Chapter 13 - Shadows of the PastPeace in the underworld, however, is never permanent; it’s merely a ceasefire waiting for a breach.
Two months after the Vermont relocation, my perimeter sensors flagged a silent anomaly at the eastern gate. No explosions this time. No tactical trucks crashing through steel. Just a single, unmarked black sedan idling a hundred yards down the private road, its headlights cut.
I stood in my private study, the lights dimmed, watching through the thermal camera feed. The car door opened, and a lone figure stepped out, wearing a long trench coat, walking with a familiar, heavy limp.
Gennady Rostov.
The last remaining capo of the old Russian syndicate, a man who had supplied weapons to my father back when I was still learning how to hold a pistol.
Before my guards could intercept him at the threshold, I pressed the intercom. "Let him in. Alone."
Five minutes later, the heavy oak study door clicked open. Gennady stepped inside, smelling of stale vodka, winter frost, and old tobacco. His face was a roadmap of scars and broken promises.
"Daniel," Gennady croaked, lowering himself uninvited into the leather armchair opposite my desk. "You look healthy. Too healthy for a man sitting on a gold mine with no dragon to guard it."
"Gennady," I said, my voice flat, unmoving. "You're trespassing on private property. You have sixty seconds before my men turn your car into scrap metal."
Gennady let out a harsh, wet cough that sounded like grinding glass. "Let them try. I didn't come here to fight, boy. I came to warn you. The vacuum Viktor left... it attracted sharks from across the ocean. The Bratva board in Moscow isn't happy that you gave up the Brooklyn docks without a war. They think you're weak. They think Daniel Hale has gone soft because of a woman and a child."
I didn't blink. I didn't reach for the Sig Sauer resting in my shoulder holster. I simply leaned forward, resting my elbows on the mahogany desk, locking my eyes onto his bloodshot gaze.
"Let them think whatever they want, Gennady," I said softly, the quiet intensity in my voice dropping the temperature in the room by ten degrees. "Viktor thought the same thing. Look where he is now."
Gennady narrowed his eyes, studying me as if trying to find the frightened six-year-old boy who had lost his mother thirty years ago. He found nothing. Only ice.
"They're coming for you, Daniel," Gennady whispered, leaning forward. "Not with guns this time. Through the courts, through the federal banking regulations, through the people you love."
May you like
My chest tightened imperceptibly at the mention of the people I loved. But my face remained a mask of stone.
"Then tell them to bring extra paperwork," I replied, standing up to signal the end of the meeting. "Because unlike Viktor, I don't hide my sins behind a mask. I own them."
