Chapter 4: Chapter 2

Two weeks earlier

De Santi Estate, near Taormina, Sicily

“I’m so sorry for calling this early, boss,” my IT specialist says on the other end of the line. “But, it happened again.”

I rear back, my cock slipping out of my latest hookup. She’s sprawled in front of me on the desk, her red hair spilling over the edge. I squeeze the phone at my ear. “What?”

“I don’t understand how,” Mitch continues in a slightly hysterical tone. “We reinstalled all the firewalls, and I had four guys spend the entire night trying to breach them. Everything seemed solid.”

“It wasn’t fucking solid if someone got into our system again,” I snarl.

“Rafael? What’s going on, love?” Constanza pants, looking at me from between her widened legs. Her lips are parted in a flirtatious smile. However, instead of my face, her eyes are fixed on the spot just above my collarbone.

“Get dressed.” I turn around and walk across my office to the open balcony doors. “What did they do this time, Mitch?”

“Created a payment order that initiated a wire transfer from our marketing account to a children’s church choir in Seattle. But it was only twenty dollars, hardly an inconvenience, yes?”

My hand tightens on the balcony doorframe. “We’re the largest personal security company in this part of the world, and someone has been hacking into our systems for months, making us look like morons. You consider that a minor inconvenience?”

“Yes . . . I mean, no. Of course not.”

My gaze passes over the treetops and the lush greenery of the garden below, all the way to the horizon where the early morning sunlight reflects off the endless expanse of the sea. Further down the coast, my two yachts are anchored in a small marina, swaying on the gentle waves.

When Guido and I fled Sicily twenty five years ago, we had no paperwork to be in the US, so there was no means for me to get a legal job, especially as a minor. Pickpocketing on the streets, I’d barely been able to feed my brother. My only choice was to reach out to the local Albanian clan. They agreed to take me and my brother in. But, they set very clear terms. They’d provide the necessary IDs, a roof over our heads, and food so we wouldn’t have to scrounge for scraps, and, in return, I’d have to do their bidding for the next five years, no questions asked. By the time I accepted Dushku’s offer, I hadn’t eaten in nearly two days. Everything I “earned” went toward rent for the room in the rickety garage that served as our home. Faced with either starvation or accepting a deal from the devil, I picked the latter.

At first, I was given errand jobs—running messages too important to risk sending electronically, dealing coke, or making dead bodies disappear. Then, I got assigned to Jemin, to be his backup. As one of Dushku’s enforcers, Jemin was more than happy to take a back seat and have me do all the dirty work for him. Beatings. Torture. And of course, eliminating whoever Dushku deemed expendable, whether they were inside his own organization or someone on the outside who simply stood in his way. I bartered five years of my life and a large part of my soul, to make sure Guido never again went to bed hungry. And then, I spent the next fifteen years building my empire.

It took me two decades to get where I am now. From pitiful scum living on the streets, surviving on crumbs and whatever I could lift from an unsuspecting pocket, to a man whose name demands respect. And inflicts fear. I did it all with my own two hands—clawing and taking—literally stepping over corpses. I might have left my home country as a beggar, but I returned as a ruler. I’m not going to let some goddamned cyberpunk make a fool of me.

“Did you manage to locate the bastard?” I ask.

“No. He’s been using VPN and IP address scramblers, pinning his position all over the globe.”

“And it’s always a different location?”

“Yes. Tokyo. Manila. Chicago. Panama. The Hague. Once, we got a pin in Patagonia. There were nine separate incidents, at different locations every time. Except . . . just a second.” The clicking sounds of fingers rapidly working a keyboard come across the line. “The first incursion six months ago and this latest one both show an IP address in the Chicago area. It”—more typing—“appears that these hacks were done from an internet café. But not the same one.”

The tapping of heels on the wooden floor resonates behind me. I throw a look over my shoulder to find Constanza standing by the couch. She’s wearing the same short red dress I peeled off her an hour ago. One that barely covers her ass and reveals her mile-long legs. Her hair is down, each strand in its place, framing her classically beautiful face. Drop-dead gorgeous. My fucks always are. I’m used to having beautiful women by my side. Money can buy what appearance alone cannot. That’s the reality.

