Demetri, one of the Bratva lieutenants, opens the door to my father’s study with one hand and holds Alek back with the other. I enter alone.
I don’t have to hear Bogan speak to know my father is pissed off. His eyes are dark, and his scowl is deeper than normal. It’s been three days since the incident at the hotel, and four days since I’ve seen him. Plenty of time for him to find a way to blame me for a room mix-up and a witness I should never have left behind.
He doesn’t look or invite me to sit. He’s staring at me, rage making his dark eyes darker and his red cheeks redder.
“A fucking witness,” he growls.
“He isn’t going to talk.” I made sure of that. I’ve continued making sure. I have a man on Hogan day and night. And if I need to take matters into my own hands, I will.
“You let him live—because of her.” The accusation is loud, angry, dripping with that Russian accent that comes on strong when he’s pissed, and false. But he is still speaking and I wouldn’t dare correct him anyway. Not until his accent is faded and he’s calmer.
“Yes,” he continues, “I know about her. Who she is. What she means to you.” His gaze is a laser, and he’s daring me to deny it, daring me to speak at all.
I don’t. I’m also not surprised that he knows about Corinne. Bogan has eyes everywhere.
I focus on business. “I’m handling the witness.”
My father moves to sit behind his desk, a monstrosity of carved mahogany, shined until he can see his reflection. It is a desk designed for a king, the very vision Bogan Dubrovsky has of himself.
“See that you do. I don’t have time to worry about a witness pointing his finger at you when we have more important problems to solve.”
I don’t trust his sudden calm. My father has two moods: angry and angrier. Seeing him slump back in his chair, the picture of relaxation, makes me uneasy.
“The Italians have themselves a new little toy. He’s young and smart. Some little computer hackey.” I try not to roll my eyes as he bungles the twenty-first century terminology he refuses to learn. “He’s attacking our businesses through the cyberweb.”
My father is old-school Russian. Has no idea that the “cyberweb” could be an important weapon in our arsenal and it makes the Bratva vulnerable that we don’t actively use it.
“Which businesses?” Not that it matters. Any attack requires a swift answer. Something decisive. “What’s the damage?”
“Payroll misdirections. Deposits. Deliveries that are sent to the wrong warehouses.” He shakes his head and waves a hand. “Nothing more than pesky interruptions right now, but you know and I know, this is practice for Roberto. He’s ramping up. And this is his first pass. So far, we’ve lost six thousand today. Twenty-eight since Sunday.”
More than his money, the Italians have hit his pride. My father knows nothing about computers or how to protect himself against the use of them.
I’m not much better. I’m a hitman who never made it to college, not a computer scientist, so I don’t know what the hell he wants me to do with this information. I cock an eyebrow.
“I’m just a gun here, Father.”
“Not anymore.” He blows out a meaningful sigh I’d rather not analyze. “Veniamin is still in the hospital and even when he’s released, I’m sending him home.”
Veniamin, my father’s second-in-command, was shot by Roberto Totti’s son three weeks ago.
Father leans forward. “It’s time you take your place in the family.”
I nod because it is time. Veniamin never sat his ass in a cold car until all hours waiting for a mark to come out of a brothel or a strip club. It’s my turn. I’ve proven my worth to the Bratva.
“Thank you.” I will finally be derzhatel obschaka.
“We’ll make it official tonight.”
I hide a grin as he looks down at his paperwork. Finally, I’m his son, his heir, not merely his hired gun. Everyone will know I’m accepted now. Not that anyone questioned before—not out loud, anyway—but this leaves no doubt.
“Tomorrow, you’ll find and deal with the hackey messing with our money.”
“Yes, Father.”
Even though I have no idea how I’m supposed to make it happen, I nod and stand.
“Tomas? I know you are having some flashback to when you were young, and I don’t care if you fuck her around the world, but you will marry Katerina as soon as the time comes. And you will leave this girl behind when it does.”
He looks away and it means he neither expects nor wants an answer. I leave his office because now he’s picked up his gold pen.
I know when I’m being dismissed.
By dinner, Aleksey and I have celebrated until the edges of my sight are blurred. As soon as I’ve taken the sacred and secret vows of the Dubrovsky Bratva, dinner is served at Café St. Petersburg.
I’ve barely finished my lamb shashlik when Katerina slides into the chair next to me.
Wordlessly, Aleksey leaves the table at once and goes to the bar, leaving me alone with my fiancée.
“Derzhatel obschaka,” she says. “I thought Bogan would wait until we were married.”
I look closely at her. Flawless porcelain skin, green shimmering eyes. She is no less beautiful than she was before I became second-in-command of the Dubrovsky Bratva, and yet I’m no more interested.
“Why’s that?” Not that I care. I’m just not drunk enough to tell her to go. Yet.
“To keep our marriage pact alive.”
“I wasn’t aware it was dying.”
She shrugs. “My father wanted me to… make sure that was the case.” Her dress is low-cut and when she moves her right shoulder down, the front gapes open. I wonder if Leonid told her to dress like this, to try to tempt me into touching her, prove that my family is still committed to this union.
I know I should do it. She’s beautiful, she is here, and fucking her would be fulfilling my duty to my family.
But I can’t.
For three days straight, my cock has been an unforgiving steel rod. Now, when I want it to work, when I need to prove that I’m not hung up on Corinne, I can’t get so much as a twitch.
Both women are beautiful. Both sexy. My past and my future. And one is right here, ready, willing.
Katerina is my future.
But Corinne is my everything.
Shit.
“Hold that thought.” Her mysterious smile is as dazzling and sparkling as her five-carat earrings. “I need to talk with Aleksey. I’ll be back.”
With a little luck, I can sneak outside. I try to remind myself of the facts as I go. Katerina is going to be my wife because I am derzhatel obschaka. Corinne is my past, and in a week, she’ll be out of my life again. And then I can get past all the nostalgia that makes me want her.
One week, and I can get on with my life with Katerina.
One week. That’s it.
9
Corinne
Eggs are on the stove. Toast is in the toaster. The smell of bacon is filtering through the air. And all I can think of is that bag of money sitting undisturbed on the table.