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YAKOV
“I can’t believe we’re letting him into the mansion,” Nik grumbles. He’s in his wheelchair next to me, watching as Dima Baranov’s car parks at the top of the drive.
“We aren’t going to show him anything that could hurt us,” I remind him. “Dima went through every security screening at the front gate, he left all of his technology outside the fence, and it’s not like we’re letting him have the run of the house. He’ll be in my office and right back out.”
“I just don’t like it.” His jaw shifts back and forth. “We barely know him.”
“You’re the one who suggested we have the meeting here.”
“Because I wanted to be there,” he grits out. “Not because I wanted him here.”
Getting a wheelchair-accessible van is at the top of my to-do list. But even if I had one, Nik isn’t ready to go out yet.
“Say the word and I’ll drive him off the property. I’ll meet him somewhere else if you’re not ready to?—”
“I’m fucking ready to deal with Dima Baranov,” Nik snarls. “I’m not ready for the world to know I’m sitting on a set of useless legs.”
The physical therapist told me this morning that Nik is making improvements. His toes wiggle from time to time. The connection is still there. Whether it can be repaired fully or not is a question that only time can answer.
I clap Nik on the back. “It is a shame. The only thing you had going for you was that you were younger and faster. Now, I’m the brains and the brawn. It’s a heavy burden to carry, but since you can’t do it anymore…”
For the first time all morning, Nik grins. “You cocky bastard. Teasing the guy in the wheelchair is a low blow.”
“It has to be. If I swung at normal height, it would go right over your head.”
Nik angles his wheels sharply and runs over my foot. “Be professional, asshole. Dima is coming.”
By the time Dima walks through the front door, Nik and I are sober and collected.
Dima, to his credit, doesn’t say a word about the wheelchair. He shakes our hands and tips his head. “Take me to the room where the magic happens, gentlemen. We have work to do.”
An hour later, I’m at my desk, Dima is lounging on the sofa in the corner, and Nik is rolling back and forth across the room the same way he used to nervously pace.
“You’re telling me that you have names of every man who broke into my house the night my fiancée was kidnapped?” I growl.
Dima smirks. “Budimir is a great resource. He dealt in weapons, but the man keeps his ears open. Apparently, Akim had loose lips.”
“Now, I’m going to sink some fucking ships. Tell me the names. Now.”
Dima rattles off a list, but when he gets to one name, Nik screeches to a stop. “Marat?”
“Do you know him?” Dima asks.
Nik and I look at each other. We both know that name.
“He led the charge that night,” Nik grits out. “We saw him on the cameras attacking our sister. He shot her.”
“When he was finished, he pulled a bag over Luna’s head.” My fist is so tight I’m sure my knuckles are going to break through the skin.
“Ooh. Juicy. Then I know something else you are going to love.” Dima leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I know where to find him.”
I don’t wait for more of an explanation. I stand up, keys in my hand. “Tell me where.”
In the evenings, the usual Gustev Bratva hangout is a nightclub with loud music and watered-down drinks. Right now, in the middle of the afternoon, it’s dead.
There are only four cars outside in the lot and a quick search turns up that one of them is registered to Marat.
I haven’t laid eyes on the man himself yet—I’ve only seen him through the security footage—but I can practically feel him hiding behind the walls of the club.
