Page 71 of The Breath Before Forever

“No, fuck ...” Igor pinched at the bridge of his nose, muttering, “She said that was the last time as I was leaving. I understood, you know? Shit ends. There didn’t have to be a reason. We weren’t a thing, and I didn’t even have the time to be messing around with her as it was.”

Right.

And clearly, Igor paid the price for that mistake. As every man in their life and position did in one way or another. It was an unfortunate lesson to learn, but Vaslav doubted Igor would allow himself to get so distracted with the personal side of his life that he overlooked the business part that always stayed close behind.

In all their many phone conversations since Igor had felt up to doing so, and more recently, during their plans to handle the bomb situation and the person who planted it, not once had Igor talked about that morning. Not why he was at the villa, although Vaslav had previously thought the reasons were clear, or anything else.

“You didn’t even know she was pregnant, did you?” Vaslav asked.

Igor glanced sideways, shrugging. “I’m starting to think she didn’t want me to know.”

Huh.

Vaslav fixated on the woman in the bed again, wondering how true Igor’s statement might be—or whether it even mattered. “As it were, she wanted it,” he said, earning himself another wince from Igor. “Vera’s sure of that.”

“The coma isn’t affecting the baby?”

“Her brain is regulating everything that it’s supposed to. She hasn’t even been on a ventilator for a month,” Vaslav explained, folding his arms over his chest. “These are all good signs, or so that fucking idiot upstairs with the big office says. Where is Bogdan, anyway?”

“I told you, he had a page.”

Vaslav massaged his pounding head. “Right, right.”

“It bothers me.”

“That she didn’t tell you she was pregnant?”

He really knew better than to assume.

Igor grunted a low no, adding louder, “That we haven’t figured out who set the bomb.”

“Me, too,” Vaslav admitted.

Yet, probably not for the same reason. It’s what made his wife’s worsening phone calls far harder to deal with and get through. He wasn’t being entirely forthcoming with Vera about the happenings in Moscow because there was very little to tell.

“But it definitely came from within the brotherhood,” Igor muttered. “I was too new into the seat for it to be anyone else. Word hadn’t even properly traveled out of the country that a change in leadership had happened.”

Vaslav had another thought, then. One he’d wished he could have had earlier. Many months ago, even.

“Did you even get your dues?” he asked, referring to the money that should be handed down from every vor to their boss. At least monthly, the tradition continued on. It guaranteed protection to the man paying, and if accepted by the boss, the payment also promised continued status and permission to keep territory where said man worked.

A delicate balance.

For years, Vaslav just made Nico or Igor collect his money. He stopped doing his official rounds back when he also wanted to stop seeing people. It wasn’t like any vor in the country complained. With Vaslav, people tended to go with the flow.

“It should have been the next week,” Igor said. “I’ve put it off—the obvious reason.”

Like pain.

And safety.

“Change of plans,” Vaslav said suddenly, rising from his chair. Igor didn’t follow.

“What plans, Vas?”

“Yours.” He turned, and pointed at Igor, saying, “Whoever’s running messages for you—send one. Let any man in the bratva know the boss is ready to collect his dues. If we can’t find the snake in the grass because there’s so many, well, then let’s put them into a barrel.”

Igor’s brow crinkled. “What good is getting them all together going to do?”