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Not the point, Liya.
Do I protect my brother’s secret? He’s given me everything he could possibly have given me. Maybe his actions haven’t always been savory, but his heart is in the right place. He wants me to be protected.
I frown.Pavel wants the same thing.
I stare out the window while ignoring the buzzing of my phone. It could be Willow, Jonas, or Pavel at this point. Hell, it could be the fucking pope texting me for all I care. I just can’t look at my phone. I have to think. I have to make a decision.
Probably the most important decision of my life—where does my allegiance lie?
With my brother?
Or with my husband?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Pavel
The mood in my office is somber when I take my seat at the table. Chair wheels squeak and leather seats wheeze as my brigadiers sit in their usual places. I scan the room as Stepan takes his seat beside me, a heaviness weighing on his bones.
There are a handful of empty chairs.
Something is wrong.
“Where is everyone?” I ask firmly.If anyone defected, I swear to fucking God— “We’re missing five men.”
Stepan clears his throat and sits up, folding his hands on the table. He’s getting ready to speak when Gennadiy and the three brigadiers who took Liya to Central Park drift into the office. I scan the room again. I still come up short.
“Volodya,” I say while staring at the empty chair across from me. “Where is he?”
“Dead, Pavel Sergeyevich,” Stepan reports.
The response stings. The rest of the room goes deathly quiet as I glare at the table, the polished wood glossy from being recently cleaned. Memories clutter my brain of Volodya, drunk off his ass, trying to grab a girl and yank her into his lap. Volodya smashing a guy’s face with one punch. Volodya laughing hysterically at whatever stupid joke Kostya made.
I shake my head. “What the fuck happened?”
“We hit another location near Meatpacking; tried to slide in quietly,” Kostya explains. He drags his fingers through his hair, tugging the strands so hard that his skin goes white at the roots. “We got busted bad.”
My mood nosedives. I don’t need this right now.
But it comes with the territory. What did I expect when I sent my men to hit these hot spots?
I clench my fist beneath the table. “By whom?”
“NYPD,” Kostya replies. He shakes his head. “Had our connection in the precinct keep an eye on Volodya because he got snagged. He died in his jail cell.” He snorts and then coughs, scratching the thick stubble under his chin. “Fucking called it a suicide.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” I blurt. I slam my fist on the table. “Stepan, I want you to collect the body.Right now.”
Stepan bows his head respectfully. “Can’t, Pavel Sergeyevich. It was cremated this morning. Even the coroner’s report is only half-scribbled garbage.”
I sneer. “It’s Cardona.”
“Undoubtedly,” Stepan agrees.
I scrub the back of my neck. “How the fuck did he get the upper hand?”
It’s like he knows how my men operate, I think.Like he’s inside my fucking mind.
I glance around the room.
