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Besides, Roman could defend himself.
“Tell Mat to start making calls,” Roman said, getting out of the car. “I’ll be back."
The greatest risk to his life wouldn’t be within the four walls of his childhood home — they would be in the days afterward, when Igor knew his son was his mortal enemy.
Assuming, of course, that Igor didn’t take the opportunity to step down.
He should. Roman had contacted Mikhail after Capstone handed over the gold and again before making the drive to Brighton Beach, just to make sure Mikhail hadn’t had a change of heart.
He hadn’t, and that meant Roman had a member of the Spies on his side, along with the men he’d enlisted to help him move the gold.
The moment Roman left the Brighton Beach house, the campaigning would begin, his father plying the other brigadiers and their soldiers with favors, promotions, and money to win their loyalty in the war for control.
Roman had a head start with Matvey, who was probably already on the phone making calls now that Roman was on his way into the house.
He checked his phone one last time. He’d texted Ruby before leaving Brooklyn, determined to tell her about the bratva before all hell broke loose, but she hadn’t texted back.
I’d like to come by tomorrow, he’d texted.There are some things I want to tell you.
It wasn’t like her not to reply and he was beginning to worry something had happened with Adam.
He pushed the thought aside. He would call when he left Brighton Beach, make sure she was okay.
Inside the house, he disarmed the security system and headed for the faint glow coming from his father’s study. Roman had called ahead, and he was unsurprised to hear Scriabin’s “The Poem of Ecstasy” moving down the hall and through the house.
It was one of Igor’s favorite pieces of classical music and the haunting strings seemed to portend the coming confrontation with his father.
He took a breath, straightened his suit jacket, and entered the library.
His father was behind the ornately carved desk that dominated the room, a glass of vodka on its surface, his eyes closed as he listened to the music.
Seeing his father there, as he had so many times before, Roman had his first flash of doubt. Was this a mistake? Yes, his father was a hard man, but he was still Roman’s father. And yet, nothing had changed. All the factors that had led Roman to the decision to take control of the bratva remained.
“If it isn’t my oldest son,” Igor said, his eyes still closed. “Come. Pour yourself a drink. Sit.”
Roman bypassed the bar at one end of the room and took one of the chairs on the other side of the desk.
“The Poem of Ecstasy” was relatively short — just over twenty minutes — and the symphony was well into the material when Roman arrived. He wasn’t surprised when his father made no move to begin their discussion, and Roman took advantage of these last few minutes of peace with his father before they became enemies.
His father’s expression was peaceful as the symphony built to a crescendo, then seemed to hover in the moment before it ended all at once.
A few moments later his father opened his eyes. “Remember how we used to listen together when you were a boy?”
Roman nodded. His father had demanded complete silence and Roman had sat on his hands, trying to curb his natural inclination to activity in order to avoid his father’s wrath.
“Time goes so quickly,” Igor said. “Soon you and Valeriya will have children of you own.”
“I won’t be marrying Valeriya Orlov,” Roman said.
A flash of annoyance passed over his father’s features. “Do you care to explain why?”
It was a rhetorical question, but Roman was beyond polite conversation with his father. It was nothing more than attractive wallpaper for the lies upon which their family was built.
Roman had had enough of it.
“No,” Roman said. “I’m here on other business.”
His father lifted a bushy eyebrow. “It must be urgent if you think you can delay the discussion of your marriage to Valeriya.”
