Page 15 of Scarlet Promise (Yegorov Bratva #4)

Everyone was friendly, so that’s not the right word. Jovial. Friends. That vibe. Who among those remaining had that kind of rapport with Melor?

There’s only one I can see.

Kion.

He was one of the men who refused to give me the time of day when I arrived. Kion isn’t so low that he needs this. He’s middling, someone who could coast on the job, so his snub of me definitely stemmed from loyalty to what I thought was my grandfather, a dead man, but is, in reality, to Melor.

So looking at it that way, with the focus pulled out a little, along with the fact that he didn’t go on the raid, and he never warmed to me, makes it odd that he’s still here.

Actually, it makes zero sense for a man like that to suddenly support me.

All the men like him left.

All of them.

The ones who remained are the ones who warmed a little—some more than others—and a couple of the higher-ups who trust Denis and were more neutral than rude to me.

Kion.

I need to find out more.

When I call him, my PI picks up immediately.

“New job?” he asks.

“I’m still looking for sightings of Melor, but?—”

“Nothing so far, unfortunately. If he surfaces, I’ll find him.”

“I know.” But I think if he’s deep underground, it may be out of the PI’s scope. “This is closer to home. Not as dangerous, I hope, but there’s a connection. I need you to follow one of my men, Kion. Sending the info through now.”

I send the files.

“Got them. You want me to do a deep background check? Because a quick glance shows this one as so clean it could have come off the back of a bleach bottle.” My PI sighs. “Always a dead give away. I’m betting a deep dig will turn up that dirt. Or something.”

I smile. “Reading my mind. He might be clean, might not, and sometimes people like to hide thigs they’re not proud of,” I say. Thing that might not be a loyalty issue. “But see if there’s anything I should know.”

“Got it.”

After the call, I sit back and read through Elisei’s file. Young, smart, got into trouble at school with gangs. Russian father, American mother. Father was with a different bratva, one that’s now been cut up and devoured by different people. One of those people being Demyan.

It gives me pause, but when I read further, it would have been around the change of power when Demyan’s father passed.

Elisei wasn’t eighteen and was still being a knucklehead.

He was recruited by Denis. Not personally but in a sweep of the gang he came down on for Aleks.

Elisei chose this path.

I’m impressed.

It took courage for him to come to me. Especially with a background in gangs where the wrong step or look can mean death.

The kid’s hungry, which I like, and he’s got loyalty built into him.

So, yeah, I’m impressed. But I’m also nervous about putting too much trust in anyone. Melor weakened the bedrock of my natural inclination to trust those who seem worthy of it. Now I’m second-guessing everything.

That’s not a bad thing.

With time, maybe Elisei will prove himself, like Denis will, like the others, and then I can lower my guard.

Until then…

I’ll play the waiting game.

It’s late when the phone on my desk buzzes. It’s my PI with an update.

“You’re right to be suspicious of this Kion. First, he’s lazy with encryption, which is a no-no. Hacking his texts and message service was easy.”

As usual, there’s no smugness or hint of anything other than an imparting of information.

“What did you find?” I ask.

“There’s a bunch of texts between him and Melor.”

“Fuck.”

No, that’s good. I know that. But to lose someone else, someone I let stay, is another blow.

“Anything useful?”

“Not unless it’s code. I’ll send through the transcript…” He taps on a computer. “Got it?”

A moment later, I get the email. “Yes.”

He’s right. Unless this is code, there’s nothing. Just friendly nonsense, the “how are you doing?” The “how’s everything?” At both ends, their responses are generic. “Fine.” “Good.” And so on.

He sends another email. “The dates go back a couple of weeks, too, and these are the latest. As far as it seems, it’s just always been the same kind of texts.

The most important thing of interest to you is where they’ve been sent from.

My guy’s good, and both phones are pinged to the Chicago area.

I’m gonna say he’s still here somewhere. ”

I thank him and end the call.

His last statement before he hung up is one that was already in my head.

It’s good Melor still seems to be in the area, but that could change.

Since Melor’s a professional like me, he’ll change to a burner soon enough.

Maybe he has already, but with the little he thinks of me, maybe not.

Let him, it might make him a little slower on doing things, and it just might work in my advantage. If not…I’ll find the prick.

What I want to know are his plans, because that might help narrow the field.

I’m not sure if he’s planning another attack or to run and regroup.

Both those options will end up in the same place—him coming for the Belov Bratva.

But how long and when are variables I can’t fathom.

Sooner rather than later. But sooner could be days, weeks, months.

Even a year or two. And later may mean a slow chipping at the remaining men if any go to Melor.

But I’m betting not. They’ll go to Simonov or elsewhere.

If Melor builds his own thing, then we’d have to track it down, wherever he had it set up, and then think about, if we couldn’t get to him, infiltrate his people to reach him that way. And he could wait a decade.

That seems out of the realm of possibility, but I’ve seen others play that kind of waiting game.

I rub my temples.

It doesn’t matter.

What matters is being proactive and finding him first. I’m not sitting back, so his plans are immaterial.

He’s in Chicago.

It gives me a place to start.

I pull up the files of my remaining men, and I call Elisei to my office since he’s on duty. When he arrives, I look at him, take him in.

He seems like a good guy. Seems .

I hold on to that word—seems.

“Thank you for your help and bravery. Your loyalty hasn’t gone unnoticed. Good and bad, I always notice things, and this…this is good. I reward good.”

“Thank you, sir. I stuck around because I believe in a strong bratva, one that goes places, makes changes.”

I bite back my smile. “We’re not a charity group.”

“Yes, I know. But there are destructive organizations out there. Those that stab members in the back, that breed chaos and toxicity. I want to be proud of where I am. I want to be part of a strong and fair bratva.”

I know exactly what he means. That’s how I feel—felt—about Demyan’s.

“I want to be a leader,” he adds.

With a smile I glance at him once more. “I’ll consider it. Dismissed.”