And now …
I sigh. I haven’t decided whether to search for him yet. Don’t know if I’d be able to pull the trigger, and the last thing I want is to be that weak guy who can’t handle the business. There’ll come a time, but now isn’t it. I tell myself that it doesn’t mean a fucking thing that I’m relieved.
The latch gives way as soon as I enter the numbers. More careful than I’ve ever been in my life and with steadier hands, I lift the top. Stacks of money in five-thousand-dollar bundles look up at me. What the hell is this from?
Sticking out of the pocket in the top of the case is an envelope with “Tomas” written in Alek’s tiny, fine print.
I want to read it, but I can’t afford to soften my stance against him anymore than I already have. Because there’s going to come a time when I have to send someone after him. He’ll have to answer for what he’s done. The betrayal. Murdering my father. His part in Corrie’s kidnapping. One way or another, this ends with a bullet in his head.
But not right now. Not just yet.
I reach for the envelope and stare at it for a full twenty seconds before I slide my finger under the flap and pull out the single sheet of paper inside.
Tomas,
There are so many things to say. You were my friend. My brother. And your father was like my father. The man I most looked up to in the world. With his dying breath, he cursed me. I expect you know that already, though.
I didn’t tell him Totti was threatening my baby. Didn’t tell him how much he meant to me. But I owe you my memories of his last minutes because he wanted me to tell you some things. You have his strength. His command. His respect. His love. Hard man or not, he loved you. And he was glad you came to find him even though it cost you the woman you love.
I’m sorry for what I’ve done, to you, to your family, to Corinne. The money won’t make up for that, or for betraying our friendship, but it’s all I have to give.
I’ve taken my family away now because I know you’re going to have to come for me eventually, and I have some making up to do with them before the time comes when we meet face-to-face again.
Your friendship has been an honor.
Aleksey
I crumple the letter in my fist. I miss the days when my emotions were shielded by a heavy wall of guilt, shame, and hate. Because this fucking hurts.
I pull a lighter from the drawer in the desk where my father sat most of his adult life.
Because I can’t give Alek the kiss of brotherhood on his left cheek and the kiss of death on the right, I press my face to the paper for a moment. Just a moment. Like saying goodbye.
Then I light it on fire and drop it into a wastebasket beside the desk.
The flame and little plume of smoke don’t reach high but the lights go off and an alarm starts blaring. With Corrie in charge of my security, cyber and household, I don’t worry about a break-in or an attack. I worry instead she’s going to be pissed I lit a fire in a house we’re trying to sell. If I don’t get to the alarm before it sends a message to her app, I’m never going to hear the end of it.
I run down to the security room as fast as a man still recuperating from a gunshot and relying on a cane can run, then punch in the code to open the electric sliding door.
I sigh as the alarm quiets and silence resumes. The men must’ve gone outside to smoke. For a moment, I have quiet in here, thank the fucking Lord. I think of what Gavril Vaknin has told me about Aleksey whenever we’ve spoken on the phone. He called me when I was sworn in as don to connect and congratulate me. For some reason—I may never know why—I told him about Alek. The brotherhood. The betrayal. He was quiet for a long time, and then he started to tell me his own story. Like me, he’d never told anyone before.
But he knew. The man knows what it is to have a brother, to lose him, to feel that loss and still bear the pain like a man of the Bratva—better yet, a don of the Bratva—ought to do. He will be interested to hear about the briefcase, I’m sure. Perhaps I should pay him a visit in Toronto.
I feel my phone vibrate in my pants pocket. Pulling it out, I see that Matvei Morozov is calling me. A fellow member of the Bratva Syndicate.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Tomas. It’s Matvei.”
“Good to hear from you, my friend,” I tell him. “How are things?”
I can hear him sigh, and the clink and rattle of ice cubes in a glass of whiskey. He sounds stressed. “Fucking Albanians are acting up again,” he tells me. “I thought I’d ask you to lend a hand.”
“Say no more,” I reply. “Petr and Kostya will be there in the morning.”
Matvei sighs again. “Thank you. Oh, and tell them to bring suits. My cousin Oleg is getting married this weekend. It promises to be a fucking shitshow, as Russian weddings always are.”
I laugh. “No doubt. Not a fan of weddings, I see. Are you not looking forward to the day the church bells are ringing for you, my brother-in-arms?”
His chuckle is low and bitter. “Not gonna happen, I promise you that much. Marriage holds nothing but misery for men like us.” There’s a catch in his voice, a strange undertone to it, but Matvei sounds stressed enough as is, so I decide not to bother him about it.
Besides, I’m thinking of Corinne. Of my life. Of how close I came to losing her for a second time. Of how sure I am that I’ll never lose her again. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I muse quietly.
There’s a tense silence. I wonder what Matvei thinks of what I just said.
“Anyways,” he says gruffly, “thank you for the assistance. I will make sure your men are taking care of.”
“Of course,” I say. “Anything for a member of the Syndicate.”
We say our goodbyes and hang up.
But when I return to the office, I freeze.
Holy shit.
My fiancée is sitting on the desk in a skimpy bit of lingerie, laptop in one hand, stilettos on her feet propped on the chair, knees far enough apart I can see a wet spot on her panties.
My dick twitches. And when she puts the laptop down, kicks the chair away, and crooks her finger at me, all the blood left in my brain goes straight to my cock.
These last weeks of recuperating haven’t been easy for either of us. And while we’ve slept together, all we’ve done is literally sleep. My balls are so blue, the cane isn’t because of my leg anymore. I give her a heated once-over and she grins, shimmies, and pretends she’s not trying to seduce me by wearing that innocent look of hers that is anything but innocent.
“You’re beautiful.”
“And horny. Tommy, I’m so horny.” She shakes her head as her skin goes pink. “I mean, I know you’re still recuperating, but …” She chews her lip.
I toss the cane to the side, unbutton my pants as I limp toward her, then gather her against me. Aching leg or not, I want her so bad.
She moans into my mouth and swipes her tongue against mine. Maybe I died and the last three weeks was that space before heaven and I’ve finally arrived. Or maybe being with her really is heavenly. I’m not going to think on that now. Not when there’s so much of her skin on display for me to enjoy.
With bedroom eyes lined by lashes colored a deep black and lids dark and smoky just the way I like, she hikes her leg over my hip. I smile. She really is ready. And I should make it good for her. She deserves everything good and right, but all I can think of is sinking my straining cock into her as soon as fucking possible. Feeling her tighten around it. Hearing those soft whimpers and excited cries as the pressure builds until she explodes.