“How bad?” I asked.
There was a moment of silence until Lev’s phone vibrated. “He’ll live. He’s at the safe house on Cedar.”
Nicklay took a sudden right turn, pointing us in the direction of the safe house.
“Any Italian’s injured? Killed?”
“No,” Lev said, sounding disappointed. We weren’t as bloodthirsty as the mafia was often portrayed in the media, but there were times when the enemy needed to be taken out. The Italians were proving themselves to be a problem.
The safehouse looked like any other residential home on a street lined with dozens of others. Freshly cut grass, a porch swing, and dark curtains pulled over all of the windows.
It was nearly ten o’clock at night, so the street was quiet, but it wouldn’t surprise me if some of the neighbors peeked through their curtains curiously. This house sat empty most of the time. The outside was maintained by a lawncare company, and the inside was kept dust-free by a weekly housekeeper.
The place had basic furnishings. A couch and love seat in the living room, a single bed and dresser in each of the three bedrooms, and the necessities in the kitchen to keep anyone staying here from starving for a couple of days. There was no decor, no personal touches. This wasn’t a home.
I was the first one through the door, breezing past one of Lev’s men who was in the living room and heading for the first bedroom down the hallway. Anton was there, laying on the bed, with our personal doctor bent over his leg.
“What do we have, doc?” I asked. There was no doctor-patient confidentiality in this business. I was the Pakhan, the man in charge, and I paid the doctor a hell of a lot of money to patch up wounds for us—enough money to get my questions answered.
“The bullet went through his leg, but it didn’t hit an artery. It’ll take time to heal, but he’ll be alright.”
The man didn’t look up from Anton’s leg as he spoke, his eyes focused on the sutures he was putting in. Anton was looking at me, but his eyes were glassy. Doc must have given him something for the pain.
“I’m glad to hear that,” I said simply. Walking out of the bedroom, I found Lev talking to his man in the living room, getting a blow-by-blow of the fight that occurred in the street. Nikolay was nowhere to be seen, but I knew he was around somewhere.
I pulled out my phone and went into the kitchen, making sure the refrigerator and pantry were stocked with food the way they were supposed to be. Anton would probably be here healing for a while, so I’d hire a nurse to take care of him. While I checked all that, my phone was pressed to my ear, ringing as I called my brother, Maxim. He was the only other man who held the high rank of spy in the Bratva, and I knew I could count on him to help me with my problem.
Maxim finally answered on the fourth ring, his voice gruff. “Maxim.”
I rolled my eyes. I knew who was on the other end of the damn line.
“I need your help.”
There was a beat of silence before he sighed. “Give me the details.”
So, I did, starting at the interruption of my poker tournament and ending in this safehouse.
“What do you need from me?” Maxin asked when I was done.
“I want you to try to find out whatever you can about what the Italians are up to. Things are escalating; they’re getting bolder. I can’t shake the feeling that they’re planning something big.”
“Are you worried about something specific at the moment?”
He knew me well. “I just don’t want them getting in the way of my plans. I’m finally putting the final pieces in place to get those weapons shipped here from Michigan.”
There was a gang in Detroit we were associated with. They’d been holding on to a large shipment for us for a few weeks. When the weapons arrived, we’d sell them for profit.
“I’m on it, big bro,” Maxim said, all confidence. “I’ll find out something and get back to you as soon as possible.”
That was all I could ask for at this point. If I was about to be involved in more fights with the Italians, probably ones that grew in violence, I needed any information I could get about them.
I was going to make them sorry they ever messed with me.