“I’m being interviewed on TV Thursday afternoon.” Constanza’s lips widen into a beaming smile. “There’s this amazing black gown I saw at Albini’s . . . It would be perfect for the occasion.”

I’m sure it would. Albini’s is the most expensive clothing boutique in this part of Europe. But before I let her spend thousands of my money on a dress, she’ll have to learn to look at my face while we talk. And fuck.

“No. You can get a dress at one of the regular shops. Tell them to put it on my account.”

The smile on Constanza’s face wavers, but she quickly hides the slip. She closes the distance between us in a few heel-clicking steps and rises on her toes to kiss me. “Thank you, love.”

There’s a barely detectable flinch as her lips brush mine, and I have to give it to her—she’s probably the best actress out of all the women I have screwed. They all try damn hard to hide their disgust. Some manage better than others. As good as she is, though, like the rest of them, Constanza can’t stomach looking at my face, even in low light.

I don’t mind the fact that the only reason my hookups remain with me for any length of time is for the extravagant trips and lavish gifts I shower them with. Unrivaled luxury—compensation for being subjected to having a beast at their side. It’s a fair compromise. Some chicks can tolerate it for longer. Most can’t.

A few years back, I picked up a woman at a club. Or rather, she picked me up. A well-known socialite from the mainland, she was in Sicily vacationing with her friends. One of them probably told her who I was. She was flying high on life—or maybe it was something more and I didn’t realize it at the time—and was clearly celebrating something that had champagne flowing freely at their table. By the time we made it to a suite at my hotel, she was singing the latest chart-toppers and could barely keep her hands off me. We fucked. Several times. She begged for more. I know how to please a woman in bed. The poor thing even asked me to marry her. But the following morning, when she woke up sober, but definitely hungover, and saw my face, she screamed. Two minutes later, she ran out of the room and straight into a taxi I called for her.

“When are we going to see each other again?” Constanza chirps.

“I’ll call you,” I say, then gesture toward my suit coat she has draped over her shoulders. “Take off my jacket.”

“But it’s chilly outside.”

“Right now, Constanza. One of my men downstairs can give you theirs.”

She pouts a bit but leaves the jacket on the back of the sofa and rushes across the office, closing the big oak door after her. I turn toward the view outside and put my phone back to my ear.

“Listen to me carefully, Mitch. You’re going to find that hacker, and you’ll do it quickly. I don’t give a fuck if you need to station one of our men in every shitty internet café in the Greater Chicago Area. I want the motherfucker found and brought to me.”

“But . . . There are hundreds of internet cafés there, boss.”

“I don’t fucking care!” I snarl into the phone. “Find him. Or I’m going to detach your fucking head from your spine!”

“Yes, boss. Of course. I’ll get it done.”

I cut the line, then hit my brother’s contact icon.

“Raff,” Guido yawns through the speaker.

“Do we have anything major happening this week?” I ask as I head toward the door connecting my office to my bedroom.

“Christ, Rafael. It’s six in the morning.”

“Answer me!”

“As far as I know, no. Most of the available contracts were low-value, so I decided to pass on them. I need to check the postings, but I think I saw a double-hit order added last night. The amount, though, was less than a million.”

“Take it,” I bark as I step inside the walk-in closet.

“Okay. Who are we sending? The targets are in Germany, and I think Allard’s team is already there.”

“No.” I push the button hidden behind the row of suits and watch the back of the closet slide to the side. A moment later, the ceiling lights flick on, illuminating the interior of the hidden room, and the walls covered in an array of weapons.

“Then who do you want to send?”

“We’re not sending any of the teams. I’ll be handling this one.”

“Why?”

“I had a shitty start to the day, Guido, despite just getting home less than an hour ago. I need a distraction.” My eyes skip over the selection of long-range rifles before me. “Any special kill instructions?”

“Mmm . . . Let me see. Nope. No preferences for the method of disposal.”

“Perfect. Send me the file and tell the pilot to have the plane ready by seven.” I cut the line and take an M40 off the wall.

