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He heaves a heavy sigh. “Ignore me.”
“I think you’re a great father,” I blurt out. Much to my surprise, I genuinely mean it. “Not everybody would step up to take care of a child they didn’t know about, but you did. That’s commendable.”
“It’s the bare minimum,” he corrects. “But thank you, regardless.”
I smile at him, drawn in by his natural warmth. He makes it so easy to forget, to live in a fantasy that maybe—just maybe—we could start anew.
“I need to get to work,” he says after a moment. “Have to speak to, uh, some people about the incident yesterday.”
“The police?” I ask, even though I know he’s lying. No self-respecting Bratva would ever go to the police for help.
“Yes,” he lies. It’s a cold reminder that we’re both wearing masks.
I take Simon from him and hold the boy to my chest. He sucks on his thumb, drooling a little onto my shoulder.
“When will you be back?” I ask him.
“Around ten tonight.”
“So late?”
“It’s going to be a very thorough meeting. Why? Are you going to miss me?”
I roll my eyes. We’ve suddenly returned to light and teasing. “What if I said yes?” I push back.
Dimitri’s smile is brilliant and blinding, the corners of his eyes crinkling. I’ve never seen anything more dashing.
“Well, if you’re still up,” he says, leaning forward to whisper against my ear, “I’m pleased to inform you that my office is soundproof. Meet me there and we can pick up where we left off?”
The corners of my lips curl up into a grin. “Maybe.”
“Maybe,” he repeats with a wink.
Chapter 15
Dimitri
“The Levitksys are dead,” Wilhem snaps. He’s the leader of a much smaller Bratva. Not a threat and with very little pull, but he’s certainly loud. He’s been posturing all night, puffing out his chest and raising his voice over other more respected leaders for the chance to be heard.
I don’t pay him any mind. I’m concerned about the big players. The Stokayevskis. The Rachmans. And last but not least, the Antonovs.
It’s rare to find us all in one spot at the same time. We’ve gathered in the private dining room of a restaurant downtown. It’s a secure location, selected because it sits where most of our territories share a border. A true neutral zone.
Most of the time, we’re at each other’s throats. Usually in a literal sense. But tonight, we’re gathered to face a bigger, more imminent enemy. Killing each other over territory, money, and power can wait until next week. Right now, we have bigger fish to fry.
“That’s not true,” Nicolai Stokayevki states firmly.
He’s arguably our closest ally. Several years ago, Mikhail was tasked with killing the man as a part of his initiation in the Antonov Bratva. Thankfully, my brother was able to think on his feet and helped the man fake his death. Now Nicolai owes us in more ways than one.
“Just last week, four of my money laundering operations were attacked,” Nicolai explains. “My men were gunned down in the street, but we had a few survivors who saw what they looked like. They all had tattoos on their throats—snakes with a knife through the skull.”
A murmur breaks out amongst the gathered gangsters. I’ve done some digging of my own. The families run things a little differently from one another. Some require you to wear a signet ring with their Bratva’s sigil. Others must scar themselves to prove their loyalty. It’s very common for the old guard to wear some sort of identifier. Helps keep friendly fire to a minimum.
One of the most common ways to show allegiance, however, are through one’s tattoos. The Levitksys, I’ve learned, require their men to don a snake being pierced through the skull with a knife—supposedly to symbolize the veryrealthreat of what they do to people they don’t like.
“We were attacked, too,” someone else pipes up from the other side of the room. “My supply warehouses were hit late last night. One of my men managed to kill one of the fuckers. He had a snake tattoo, as well.”
“So, the Levitksysareback,” Mikhail grumbles. “But how did none of us see this coming? Who’s calling the shots? Surely someone must have heard something before their return. A group with this kind of organization and firepower doesn’t just pop up overnight.”
