Raze & Reap by Tillie Cole Page A

man. He brought violence to the Bratva. He forgave no one; he ensured dirty deeds got done. Alik was pissed most of the time due to his inability to do anything right to please his father. We were all aware that Alik’s anger came from the violence meted out by Abram to Alik from when he was a kid.
    â€œPlease, sit, papas,” I said, gesturing to the chairs. All of the Bratva—my family—took their seats as I moved behind my desk to take mine. Alik pulled his chair next to me.
    â€œSo,” my father said as he turned to me, “how are we looking for this season?”
    Alik smirked. He ran his hand up my back to rest his grip on the back of my neck. It was a possessive move, a move to assert his dominance, all to show his worth to the Bratva.
    â€œGood, Papa. All the trainers have fighters, except—”
    â€œWho do you fucking think?” Alik interrupted me and laughed. Abram, Alik’s father, smiled in response as Alik added, “The fucking Georgian Albatross! Lost another of his guys in the first warm-up fight. Fucker got his throat slit by Sav’s man at the start of the first round. I’m telling you, the prick’s cursed. Five seasons of first-round losses. No fucker will fight for him this year.”
    â€œHe must have a fighter,” Ivan said calmly. “The Dungeon must have all the scheduled fights. We have too much riding on this year for Viktor to fuck it up. Biggest income we’ve ever had. We’re only getting bigger and bigger, which means better fighters, more fighters.”
    â€œWe’ll work it out,” I said. Ivan and my papa gave me wide smiles. Papa leaned forward and patted my hand. “You have this place running like a well-oiled ship, Kisa. I know you’ll get it done.”
    A knock sounded on the door and Yiv, our head trainer, entered. Although Alik’s personal trainer, he was responsible for all the new fighters who came through The Dungeon’s door.
    â€œYiv, we were discussing the Albatross,” Abram said smugly. Yiv ran a tired hand down his face.
    â€œYeah. He already lost this year’s man and his sponsor’s pulled out. Fucking lot of money too,” Yiv explained.
    â€œWe got any replacement prospects?” Ivan asked, all business. The Dungeon, the Bratva’s underground gambling ring, was their principle source of income. They had several sources, mainly drug running and arms dealing, but this place was the cash cow. There was too much at stake to mess up. The Dungeon ran all year round, low-level fighters, more dirty street fights than anything else, but for three nights each year, The Dungeon held its championship—it was three nights of nothing but death, money, and only one winner.
    Yiv shook his head, then stopped and said, “We had a guy drop in this morning. Said he wanted to fight in the cage. Big fucker too. Russian. Seemed fucking insane.”
    Papa turned his head to face Yiv. “How did he know we were here? Not an undercover Fed, is he?”
    Yiv shrugged and paled slightly at my papa’s pissed-off tone. “No idea. But that guy looked soulless, dead inside. My gut tells me he just wanted to kill some fucks for fun.”
    â€œAnd?” Abram pushed. “Did you trial him or do we have to bring someone in from outside? We’re running out of time.”
    Yiv edged closer to the door. “Told him he’d have to buy in. He left, but I’m pretty sure he’ll be back. Something in his dead voice told me he needed in that cage. Probably some serial killer who wants to shed blood without being locked away.”
    â€œLike all us Dungeon fighters, you mean?” Alik joked, causing all the men in the room to laugh, well—all except Ivan. My blood ran cold. Alik was a straight-up killer; he wasn’t lying. And if he didn’t have this underground life as an outlet, I was pretty sure he would still need to kill. It was the part of