He enjoyed Vasily’s amusement for a moment before the buzz of his phone interrupted. His uncle took his out at the same time and they both frowned after reading the text.
“Fire?” they said at the same time, both nodding.
“Where?” Maks asked.
“The dumpster behind the dealership in Garden City.” Alek and his uncle had bought the Mercedes dealership a couple of years ago.
“Serious?”
“No. Probably some kids fucking around.”
Maks’s phone chimed while Alek was talking.
“Or it could be that goddamn fucker yanking our chains because he’s a gutless prick who’s too afraid to stand before us and deal with his problems like a man.”
Without needing to be told, they got that Maks’s eloquent reference was to the mole in the Tarasov Bratva. They’d recently learned the disease among them had been stirring shit much longer than they’d initially thought. An NYPD contact of Vincente’s had found out calls about their business dealings had started almost two years ago. The result? Attention. A few minor arms deals were busted. A drive-by was labeled a Tarasov job. An extortion case that failed to gain its legs was also pigeon-holed as theirs.
The mole was also attacking on a personal level. Rivals and new-found enemies had recently become privy to information that couldn’t have come from anyone who didn’t personally know Alek and those closest to him.
Vasily’s sigh spoke volumes. “What is it?” he questioned Maks.
“Coincidentally, my guys just put out a fire in the dumpster behind the shooting range.” Maks and Micha had bought the range a while back, and all the boys enjoyed visiting the tightly run ship. Maks’s fiancé and the other women of their household had also taken a liking to the place.
“Could be a fluke,” Dmitri suggested.
“Could be.” Vasily sounded thoughtful. “If not, this would confirm our suspicions about there being more than one thorn in our side. Because the range and dealership aren’t close enough for one man to be able to start two fires simultaneously.”
“They find something in yours?” Maks asked, reading a follow-up text. “There was an animal in ours. The boys said it smells like BBQ with hair.” His lip curled.
Alek texted one of the security guards who’d been doing a check inside the building just before the fire was discovered. He received a message from the same guard at the same time.
“Tom says now that they can get close, they’ve found remains. The four legs sticking out prove they’re not human.”
“Tell them to follow protocol,” Vasily said, rhyming off the basics. “Contact their avtorityet, no authorities, get a team in to identify what materials were used and, in these cases, what was cooked.”
Alek and Maks sent off instructions even though their people knew the drill by now. One always called the captain in charge, and one never involved the authorities. Since the organization had forensic people on their payroll—two of which currently worked for the NYPD—when questions came up, they were usually the ones getting that late night phone call.
A shadow fell across them, and Alek felt his coat settle on his shoulders.
Vincente Romani, aka the Reaper, waited until Alek slipped his arms into the sleeves before handing over a pair of leather gloves. V’s dark eyes were narrowed, his long black hair hanging past his shoulders.
“We gotta bounce. Got a call about a dumpster fire at a project in Cambria Heights. Fuckin’ kids need to find better ways to spend their time.”
Vincente owned a small construction company that his girlfriend, Nika, was slowly taking over and doing a damn fine job of running alongside V’s cousin, Mario.
“It was him,” Maks muttered, Vincente’s revelation confirming it. Three fires couldn’t be a fluke.
“Don’t blame bored kids,” Vasily said to V, his tone a combination of apology and anger. “It’s our issue. He, or rather, they, also hit two locations of ours.”
“And, apparently, our salvage yard in St. Albans,” Gabriel added, coming up on the group.
Vasily looked away, his jaw rolling. “I don’t want any of you going to the sites personally. Our people will take care of it. Now move on, I won’t give air time to this bastard.”
Vincente must have agreed because he immediately asked Alek, “Where is she?”
“Our friend is generously giving his princessa some time to wrap her head around the fact that he’s back in her life.” Maks’s answer came with an arrogance Alek didn’t think he’d have been able to pull off.
Vincente threw a fortune cookie at him and said to Alek, “You need us, call. The two of them could be completely innocent,” he tacked on, proving he understood the dark suspicions lurking in the back of Alek’s mind. “Don’t let your imagination fuck you too hard. Get the facts first.” He thumped Alek on the shoulder and stepped aside to make way for the boss of the Moretti family.