The last time I personally handled a contract was more than a decade ago, just before I made my return to Sicily. With all the crap I needed to do to take over and then maintain control of the east coast of the island, I had to “retire” my mercenary role. Now, I have eleven teams of hitmen scattered around the world, using the strategically located branches of Delta Security as bases. My brother oversees that part of our clandestine operations these days, while I’m focused on laundering and investing the blood money through the legitimate side of our business.

The business that some son of a bitch has decided to fuck with.

I can’t wait to get my hands on that bastard.

Home of Roman Petrov (the Russian Bratva’s pakhan), Chicago

The door of my room flies open.

“Jesus fuck, Dad!” I jump in my chair. “Don’t you know how to knock?”

With his eyes narrowed at me and rage etched into his features, the almighty Roman Petrov strolls in. His cane makes a slight tick sound on the hardwood floor as he approaches with quick steps and leans in close to my face.

“You are grounded,” he says through his teeth.

“I’m not a child. You can’t grou— What are you doing? No! Leave my laptop alone! Dad!”

“NASA?” He puts my laptop under his arm and yanks the power cord out of the wall. “Fucking NASA!?”

Oh, shit. “How did you find out?”

“I cornered Felix and he spilled the beans.”

I gape. Felix is Uncle Sergei’s friend from way back when Dad’s brother was working for the military, but the old goose is more like an adopted family member. There isn’t a system he can’t crack, and everything I know about cyber sleuthing, I learned from him. He’s also over ninety years old, but he would never admit it. For the past decade, he’s been telling everyone that he hasn’t even hit eighty. I can’t believe Grandpa Felix would rat me out!

“I was just fooling around, Dad. I didn’t do anything. I swear. I just went in and out.”

“Oh? So you just . . . made a little digital visit to the National Aeronautics and Space Administration?”

“Kind of?” I offer him a remorseful smile.

A menacing growl leaves his throat. “I told you, Vasilisa. I told you a thousand times—you cannot hack into government systems! That’s fucking illegal!”

I lift an eyebrow. “You do remember that you’re the leader of one of the largest criminal organizations in this part of the world, don’t you?”

“Yes. And I don’t want my daughter to have anything to do with any unlawful shit.”

“Well, if you’d let me help with the family business, I wouldn’t have to waste my skills looking for kicks elsewhere,” I snap.

“No part of Bratva’s business is legitimate, Vasilisa. And I don’t want you anywhere near it.”

“You won’t even let me help Ivan handle customs documents. It took him two nights in the downstairs office to finally get everything sorted out.”

“I will not have my daughter forging import manifests for contraband!”

Contraband. I roll my eyes. As if I don’t know that Bratva mostly deals in drugs. I’m so sick of being treated like an ignorant kid.

“You take Alexei to meetings with your partners!”

“Your brother is going to take over the Bratva leadership when I step down. He needs to be prepared.”

I shake my head. “You’re such a hypocrite, Dad.”

“The criminal underworld is not a place for a woman, Vasilisa. You’re going to finish your studies. Get a regular job. Find a nice guy to date. An accountant, maybe.”

I sigh. Overprotective doesn’t even come close to describing my father. Once, he almost strangled someone I was dating when he saw us kissing in front of the perimeter gate, just because the guy had a shaved head and pierced eyebrow.

“I graduated last Friday, in case you forgot.”

“And you’re getting your master’s degree next.”

“I don’t want to do my master’s, Dad! I want to work. For you.”

“Not happening.” He points an accusing finger at me. “And this hacking shit ends now, Vasilisa. You’re not going to do it again. Promise me!”

“Fine.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise. I won’t hack into government databases of any kind, ever again.”

“And?”

I roll my eyes. “Or anywhere else.”

“Good.” He leans over and drops a kiss on the top of my head. “You know how much I love you, don’t you?”

“Yes. I love you, too. Can I have my laptop back now? I need to start applying for that ‘regular’ job you want me to get.”

“Nope.”

“Dad, it’s not fair—” I sniff the air. “What’s that smell?”

My door bangs open again, and the scent of something burning permeates the room.

