Page 3 of The Brigadier

They were Mom and Pop organizations rich in culture, something I craved to keep alive. Most were at this point big business not welcomed by the old guards. I’d grown up here. I’d spent years playing outside on the streets, going to the corner candy store and ice cream parlor when I was a kid. It had been mostly safe, had people I could relate to and who didn’t make fun of my accent and honestly, had been an incredible place to grow up.

They were also fiercely loyal to Vadim, given his generosity.

We were so different from the thugs over at the Kaskov Bratva, a much smaller yet savage group who usually kept a low profile in the southern part of the state. They’d alienated everyone around them.

Maybe the difference was that I also owned extremely lucrative corporations, including part interest in a jewelry store that fronted for the sale of South American diamonds direct to wealthy buyers. That had made me a billionaire along with the Pakhan and his Councilor.

And more sophisticated than the thugs.

“And if I recall, yours barely gets by,” I teased. He’d coined himself the Pakhan of Los Angeles, taking control in areas gangshad once nearly destroyed. Because he’d used his money to renovate everything from infrastructure to buildings, adding two different quaint artistic villas catering to different cultures, he was more of a hero than a villain to the Los Angeles people.

My, how crime syndicates had changed over the years.

“You are hysterical. Take it on the road,” he growled.

The strangled moan made me turn my head, glaring at my Capo. “Keep him quiet, for fuck’s sake,” I said after placing my hand over the speaker. I’d taken the phone call in the kitchen of one of the restaurants I owned, holding a gun while two of my men held a goddamn traitor who’d not only stolen money from me, but had even dared come into my restaurant with his buddies to eat pizza. The man had signed his own death warrant.

So fucking be it.

It was almost five o’clock somewhere. I’d grab a hefty drink after this before heading home.

Danny rolled his eyes while Maxim grunted and took the opportunity to smack the man in the head with his gun. He adored violence, something that often worried me.

“Hey, so I wanted to let you know Daniella, Chantel, and I are waltzing into town for a few days.”

“Oh, really. Invading my Pakhan’s territory? And I learn something new about you every day. You waltz.”

“I’ll waltz your ass off when I get there. I’m not a fool, my brother. I like living and I adore LA. But I might have some business with a bigwig East Coast group that wants to invest in one of my corporations. Plus, Chantel is moving out to New Yorkmuch to my chagrin. I just want to give her a good sendoff. You know?”

Chantel. I hadn’t seen his adopted daughter for at least a decade, maybe longer. Hell, I’d bounced the girl on my knee at the last family reunion. Before that, I’d curled up with her reading her stories. “Didn’t she just graduate high school?”

Vissarian burst into laughter. “Bro, where you been? You’re getting old as shit. She graduated college with a master’s in advertising and a secondary one in marketing. That girl is smart as a fucking whip. Still, she got a job with some two-bit firm in Manhattan and that pisses me off. Why does she need to be two thousand miles from home?”

“Because she’s an adult and you’re an overbearing father.” Which was true. I was still in shock that she was what, twenty-four or five? Where the fuck had time gone?

“You really need to take your comedy act on the road. We’ll be in town later tomorrow. The next night, I have the backroom of the Grill House booked. I invited just a few friends, so I want you to come.”

“You don’t have any friends. You mean you invited your clients or hopeful clients and their wives and mistresses, maybe a couple other people to fill in so you could wine and dine them.”

“E-xact-ly.”

“Your daughter doesn’t get her brains from you.” No, she got them from her beautiful mother, who’d been lucky enough to have Vissarian as her champion if only by accident. I heard all about my brother finding the woman’s very dead and long since dismembered ex-husband beating the shit out of her. If therewas one thing we agreed on in our rather dangerous, brutal family, it was that women were precious, not punching bags.

I wanted to see my brother, but I loathed social events. They made my skin crawl. Still, I could suffer for a decent rare steak and a nice visit. “What time?”

“Seven sharp, my man. You don’t know Daniella. She turns into a tigress when anyone is late to anything she organizes.” He growled like a beast and all I could do was laugh. “It’ll be good to see you.”

“You too, bro. Safe flight.” After ending the call, I allowed my thoughts to drift to when we were growing up. Brighton Beach was known for blended families. It was the norm. We’d been close. When he’d moved, I’d been devastated as a kid. But Vissarian was years older and had wanted to spread his wings.

And boy, had he ever.

I shoved my phone into my pocket and placed my weapon on one of many stainless-steel counters. My jacket was confining as fuck today. Granted, it was warm outside for an October day, the kitchen nearly suffocating given I’d interrupted dinner time preparation, but this wasn’t going to take long. I had a team outside ready to handle the cleanup quickly, not that I usually left but so much in the way of bloodshed and gore. That wasn’t my style.

But today, I had to admit I was pissed. Royally pissed. This guy I’d literally brought up from a street rat to a guy who had clout. He had men who respected him. And he’d fucked it up, why? Drugs. In my mind, they were the bane of existence in America. We didn’t handle drugs. We didn’t allow them in our ranks. I’d experimented a few times until my father had set me straight.

And you never, ever wanted a Russian man to take out his frustration on you.

“Charlie. Do you understand why you’re here, your face swollen and your gut hurting?” I asked rather casually for how I felt.