Chapter 15: Beautiful Scar: Chapter 15

It’s strange how a door can be so distracting.

Whenever I’m in my suite, it’s always there, begging me to kick it down. Because I know Dasha’s always on the other side. My little, pretty wife, with her incredible figure and her thick braid. I want to wrap it around my fist as I fuck her face until she chokes.

I am a demented creature.

But the door. The goddamn door. I pace across my room, thinking about my wife waiting for me to come do my duty. I gave her two nights off, but we both know what has to happen.

Her body under mine, writhing as I fill her to the brim.

“Fucking door,” I snarl, going toward it, but hesitate as my phone starts to vibrate. It’s a little after eight at night, and I should be storming into my wife’s suite to get her pregnant so we can end this dance.

Instead, I answer. “What do you want?” I snap.

“Bro, you need to get down here.” It’s Arsen. Not who I expected. “The computer warehouse. Get here immediately.”

Whatever’s happening must be bad. I can hear it in his voice. “I’ll be there in ten.” When I hang up, I pause for only a moment.

That door will have to wait.

Alexan has the car pulled around by the time my gun’s loaded and holstered. He drives fast and doesn’t say much the whole way. I’m used to Damian chatting all the time, talking incessantly about movies he watched and music he likes, even under stressful situations.

That drove me crazy sometimes, but it was a part of his personality.

I miss him. He was a good driver, a loyal friend, and a competent soldier. We used to spend hours together, going all around the city, getting into trouble and pulling off jobs. He saved my life more than once, and I repaid the favor tenfold. We had a great working relationship, and I considered him a close friend.

His poor mother’s a mess. I’ll take care of her, but Damian was an only child. I doubt she’ll ever get past it, and that’s the tragedy of our way of life. We take these risks, live these violent fantasies, and sometimes death breaks the wrong way. Death takes the wrong man.

Damian’s gone. Murdered by the Irish. It was bad enough that they tried to take away my wife, but they killed a man I deeply respected on top of it.

I’m not the type to wallow in mourning, but I have a piece of Damian still caught in my chest, and I’m not sure if he’ll ever work himself free.

At least until my hands are drenched in Irish blood.

Alexan’s good at what he does. I can see a worthwhile partnership with him forming one day, but right now, he’s just too new. I respect his skills and his demeanor, but we don’t know each other well enough yet. I hope to fix that soon. Unfortunately, he’s been thrown into a volatile situation, and I have to trust that he can handle it.

I sink down in my seat, push away these depressing memories, and think about Dasha and that goddamn door instead until we reach the warehouse. It’s on the edge of the city, out in the more suburban area, not that far from the family mansion. The place looks like any other storage facility, just with more cameras and more barbed wire.

There are other cars. Several Brotherhood guards linger out front and nod as I walk past.

I spot Arsen waiting just in the lobby, speaking with some of the uncles. They greet me respectfully, and Arsen pulls me aside.

“How bad?” I ask him quietly. We walk together toward the large warehouse floor. Hundreds of racks filled with boxes stretch out into the distance.

“They knew where to look,” he says as we go straight toward the far corner. Most of the shipments that come through here are legitimate. Computer equipment, for the most part. Processors, graphics cards, shit like that. We have a Bitcoin mining operation running in the basement, using all the excess pieces we’ve imported over the years to cover up our real operations.

Those boxes are in shambles. Dozens of them are torn to pieces, left empty and tossed aside, their contents missing.

“How much?” I ask him, my jaw tightening with anger.

“Almost all of it.”

My feet go cold as his words sink in.

This can’t be happening.

One major pillar of our business is the drug trade. Cocaine, crystal, heroin, whatever sells. Minus fentanyl, since a dead customer can’t come back for more. But if it was all taken⁠—

“That’s going to set us back months,” I say, rage rushing through me.

“They came fast. Disabled two specific cameras. Cut a hole in the fence. Came straight here.” Arsen kicks a box, looking grim. “Sona’s already out talking to the other street bosses, trying to locate where they stashed it.”

I don’t even need him to say who it was. I already know, and I’m shaking with anger.

First, they try to kill my wife. Then they steal my fucking product.

The cockroaches are going to pay with their lives.

“There’s more,” Arsen says. He takes a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolds it. “This was left here.”

My name is scrawled at the very top. I stare down at the writing, my heart hammering in my ears.

Tigran, you shouldn’t have fucked with us. Now we’re going to get rich on your hard work, and we’re still going to murder that bitch of a Russian wife. Cheers to you, cocksucker. See you soon, Ciaran and Oisin.

I shove the paper back at Arsen. He takes it, folding it carefully, and stashes it away. I pace toward the empty boxes and rip one into pieces, tearing the thick cardboard until my forearms hurt. My brother watches silently until I’m finished.

“You have to kill them,” he says simply. No emotion in his tone. Only a direct order.

“I know that,” I say, already imagining their blood dripping between my fingers.

Their lives are already forfeit. They went after my fucking wife. I was hunting them down, but this is only making it worse.

This is a fucking embarrassment. It makes the whole Brotherhood look weak and ineffective. If the Irish can break in here and take what’s ours, then anyone else could do it too.

Which means I have to make an example of the fucking twins.

A bloody, ugly example. The sort of brutality the city will talk about for decades to come.

“Soon, Tigran. I have everyone out listening. Make sure that fake butler of yours has his spy network on it too.”

I nod at my brother grimly. “I’ll handle it,” I tell him, already shooting a text to Vito.

Put all your resources on finding Ciaran and Oisin. Top priority.

I shove my phone away only to realize with cold horror that Dasha is all alone back at the house.

Arsen’s saying something about a war, but I can’t listen anymore. I push past him and hurry toward the entrance, my heart racing. How could I be so stupid? There are guards back at my place, but the twins know where I live. Without me there to make sure she’s safe, I can’t trust anyone. I can’t even trust my own men.

Only I can protect her.

“Tigran, damn it, what the fuck?” Arsen grabs my arm before I can storm out the door.

“Dasha,” I say, and I must look fucking psychotic because even my hard-as-hell brother pulls back from me like I’m foaming at the mouth.

Arsen’s jaw tightens. “She isn’t Natalia. You know that, right? What happened to Nat⁠—”

I storm out of there, not bothering to reply. That name sets my whole body on fire, and I’m desperate to go see my wife, to make sure she’s safe. Fucking Natalia. It had been much too long since I’d thought of her, but now that girl’s ghost haunts me still. Each time I think I’ve moved past her, suddenly she returns.

Alexan looks up from his phone, startled. “Boss, what’s up?”

“Drive home,” I snap at him. “Drive fucking fast. And don’t talk. Hurry, break laws. Get me back home.”

Alexan’s face goes serious as he puts the car into gear. “I’ll get you there.”

The tires kick up dirt as we rush back to the house.