“I don’t have much,” I admit. “Not beyond what Santo told me. He said you often can spot a Simonov man by his cross tattoo on his inner left wrist. Otherwise… Most of the men in my bratva are loyal to Melor. They’re not going to want to rat him out.”
“Rat protection?” He sneers.
“Demyan,” I warn.
“You might want to fix that situation with men loyal to another. A leader who can’t control his bratva isn’t really a leader at all. Is he?”
With great effort, I ignore him. Whatever fallout may be in progress here isn’t my concern. Neither is a blame game or a pissing contest.
There’s only one thing that matters.
Alina.
Getting mymalyshkaback safe, unharmed. Alive.
That’s all that matters.
“Not helping. We need to get a game plan. Melor took my car, so maybe he’ll lead us to her. If he hasn’t dumped it.” “So he has her.”
“Melor was with me when Alina was taken. He probably dumped the car. I’ve got my PI on it, looking out for Melor and for Simonov, along with any of his higher-ups.”
A muscle works in Demyan’s jaw, and I’m pretty fucking sure he’s thinking of murdering me right now.
“What are you trying to say?” he asks.
He can’t be this obtuse.
“I’m saying, Demyan, that she’s not with Melor. He didn’t take her.”
“The man orchestrated it.”
I frown. “And ordered the killings of what he sees as his own men? At the gate, in the yard? No. Another car came in. Whoever it was killed everyone in their way. That smacks of Simonov.”
“Does it?”
But Demyan knows. He’s not the type of pakhan to only know those he works with, those he classes as enemies. He’s aware of others, ranks, reputations. Degrees of trustworthiness and recklessness. Demyan knows it all. Even if he only knows of them in the periphery, he can easily decide if he wants to know more or to avoid crossing paths.
This is different. Someone stepped into his sandbox by taking his sister.
“Think about it, Demyan. If he wants to live, he won’t exactly know where she is. But he knows who has her.”
“This Simonov,” Demyan mutters.
“Simonov is, as you know, a man who has no morals, no value of life outside his own,” I say.
Demyan narrows his eyes and sets his glass down. “Melor told you what Simonov is, and Santo said he’d help. Who’s to say that Santo and Melor aren’t in this together? How sure are you it’s this Simonov Bratva?”
“Because I’ve got proof Melor was working with Simonov. He confessed.”
I play the recording.
Demyan growls. “He might be bluffing.”
“Does that sound like a man bluffing to you?” I ask. “Because to me, it sounds like Simonov is the real culprit.”
“How sure are you?”
“I’m one hundred percent sure this is the truth. I’m one hundred percent sure that Simonov has Alina.”
