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Tiana places a cup of coffee in front of Misha, along with a much smaller slice of cake. “Just taste it,” she begs.
Tiana might’ve accepted Vincent and me as her brothers, but there’s no one she loves more than Misha. Before my parents adopted them, they were stuck in an orphanage and only had each other, so it’s understandable that they’re inseparable.
Mama starts to prepare breakfast, and soon the aroma of fried eggs, melting cheese, and sliced sausages fills the air.
Vincent and Papa enter the kitchen, and Tiana gets busy preparing tea for them.
“Happy Birthday,zaika,” Mama says before hugging Vincent.
We all take a moment to wish Vincent a happy birthday, and as Mama and Tiana set all the dishes on the table, Papa mutters, “The boys are coming with me. We’ll be gone all night.”
“But it’s Vincent’s birthday!” Mama exclaims. “We always have dinner together. It’s tradition.”
Papa shakes his head, giving Mama an impatient look. “Work can’t wait.”
Mama looks visibly unhappy, but she doesn’t force the subject. “You better eat,” she says, glancing around the table. “Come, come. More food.” Getting up, Mama starts to make more fried eggs, a clear sign she’s pissed off with my father. Cooking always calms her down.
“Tiana, you look after your mama while we’re gone,” Papa instructs.
“Yes, Papa,” she replies.
Tiana was the first to call him Papa, where it took Misha a couple of years. He still alternates between Mr. Ashlanhov and Papa. It was easier for both to switch from Mrs. Ashlanhov to Mama, though.
Just to please Mama, we all eat twice as much. It feels like I’m going to burst by the time I stand up from the table. I press a kiss to Mama’s cheek before giving her a tight hug, then move to Tiana to hug her quickly.
“Be careful,” Mama says to Papa. “And look after our babies.”
“Babies, my ass,” Papa grumbles. “They’re fully grown men.”
Mama gives him a look of warning. “They’ll always be my babies.”
It takes another ten minutes before we’re able to leave the house, and only once we’ve all piled into the armored SUV does Papa say, “We’re taking Ivanov’s daughter tonight.”
What?
My eyes widen, and shock trickles through my body. Misha and I just started with our bratva training. We’ve been assigned to a junior boss and follow him around like lost fucking puppies. So far, I’ve only beaten a couple of fuckers who owe the bratva money. I’ve only killed once.
Kidnapping? That’s a whole different level. Especially if the girl has half a fucking army guarding her.
My eyes flick to Misha, and we stare at each other for a moment.
“Alek, you’ll grab the girl while Vincent has your back. Misha and I, along with my soldiers, will take care of her guards.”
Christ.
I nod because there’s no arguing allowed. You do as you’re told in the bratva. I have to kidnap the girl. I’d much rather help take care of the guards.
Letting out a slow breath, I turn my attention to the snow-covered scenery passing us by as we speed toward the heart of Moscow.
Against my better judgment, I ask, “What happens to the girl after we take her?”
Papa’s eyes remain on the road as he mutters, “She’ll be our hostage until Ivanov either withdraws out of our territory or agrees to an alliance.”
Fuck. That can take years.
Pushing my luck, I ask another question, “Will she be kept in one of the safe houses?”
“No.”
