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I glare at Kirill for ruining the semblance of an agreement I was trying to build, but he merely ignores me. “Who was the person you were supposed to meet?”
“Ivanov,” he spits out.
My legs go weak. Did he just say Ivanov? No, surely this is a coincidence. There are a lot of Russian people with our last name. Maybe even from other nationalities as well, so it’s not like this person is related to me.
Besides, the only Ivanovs I know are back home.
“First name?” Kirill asks.
“Don’t know.”
“Description?”
“A burly blond guy who loves torture.”
“No shit.” He runs his gaze over Konstantin’s multiple injuries.
“Are you making fun of me?”
“I don’t know. Have you done something I should be making fun of? Getting yourself ambushed by some guy whose background you haven’t even checked does sound amateurish.”
“You fucking—”
“Let’s get him a doctor,” I intervene to avoid whatever war is about to start.
Kirill turns to leave, not bothering to consider my suggestion.
“Boss!” I call.
“Viktor, take him somewhere else so he’ll stop bleeding on my floor,” he announces, then leaves.
“That son of…” Konstantin wheezes, sounding delirious with fever.
“Let’s take him to a doctor,” I implore Viktor.
“Boss didn’t say that.”
“He also didn’t say to leave him to die. Come on, help me.”
He grunts, glances at the door as if he wants to be beside his tyrant boss, but then, he picks up the phone.
“Get the doctor to the house. We’re arriving in twenty with Mr. Konstantin. He’s injured and needs medical care.”
Then Viktor helps me carry a semiconscious Konstantin to the car. To be completely transparent, he holds most of the weight.
As we make our way out, there’s no sign of Kirill, Yuri, or Maksim in the halls or in the club’s VIP booth.
We arrive at the house five minutes after the scheduled time, and we’re greeted by a pacing Yulia. She’s in her sophisticated satin robe. For the first time, her blonde hair is gathered in a bun and her face is free of makeup, allowing some wrinkles of age to show through.
Upon seeing us, she pales, but her expression doesn’t change as she hastens her pace toward us. “What…what happened? Oh, Kostenka! Who did this to you?”
She pushes me away, and I nearly drop her son. “You…and you!” She punches Viktor’s chest. “Did Kirill tell you to do this? That…that devil isn’t satisfied with everything he’s done, so he’s now taking my son from me?”
“It’s not like that,” I say in a gentle tone. “Mr. Konstantin was tortured and thrown in front of the club, so we—”
“Mother…” he croaks, his voice breaking.
“Yes, dear? Mother is here now. Everything is going to be okay.” Her tone changes to that of motherly affection. A tone I’ve never heard her use on either Kirill or Karina.
