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It would be easier to say yes.
An enemy is an enemy. She doesn’t need the specifics. But I decide to share them anyway.
“No. They were punished a long time ago. I was in New York on business when Alex called.”
“Illegalbusiness?” Her tone is dry. And judgmental.
I smirk. “Legal actually. I just invested in some commercial real estate. There were a bunch of meetings about plans and building permits.”
“I’m surprised you don’t have people who handle all of that for you.”
I do. And I don’t think she meant it as a compliment, but I take it as one. I’ve never felt the need to impress a woman. My title—or rather, the wealth and power associated with it—has always taken care of that. But I like that Lyla has noticed where I sit on the hierarchy despite knowing next to nothing about the Bratva. Like it more than I should.
“I felt like a visit,” I say. “When Alex called, I was shocked, obviously. I wanted to travel to Philly, decide what to do, and the easiest way to explain that to my men was to arrange a meeting with Luca Bianchi. He’s acapo—part of the Italian mob. I should have anticipated he’d have men tailing me as soon as I crossed the city limits, but I didn’t. The fact that I stopped at your building…it drew their attention.”
“So, they weren’t after me and Leo? They didn’t know you’re his father?”
I decide to be honest. Lyla is tougher than her slender frame and delicate features suggest. “If Bianchi knew my son lived there, he would have sent a couple dozen men. So, no.”
“And you had them killed anyway.” Accusation saturates her voice. Followed by more judgment.
“They might have kidnapped you out of curiosity. That wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.”
Lyla bites her bottom lip and looks away, clearly torn between chastising me further and agreeing Leo’s safety is paramount.
“There’s something else,” I admit.
Her wide, worried eyes flash back to mine. “What?”
“About a year ago, my cousin defected. Well, first, he tried to kill me, andthenhe left.”
I attempt to inject some humor into my voice. But like most of my life, there’s really nothing funny about it.
Lyla’s eyes are wide enough to see every emotion reflected in them. There’s fear and anxiety, both of which I expected to see. But her eyes dart down, so quickly, I almost miss it. Almost like…she’s looking me over and checking I’m okay. Like some of that fear and anxiety might be aboutme.
Plenty of people care whether I live or die. But few of them care about my safety, just the consequences if I’m killed.
“Were you hurt?” Lyla asks quietly.
“No, but other people were. Dmitriy messed the timing up.” I exhale, recalling the screams and smoke. The smell of burning flesh and the realization someone I used to protect was showing their appreciation by trying to kill me. “We’ve been playing a game of cat and mouse ever since. He’ll pop up now and again. Hit a warehouse or kill a supplier and then disappear. Lately, he’s gotten bolder. He’s losing patience.”
“What does he want?” Lyla asks.
I hear the curiosity in her voice, even as she tries to hide it. That’s the thing about Lyla. Part of what drew me to her probably. She’s seen darkness. Seen ugliness. And ran from it, as most rational people would. I didn’t run, but I asked for a respite that ended with me getting pulled in deeper than before. I had no choice but to face my past. I don’t think Lyla has ever acknowledged how those experiences leave a stamp on your soul. She’s been too busy running.
“He wants to bePakhan,” I reply. “His father was my father’s only sibling. Blood matters.”
“And you don’t want him to bePakhan?”
“It doesn’t matter what I want. Or what he wants. It’s my birthright, and this isn’t a democracy.”
“So, the only way he’d becomePakhanis if he kills you?” Lyla is fiddling with the rose charm around her neck now—another nervous habit I remember. The necklace was a gift from her mother.
“Dmitriy knows he’ll never bePakhan. There’s a clear order of succession to avoid this exact situation. He convinced a few men to leave with him, but the rest remain loyal to me. Even if he manages to kill me and tries to take over, they’ll turn on him.” I sigh. “Especially now.”
Lyla’s brow furrows. “What do you mean, especially now?”
“Blood matters, Lyla. Dmitriy and I were the only two living Morozovs.”