“Dad!” Yulia, my younger sister rushes inside. “Igor set the new microwave on fire.”

“Again?” Dad yells. “I told that idiot that he’s retired! Who let him in? I’m going to kill him, along with everyone else working in that kitchen.”

He rushes out of my room, and he takes my laptop with him. The bedroom door slams closed, making both me and my sister shriek.

“What was that about?” Yulia asks as she sprawls out on my bed.

“He confiscated my laptop.”

“I could see that. He found out about you hacking that company yesterday? What did you do this time?”

“Sent a donation to a church choir.” My shoulders sag. “From the cybercafé near the library, but it looks like Felix told Dad about me poking around NASA’s firewalls.”

“God, Vasilisa. Why do you keep doing this crap?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s my way of getting back at Dad for not letting me help him with anything.” I shift in my seat. “Or because I don’t know what to do with my free time now.”

“You should go out more. What happened with that guy you were seeing?”

“Oliver?”

“Yeah. The underwear model. He’s so hot.” Yulia rolls over on the bed, fanning herself.

I tilt my head up, staring at the ceiling, and swivel side to side on my chair. Yes, Oliver is unbelievably handsome. We met in a coffee shop downtown when he sat at the table next to mine. I didn’t pay any attention to him at first, too absorbed in the coding exercises Grandpa Felix created for me, but then Oliver moved over to sit beside me and started asking questions about what I was doing.

“I broke up with him last week,” I mumble. “He ended up being the same as every other guy who wants to date me.”

“You mean, he fell to his knees, begging for permission to adore you?” Yulia giggles. “Vasilisa the Fair. Making men trip over their feet since you turned fifteen.”

“Not funny. And I hate it when you call me that. It made me despise that fairytale.”

“You, my darling sister, might be the only woman on earth who hates being beautiful.”

“I don’t hate it. But just once, I’d like to have a guy be attracted to me for something more. Not simply because I’m pretty.”

“You’re more than pretty, Vasya. Even in the dreadful rags you wear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my clothes.”

“That top is awful. And what the hell do you call that color? Vomit yellow?” She nods toward me. “And don’t get me started on the two-sizes-too-large jeans.”

“They’re comfortable.” I shrug.

“Yeah, sure.” Yulia puts her hands under her chin and rolls her eyes. “So, what did ‘Oliver the Hot’ do wrong?”

“He insisted on restarting my phone for me. Apparently, I don’t look like a girl who could do that myself. And I quote: ‘Why would you trouble yourself with something like that, beautiful? You have me now, and I’ll take care of the hard tech stuff for you.’” I barely keep the snarl out of my voice while trying to imitate the imbecile’s tone. “Then, he took my phone out of my hand and did it for me. I earned my undergrad in computer science and graduated summa cum laude, and the asshat actually restarted my phone for me.”

“That’s so rich.” Yulia laughs. “Did he offer to flip the light switches for you, as well? In case you got confused about how they work?”

“Not funny!” I grumble.

“Sorry, but yes. Yes, it is. He just wanted to be your knight in shining armor.”

I snort. “We were at the park when it happened. I was still gaping at Oliver fumbling with my phone when a dog got loose off his leash and ran right toward us, barking. My knight in shitty armor squeaked like a four-year-old girl and hightailed it out of there without even looking over his shoulder to check on me.”

“What a bastard! And the dog?”

“He just wanted to play. Licked my hands and face, then ran off.” I shake my head and spin a full circle on my gaming chair. “Dad mentioned wanting a normal guy for me. Some accountant, he said. Well, probably when I turn fifty, but . . . I don’t think I can make it work with any normal guy, Yulia.”

“Why not?”

I arch an eyebrow at my baby sister. “Because a normal guy would piss himself the moment he meets our family. Can you imagine an accountant lounging in our living room and BS-ing with Dad, Alexei, and Uncle Sergei?”

“I think Uncle Sergei is awesome. He wouldn’t do anything to your accountant.”

“He brought a grenade launcher to dinner last week.”

“Well, there’s that.” She shrugs. “Maybe you should try dating someone from Bratva. Whoever it is, he’ll know what he’s getting into.”

