Page 135 of Possess Me

Don Bruni had been lucky his entire organization hadn’t been annihilated.

But he’d come out swinging and rumor on the streets of Chicago was that they were interested in taking over other areas of the country.

Las Vegas had been mentioned.

Perhaps by the Russians back home.

But which Russian faction were we dealing with? There were a half dozen that could be the problem. Russia was a huge country, for fuck’s sake, and violence was necessary just to survive. I was hoping either my father or uncle could shed some light on who’d taken a step above the others.

I also needed to know what the fuck the Hoffman Group had to do with any of this. Why such a huge charade, if that’s what the talk of joining forces had been?

Now that everything had settled in, I was angrier than I’d been before.

When I pulled up to the gate of my father’s house, I was more irritated than anything. My father liked to talk in riddles.

Not today.

Today he would answer direct questions.

Or else.

I smirked as the guard waved me through. No matter his age or my position within the Bratva, my father was clearly a man of authority. As soon as I drove up to the house, I realized he already had company.

Including my Pakhan. Why Mikhail hadn’t warned me was something I couldn’t question. Even my uncle’s vehicle was parked in the driveway alongside another car that seemed to be a rental.

However, whoever the guest was had brought security with him. There were soldiers in suits standing outside.

This should be fascinating.

While they didn’t question me when I climbed out, I could tell they were on guard, weapons positioned in holsters and easy to see given their open jackets.

If they thought they could intimidate me, they were dead wrong.

What the fuck was going on?

Before I had a chance to knock, the housekeeper who’d been with the family for decades opened the door, nodding as she always did.

“They’re waiting for you in the den.”

“Who isthey, Marta?”

“Your uncle and the Pakhan and three men I don’t know.”

That told me everything I needed. If my instincts were correct, Ludolf, Pierre, and Emilio had made a trip overseas.

This should prove interesting.

“You’re late,” my father said by way of a greeting. He was dressed as if this was a traditional business meeting in a tailored suit that I would guess he’d gotten from Italy.

Just like Fallon had accused me of.

Mikhail appeared weary while Uncle Boris was clearly angry. But at whom, the interruption of the three men from the Hoffman Group or something else altogether?

“Unexpected wardrobe change.” Given every man had a drink in their hand, I headed to the bar to pour a chilled vodka. I had a feeling I’d need something cold and smooth to handle whatever bullshit would be tossed out.

The game was beginning to smell.

“This is important,” my father spit out, clearly annoyed I was ten minutes late. I certainly wouldn’t share why. While headored my mother, business had always come first and always would.