Leo releases a little hiss and sits up straighter in his seat. “They’re exiting the building.”
I pick up the set of binoculars nestled in the center console and aim them towards the window, watching from across the street as a group of drunken Zega idiots pour out the back exit of the Zanzibar club.
Lucky for us, the back parking lot here is a virtual ghost town at three in the morning. I really didn’t want to have to kill an innocent bystander. Although anyone hitting up this joint at this time of night is guilty of something.
With Días flanked by his men, the group of Zegas pass a beat-up Volkswagen Bug spray-painted red and black, Kozlov colors. The significance of the car’s colors hasn’t set in yet. But it will when they think back to this moment in time.
We wait till they are ensconced in their bullet-proof SUVs with strengthened and ballistic composite door panels. The idea isn’t to kill them, just to send a message, one that they are about to get loud and clear.
“Do it.” I give the command, and less than a second later, Leo’s thumb connects with the detonator.
The explosion is deafening. Glass and metal combust, scattering debris everywhere in a bright orange ball of flame. Safely ensconced on the other side of the road, the ground shakes beneath us, toppling a garbage can twenty feet away onto the hard pavement. A car alarm goes off. Shouts ring out as Zanzibar patrons and staff scatter in all directions. Some hightail it out the front entrance, others pour out of the back door in a panic. And just like that, the Zegas squeal out of the parking lot, not waiting around to ask or answer questions.
“Shit.” Leo whistles under his breath, turning away from the blazing car and fixing his potent gaze on me. “I’d say our work here is done.”
With police sirens blaring in the distance, I couldn’t agree more. But I need a second to revel in this moment: the Zegas running scared; fucking shit up with my brother like we did when we were coming up, not yet so burdened with responsibility; and a woman I’m addicted to waiting for me in my bed.
Throwing the car into drive, I slam my foot on the accelerator and peel out of the parking lot, heading straight for home.
* * *
The next night,shouts echo from the other side of my office door. A quick glimpse at the camera feed monitoring the hallway reveals exactly what I expected, even hoped for. Jorge is standing in front of my office, facing off with Yuri. Guess it didn’t take him long to figure out who was behind yesterday’s fiery message.
“Let him in, Yuri,” I call out as my hand seeks the pistol I always keep under my desk. I even have a special compartment for it. I give it one last check—six rounds of ammunition in the magazine and one round in the chamber, enough to do some serious damage if that’s what it comes to.
A moment later, the door to my office flies open, and Días stomps in. The thunderous look on his face tells me all I need to know.
“And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” I work to tamp down the smile that threatens to form on my lips.
“Just what the fuck are you playing at, Kozlov?” His hands slam down on my desk.
“Sit down.” My tone brooks no room for argument. We are on my turf, and I hold the power here. I gesture to the seat across from the desk. Standing gives him too much leverage if he’s going to attack. Not that he has a weapon on him, my men would have made sure of that. “Now tell me, what’s got your panties in a knot?”
With his back pin straight, Días lowers himself into the office chair opposite me. His eyes are dark and hooded, a sneer forming on his lips. “I think you know, Kozlov. Message received, loud and clear. And I’ll be sure to return the favor.”
I lean forward, my forearms on my desk. “Enough of this bullshit. Tell me what you’re really after. Why are you slinking around my nightclubs, having one of your men harass Bianca? Make your move already, I’m sick of fucking around.”
His eyes flicker with barely leashed violence, and I wonder how many men have been subject to The Madman’s evil eye and lived to tell the tale. But the fucker doesn’t intimidate me in the least.
“I told you,parce, I don’t give a fuck about her.” He leans back in his chair, his eyes zero in on the picture of Bianca and me on my desk. Kira took it on our wedding day and had it framed as a gift. “She’s your problem now.”
That’s right. Bianca is mine.
Mine to worship and torture as I see fit.
Mine to protect, especially from the scum rotting a hole in the seat across the desk from me.
“You’re a liar. And I’m watching you. Every move you make, I’m watching and waiting, and when you fuck up—and you will—everything you’ve worked so hard for is going to explode in your face like that unfortunate Volkswagen Bug.”
His humorless laugh skitters down my spine. “But you forget, our family’s partnership is more important than any pussy. We have an empire to grow, and I won’t be distracted by a nice pair of tits and a fat ass.”
“Get the fuck out of my office. You’re not part of this empire,parce,” I shoot back. I’m sick of him calling me dude, like we’re friends or some shit. “You’re just a jackal that feeds upon the carcasses of what we leave behind.”
He holds up his hands in mock deference. Like a volcano, his exterior is hard rock, but inside, he’s pure molten lava. “You’re turning soft, Daniil Kozlov. The stories I’ve heard about you are legendary. Fucking and sucking your way around New York. You’d never let a woman lead you around by the balls. What happened?” He tsks loudly.
My hand dips below the desk and without hesitation, my pistol is aimed at his head.
“She happened, you motherfucker.”