Page 22 of Scarlet Promise (Yegorov Bratva #4)

Chapter Sixteen

ILYA

The nervous energy that sparks through my veins is off the fucking charts.

Some of it’s for Alina, who claims she’s good, but the rest is the need to bring down Simonov and Melor.

I want to make sure that I have them, quash them, make them pay.

Because once I do, once I make an example, take back control, and make my bratva a stable place, where I can grow my ranks and focus on money and my networks beyond what comes in from the Russian branch that functions separate to the American one, then I can prove to Demyan I’m worthy.

And get my Alina back with me.

It sticks deep in my side like a broken sword that I have to prove myself to the very man I’ve built up and been there for. But she is his sister, and I don’t really expect anything different.

I’ve spent the morning making calls, dragging in obscure favors, blasting apart ones I wanted to keep for other things. But if one of these pans out, then it’s worth it.

I’ll take the hit.

My phone buzzes, and I pick it up, hitting answer. “Isaak.”

“Just tying up loose ends for my transition when the time comes. For the trial run,” he says. “The excuse of me taking leave hasn’t even gotten a blink. I’m not sure whether to be insulted or pleased.”

I laugh softly and bring up a message on my computer, where I have some of my encrypted messaging services running through. Nothing from that lead. Fuck.

“They know how hard you work,” I say. “Anything more from Chase?”

“That’s why I’m calling. Nothing yet, but he says anything you get, send it to him. He’s going to send you some real dark web encrypted shit in an email. Follow the instructions, and you can communicate with him directly.”

“Nothing more on the burner?”

“Not yet,” Isaak says. “He might have a second one, but Chase thinks it’s more likely he’s staying low. But he’s watching it.”

I take a sip of my coffee. “I’m gonna need some help. One of the higher-ups, Denis, is running a number of different operations, so I don’t want to change that. There are a lot of different cogs outside here, so…”

“Business as usual?”

“I don’t want to make that look different. Things are already scaled back, which can’t have escaped notice, but there are always reasons for things like that,” I say. “I want to concentrate on finding these fuckers.”

“Didn’t you say there was a kid?”

I sigh. “If I trust him.”

“So do.” I can almost hear the shrug in his voice. “You’ll never know if you can or can’t if you don’t take a risk. Get him to help.”

After we hang up, I take my cup and pace the room.

Isaak’s right. Utilizing Elisei is a smart idea. Trust isn’t blind, or it shouldn’t be. I learned that bitter lesson with Melor.

I can lick my wounds and build barriers against everything, or I can learn.

And as much as my natural inclination leads me to think I should have questioned the trust I placed in Melor, I know that’s pure hindsight speaking.

Because I walked into a bratva handed to me by the previous pakhan.

As his second, Melor’s job was to carry out his boss’s desires.

It wasn’t like I stormed in and took over.

Should I have been a little more reticent?

I don’t know.

Inside, perhaps. But that sort of thing shows. A transition of power was all it was meant to be. If Melor had been on the up and up, then any reticence from me could have had a worse effect.

Point is, there’s milk on the ground, and the only thing to do about it is to clean it up, not sit around and cry.

With Elisei, I can test the waters legitimately.

I call him and request his presence.

He doesn’t take long to respond or turn up.

“I’m trying to track Melor, gather intel on where he might be or those who know him. And I need help.”

I see it in his eyes, the light of opportunity, the eagerness to help prove himself.

“Yes, sir. I don’t mingle with him, or didn’t, but there are places you might not know about. Some of his contacts, perhaps.” He holds his breath, as though gauging if he’s overstepped.

When I don’t react, he goes on.

“We all have them, as I’m sure you know. People who might help, those who grease wheels or provide information.”

“I know how it works. If you have an idea of these people, go ahead.”

He frowns. “I’ve accompanied him on a few of the rounds. Most of us have. I can ask the others…?”

“Not yet. Just use the office in there.” I point to the open door where Melor’s office used to be. “I’ve looked on the computer, but if there’s anything, go ahead.”

As he does his job, I do other work, listening in.

While he’s eager with me, he pulls the contrite soldier out of the bag for some, checking up on those who are waiting for us to collect, and being the cool, young up-and-comer in the ranks with others who are waiting for us to set up further meetings.

He makes notes, and as I reach to answer my phone, I think I may have made a good choice.

The phone call is a dead end, but I’m strangely buoyed. The air has a buzz as we work through the day, through the lunch that Svetlana serves, and through meetings I can’t avoid.

One is with Denis, who gives me an update and a nod of approval at Elisei working away. He wanders into Melor’s old office, picks up a notepad, turns, and grins at me.

Then he comes back out. “A good soldier with ambition. He’s got a list running of who’s who, including the meetings we’ve pushed back, and informants he thinks we can use or shouldn’t.”

“Proactive.”

Denis grunts. “We’ll get him, and then we can build this to what it should be.”

After he leaves, I make another call, this time to an informant whose name is familiar. Mikhail. Fuck, it’s one of Demyan’s.

The man works for Simonov and must feed his brother information, who, in turn, passes it on the sly to Demyan.

