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I thought briefly of texting Emmy to make sure she stayed with Hannah and Nikolai but forced myself to resist. I was already way out of control when it came to her. I had a hard time restraining my impulse to check on her constantly.
I suddenly found myself eager to talk to Mikhail, whatever his reason for being here, if only to get the plan for Armstrong solidified. The sooner he was dealt with, the sooner I could finally fucking relax.
I pulled into the warehouse and saw several black Town Cars sitting in the parking lot. Mikhail was so old-school with that shit. I walked into the office and was surprised to find him already sitting at the desk as if he’d been there for hours waiting for me. Maybe he had been.
Since the warehouse had been rebuilt, the office got a significant and greatly needed makeover. The warehouse had been largely used for torture and murder, and sometimes to hold contraband and various other illegal shipments, but Drago had been adding some legitimate import and export operations, so now it had to function as an actual business. The office reflected the change. The old office had cobwebs in the corners and broken furniture. This office was spacious, with a big, wooden, L-shaped desk, comfortable chairs and fully stocked bar.
I dropped myself into a chair in front of Mikhail. He was probably in his early fifties, but his dark hair was just starting to go gray at his temples. I waited for him to speak. His silence gave me the opportunity to study him.
It was odd seeing him here, in Chicago. I was familiar with only seeing him in the luxurious environment of his office in Moscow. The smaller office emphasized his massive, intimidating size. At over six and half feet tall, Mikhail probably rose up in the Bratva from sheer brute strength alone. But it was his brilliant, vicious mind that ultimately made him Pakhan.
His piercing dark eyes missed nothing. I’d seen men cry from that stare alone. They knew what was coming if they were on the wrong side of Mikhail's temper. He was a still a decent looking guy, despite his nose looking slightly flattened from being broken too many times. I doubted anyone had gotten an opportunity to swing on him in a very long time.
“I’m sure you're curious as to why I’m here,” Mikhail finally said.
“Very.”
“I’m here to oversee the situation with Armstrong. Taking him out will create a significant reaction, and I need to be fully prepared to take advantage of it.”
I cocked my head. “You came all the way here, when a simple phone call would have been enough to inform you when it was done?”
He pursed his lips, clearly annoyed at my mild challenge. “Removing Armstrong is serious business, Ivan. I intend to make sure it’s done to my specifications.”
I nodded, as if this made sense. “Why not tell us you were coming?”
He raised his dark eyebrows. “I must run my travel plans through you?”
I blew out a breath. He was being surprisingly difficult, which was unusual for Mikhail. This whole situation was unnerving.
Even though he was Pakhan, I was rarely nervous in Mikhail’s presence. This made me all the more annoyed at the adrenaline bubbling in my veins as I waited to see what happened next. “No, of course not, I was just surprised.”
“This is the type of thing you will be informed of when you come back to Moscow and take your place in my organization.”
I froze. Is that why he was here? It couldn’t be. Why would he chase one of his soldiers all the way from Moscow to Chicago? “You’re this adamant about me returning to Russia? You’d come here to escort me back?”
The tension left Mikhail’s body. “Yes. Ivan, I have plans for you.”
“So you’ve mentioned. What are these plans?”
“You are the person I’ve chosen to take over the entire operation.”
My body jolted in surprise. “Take over? Why? You’re hardly one foot in the grave.”
“I’m not one to wait until a situation is dire to begin planning.”
“What about Yevgeny?” Yevgeny had always been Mikhail second. Even though he was wildly unqualified to be Pakhan, I was surprised to see him completely discarded as an option given Mikhail’s long-standing relationship with him.
Mikhail smirked. “I think we both know that Yevgeny doesn’t have the temperament and self-discipline for that role.”
I nodded. He was entirely correct, but he’d always kept Yevgeny so close, I’d always considered him his number two. As if reading my thoughts, Mikhail continued. “Zhenya,” he started, using the nickname for Yevgeny, “has been a trusted ally all of my life, but I’m not blind to his flaws.”
My head was spinning. For some reason, Mikhail wanted to groom me to be Pakhan of the Moscow Bratva. I would have embraced this opportunity a year ago, but now the thought made my stomach cramp.
I couldn’t drag Emmy to Moscow while I worked to take over as Pakhan. And that’s exactly what I’d have to do because there was no way I was letting her leave my side.
Not only did I not want to move to Moscow and become Pakhan, I wasn’t even sure what role I wanted to play in the Bratva, in general. I knew that Emmy had issues with association with the mafia, though there had hardly been time to have a conversation about it. I saw her face, her discomfort and distaste, when we discussed the unsavory aspects of my job.
I rubbed my hand down my face, unsure how to address the uncomfortable and tenuous position Mikhail had put me in. “I’m not sure I want to go back to Moscow.”