“Yeah, sure. How long do you think the poor guy would live after Dad finds out we’re going out?”

“A week?”

“Forty-eight hours, tops. Dad would never let either of us date one of his men. Or anyone from our social circle.”

I understand our father’s need to keep his daughters away from the seedy part of Roman Petrov’s world—don’t get me started on the patriarchial shit that my younger brother never even has to think about—but the thing Dad doesn’t fully get is that we’re already a part of it. Around-the-clock armed security. Wounded, bleeding men brought into our house to be patched up right on our kitchen island. Constant vigilance against random skirmishes with other criminal organizations. Bodyguards no further than an arm’s length away until a potential threat is resolved. Business meetings and even family gatherings often ending with guns drawn. My sister and I were both born into this madness. That’s our “normal.” Anything else will never feel remotely as such.

“Do you think Dad will make me marry an accountant, as well?” Yulia chirps from the bed.

“Nah. He’ll probably find you a dentist. Or a museum curator.” I grin, looking at her and picturing a dude with glasses and a bow tie coming to pick her up for their date. “Dad would never let the baby of the family go anywhere near a big bad accountant. Those guys can get involved in frauds.”

“Yeah.” She chews her thumbnail. “Um . . . I’m going to ask Dad to let me move out before the next semester.”

I gape at my sister. “Why?”

“I’m not like you, Vasya. All this commotion, people constantly coming and going, the fucking noise all the time . . . I don’t think I can live in this nuthouse anymore.”

“I doubt he’d let you.”

“Why not? There haven’t been any skirmishes with other Families recently. Everybody’s just been minding their own business.”

“Yes, but . . .” I stare at her. In Russian families, it’s common for kids to keep living at home until they finish college and get a job. Especially in families like ours—where extra security is often necessary. “But, it’s not that bad here.”

The slamming of doors somewhere down the hallway reverberates through the house as if purposely contradicting my statement. Yelling and the sound of running feet mix with the droning of the lawn mower drifting through the open window. Male laughter and good-natured Russian insults clamor for attention in the backyard—Alexei and our cousin Sasha are competing in knife-throwing again. I wonder which one of them will end up getting stitched up in the kitchen today. The stench of smoke seems to be dissipating, but it’s still hanging in the air. Mom is going to lose it if it settles into her new drapes. High-pitched female voices are ringing somewhere inside the mansion, spewing Russian curses back and forth. Dad’s office is just below my room, and I can hear him roaring at someone over the phone. Probably Uncle Sergei; he’s the only one who can make my dad lose his shit in under a minute.

Just another regular day in the Petrov household.

“I stand corrected. Our home is the oasis of peace and tranquility.” Yulia laughs from her spot on the bed. “So, are you really going to cease your cyber adventures?”

“Yeah,” I mumble and bite my lower lip. I should have sent more moola to that kids’ choir while I had the chance.

When I first started hacking my way into random businesses, I quickly found that most of their digital safeguards were a joke. To me, corporate firewalls didn’t present any challenge whatsoever. So, I did some digging and picked the top ten private security companies. I’ve been working solely with their systems ever since, creating back doors into their networks, just like Grandpa Felix showed me. It’s not about espionage or financial fraud, simply a question of flexing my computing muscles and breaching the most stringent virtual environments on the planet. I’d get in, then retreat, erasing every trace I’d ever been there. Except for small things. I can’t seem to overcome a stupid need to leave behind a tiny clue. A changed code to the service elevator. Reformatted bullet points on the website from basic dots to little stars. Increasing the paychecks of the lowest-paid employees by a dollar. Or, in the case of the big-ass security conglomerate with offices around the globe, manipulating their accounting systems to send small donations to obscure charities and underprivileged places.

Maybe I could hit the “big brawny beast” one last time. A goodbye kiss to my hacking career.

Yes. I’ll wait a couple of weeks, just in case. If Dad doesn’t return my laptop by then, I’ll find another dive internet café and do it from there.

It’ll be less than thirty minutes of work, now that I know their system like the back of my hand.

Nothing can go wrong.