Demyan’s always liked to keep a finger on pulses he doesn’t do business with, just to get a general lay of the land, and his informant’s brother’s a good, layered way in.

Mikhail gives me his brother’s details on the proviso that he’s kept out of it all. Fine by me since I don’t particularly want Demyan knowing I contacted an informant of his. Not in this climate.

I call Mikhail’s brother, Vladimir.

I tell him that this is between him and me and nothing to do with anyone else, including his brother. If he can’t agree to that, I walk.

“Very well,” he says in Russian. “I’ll talk to you. But this is Simonov, and while I’m low down, I know things. He’s a man who will kill me if he finds out, so yes, I’ll talk in exchange for protection and a whole lot of cash.”

I think about it. He hasn’t said a thing to raise any flags, since asking for money is standard.

But I’m also not na?ve. I need to make sure there’s something here.

“If what you have to say is worth money, I’ll pay.”

“And if not?” Vladimir asks.

“You know how this works. You walk away. If you need to escape, I will help, but no cash for bad information.”

He falls silent. “There’s a bar in Streeterville where we can meet.”

“I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

At first, I don’t see Vladimir when Elisei and I arrive.

I don’t know what he looks like, but he’s not here. No one is we can see, apart from a barfly who’s of no importance, and the bartender. We’re on time, so maybe he’s running late.

Or maybe he’s hiding in the shadows, watching.

Role’s reversed, I might do the same, get a feel for the lay of the land.

I order a drink, as does Elisei. A bourbon for me and a vodka for him. The bar’s dark, a dive, and a good place to meet.

Elisei taps my arm. “In the far corner.”

I follow his gaze.

Vladimir. I’d bet money on it. He sits slouched, hand around a beer he’s not drinking, and he’s nervous as shit.

His hand’s wrapped tight, knuckle’s white, and though he’s presenting the illusion of relaxed, every muscle is bunched.

He half sits up when he sees me, so we head over.

Elisei sits at the table in front of the booth so he can observe the empty bar. I sit across from Vladimir.

The man’s jumpy and constantly looks over his shoulder. All he needs is a tin-foil hat to go with his paranoia.

Then again, maybe I’d be the same, given the reputation Simonov has.

“Talk.”

He picks at the label on his beer bottle. “I hear things,” Vladimir says. “Part of the job. They never see the little people.”

It sounds like Simonov isn’t the nicest of employers. I don’t care, not beyond the fact it might make him even more willing to spill whatever he has.

“I’ve heard whispers recently,” Vladimir says.

Elisei scans the area with an alertness that doesn’t show in his casual demeanor.

When music starts, Vladimir shoots a look over his shoulder.

“My man here is keeping an eye out. First sign of trouble, we’ll know. Talk,” I say. “You’ve heard whispers?”

He answers in Russian. “About you. Simonov’s offering a reward for anyone who takes you down.”

Fuck. That’s not what I want to hear, but I’m also not surprised.

“He’s been bragging that it should be easy, considering your bratva’s in tatters anyway,” Vladimir continues. “But you’re aligned with the Yegorov Bratva, aren’t you?”

I don’t answer that because he knows. I think he’s trying to keep us here, trying to prolong this moment, but I think it’s more about preservation. He doesn’t have the air of a man out to betray others.

“Anyone shown any interest in the proposition?”

“I wish I knew. I can listen out, but those kinds of conversations will be one-on-one.”

Of course they are. “Anything else?”

“I’m not sure it’s of interest.”

“Talk,” I say.

And he does.

It’s clear he wants out, to get away from the Simonov Bratva. Even if he wasn’t betraying Simonov, there’s no potential to rise through the ranks there. Simonov clearly has his high-ups and his soldiers, who are nothing more than fodder.

The things he tells me aren’t of much help, a few places he knows about that Elisei puts into his phone, places we could check out as potential hiding places for Melor, but they are in Chicago city limits. Still, I don’t hold much hope.

I hand over an envelope with a very generous amount inside. “Your money, and if you’re interested, perhaps we can talk when this is over.”

His eyes widen. “Th-thank you.”

Elisei and I leave, not saying much until we get into the SUV.

“Thoughts?” I ask.

“He seems on the up and up. I think he’d jump on the job if you offered him one,” he says.

“Agreed.”

If we survive , I think. Because the thing is, without Demyan, I’m nothing in terms of fighting power. At least not at the moment with my ranks depleted.

But he’s not about to help me.

And I’m not about to ask.

So I’m not exactly sure what to do. I could sit back and hope it’s a bluff, leave Alina in the safe hands of her brother while I wait and see what Simonov does, and continue my mission to bring him and Melor down on my own.

Of course, this new information changes things.

I knew on some level Simonov would want my bratva. There’s want that comes with negotiations and buyouts. There’s want that comes in the form of an alliance or a merger. Then there’s war and ambushes.

If he thinks he can just take me, then I can’t sit back, build my ranks, hunt down Melor, and then have a showdown with Simonov.

This is all going to happen all at once, and without troops, I’m at a great disadvantage.

I’m going to need more men.

That’s the endgame here.

If there’s an attack, I need men.

But there’s only one option. And it isn’t good.

Santo.