and only then.

Because whoever ordered this shitshow is likely to have hired freelancers so that they could keep their identity secret. And the one thing I’m sure about right now is that secrets mean danger.

The wailing starts early.Four days. Geliy has been here for four fucking days, and it’s the same every single morning. I wish Babulya wasn’t visiting one of her friends right now. My grandmother would definitely know how to keep the baby happy, but she’s been away since before Geliy arrived, and she won’t be returning for another couple of days.

I groan, putting my hands to my ears to try and block out the sound. But it doesn’t work. It never does.

After a few minutes of the noise, I toss the blankets from my legs and storm toward the door. Two long strides and I’m pounding on Geliy’s door. He needs to get the hell up and feed or change the baby or something.

But there’s no answer to my pounding.

Nothing.

Nothing but the wailing.

I creak open the door a fraction. And freeze.

The room isn’t big. A queen-size bed, two end tables, a lamp, and a dresser. But that’s not what I’m staring at. It’s the lack of an adult anywhere.

Leon wriggles in the center of the bed, wailing. The smell of a soiled diaper fills the room, and a new rush of anger floods me.

“Geliy?” I bark out.

But still, there’s nothing. What’d he do? Jump out the fucking window?

“Alright, alright,” I sigh, moving toward the kid to comfort him before he wakes the whole fucking Kremlin. But from the sound of stomping feet down the hallway, he’s already done it.

I reach out to him, but I suddenly still.