“All right, I will. I think your father is a lying fucking thie—”
Kade rushes at Vanya and I run forward at the same moment, intersecting the two before they meet. I put my back to Kade and shove Vanya so hard that he stumbles backward, falling on his ass on the mats.
Instantly, Bodashka and Silas surge forward, as do Leo and Ares.
I find myself in the bizarre position of facing off against my own friends, with my enemies by my side.
The truth is, I like Kade Petrov better than Bodashka, and I fucking despise Vanya and his father, who are conniving rats, always trying to improve their own standing within the Bratva by tearing down those above them.
I only met Dominik Petrov for a moment, but he seemed like a man of honor. Besides, Ivan Petrov is one of the most feared bosses in all the Bratva. He controls the entirety of St. Petersburg, as well as massive holdings in America where he capitalized upon the legalization of marijuana to open seven of the largest dispensaries on the west coast. I highly doubt his brother would be stupid enough to embezzle money from him, or whatever the fuck Vanya’s trying to imply.
“Back off,” I snarl at Vanya. “If the high table has a problem with Dominik Petrov, then they’ll convene a council.”
“They are,” Vanya smirks. “My father is heading it.”
“Then let them decide if there’s been any malfeasance. It’s not up to you to make accusations.”
“Why are you defending him?” Bodashka says, glaring at Kade. “He and his brother are both the same. Arrogant. Grasping. Above their station.”
“You’re just mad because Adrik beat your brother in the Quartum Bellum three years in a row,” Ares says, staring down Bodashka.
The petty rivalries amongst the Bratva are almost as vicious as those against their foreign foes. There’s antipathy between St. Petersburg and Moscow, between the Paris Bratva and London, and intense jealousy against our brethren in the States.
I’m not familiar with the drama Ares is referencing, but I’m sure he’s right.
It doesn’t matter. I’ve gotten enough shit from the children of Bratva over my own family’s standing. I’m not gonna watch Vanya heap the same abuse on Kade’s shoulders.
“Keep your ignorant opinions to yourself,” I say to Vanya, who has climbed to his feet once more, his handsome features distorted with anger. “It’s none of your concern how the Petrovs run their business.”
“It’s you that should watch yourself, Dmitry,” Vanya sneers. “You ought to learn where to make allies. The Antonovs are rising in Moscow. If you pay your respects, I might find a place for you when Danyl makes me lieutenant.”
I snort. “I’ll find a place for you shining my boots when I earn that spot.”
Vanya opens his mouth to retort, only to be interrupted by Snow clapping his hands sharply, calling the class to order.
“My apologies,” he says. “I was delayed by the Chancellor. I hope you all took the opportunity to warm up, because we’re going directly into drills. Pair up.”
I nod to Kade Petrov. “Want to join me?”
“Sure,” he says, surprised but gratified. I haven’t voluntarily sparred with him before—it’s usually Snow who rotates the more experienced fighters through the younger students.
Snow orders us to grab pads. I slip the targets on my hands so Kade can go first for the drill.
I take him through a jab, hook, cross combo. Kade punches the pads viciously, exorcizing his residual animosity against Vanya.
“Never mind him,” I say to Kade. “He’s a fucking asshole, everyone knows it.”
Kade throws me half a grin. “I thought that’s what everybody says about you. How come you stood up for me?”
“I may hate everybody, but I hate Vanya the most,” I shrug.
Kade laughs. He hits the pads in combination again, hard enough that my palms sting. His punches are getting cleaner.
“You drop that right shoulder too much,” I tell him.
Kade tries again, this time keeping his shoulder in better alignment. His punch pops the center of the pad with a satisfying thwack.
“You’re a good teacher,” Kade says. “Like Snow.”
“I’m not like him,” I say. “I’d never have the patience to teach a bunch of degenerates.”
Particularly Bodashka and Vanya, who are lazily going through the drill with sullen glares in our direction.
Glancing at Kade again, at his clear, youthful face, I think how passionate he was in defending his father and brother.
“I liked your father,” I tell him. “He was faithful to your mother.”
“He’s always been faithful to her,” Kade says proudly. “And he’s loyal to Ivan. Vanya doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”
“He never does.” I nod. “If you could capture half the shit that comes out of his mouth, you could fertilize Siberia.”
Kade laughs. “He wouldn’t dare talk that way if Adrik was here.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” I agree. “You remember he didn’t say fuck-all at the Bolshoi Theater.”
Kade snickers. “He and his father were much too busy with their lips pressed firmly against Abram Balakin’s ass.”
Now I’m the one laughing. “I brought you one of those cigars you like so much . . . god they suck.”
We’re not talking loudly enough for Vanya to hear, but he sees us laughing. His scowl darkens until he looks like a petulant toddler. A petulant toddler that drew his own eyebrows on with a pen.
A question strikes me that Kade could probably answer.
“Why isn’t Ivan Petrov’s son at Kingmakers?”
Kade shrugs awkwardly. I regret asking—I hadn’t meant to pry into family business.
“He didn’t want to come,” Kade says. “He’s very popular in America. Very . . . you know . . . occupied with his life there.”
“Of course,” I say, nodding.
A common problem when Bratva allow their children to grow up in the wealth and glamor of the states. They get into the playboy lifestyle, fucking and partying, and they don’t want to learn the business.
Kade and I swap positions, Kade donning the pads so I can take my turn with the drill. I hit the targets harder and faster each round, until Kade is wincing and has to remove the pads to shake out his hands.
“Fuck, you’ve got a hammer for an arm,” he says.
I usually feel annoyed by compliments, because my skill is obvious. Today, however, I simply say, “Thanks.”
“My father says your dad is a brilliant bookkeeper,” Kade says.
“He likes to organize,” I say.
On the page. Not in our fucking house, unfortunately.
I wait, expecting Kade to follow that up with some comment on my father’s appearance. It never fails. People can’t help themselves.
But Kade says nothing at all. He just holds up the pads again, waiting for me to take my next turn.
That blessed silence is the best part of our conversation.
After class, as the students file out, Snow calls, “Dean. Wait a moment.”
I wait, sweat drying on my skin. It was an intense session.