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“I need to go.”
Kirill races after me as I pick up speed. “Where are you going?”
“To deal with this.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Brother—” I flinch away from his touch and he backs off with his hands raised. “I just wonder if confronting him now is the right move.”
“What would you do?”
Kirill frowns. “I would… trap him. Reel him in. Make him talk.”
“That’s how you deal with an enemy you don’t know. This one, Idoknow.”
“Do you?”
He has a point. But I can’t afford to second-guess myself now.
“It’s Saturday,” I remind him. “He’ll be at Fyodor’s.”
Kirill nods uncertainly. “Should I… get a kill team together?”
I shake my head. “I want this done quietly. He may not deserve it but his position earns him some respect. You and I can handle this ourselves.”
46
RUSLAN
The rage flooding through me feels like it has a life of its own. It still doesn’t dissuade me from entering my father’s house with Kirill at my side.
Fyodor’s housekeeper, Bogdan, is a portly man who’s been with the family long past his expiration date. He leads us to the garden room where Fyodor and Vadim are sitting opposite each other in matching armchairs, smoking cigars and drinking scotch.
“Ruslan!” Vadim blurts the moment he sees me. “This is a surprise.”
Fyodor glances up, his brow crinkling. “Has something happened?”
It’s a fair question. I’m not in the habit of stopping by for casual visits unless there’s a damn good reason. And I’ve never crashed one of their Saturday night meetings. It’s been a tradition since the accident, one of the few things that Fyodor does without having to be forced.
That’s when it hits me.
Thisisn’tjust between Vadim and me.
Once I’ve exposed his betrayal, it will affect everyone.Especiallymy father.
“May we join you for a moment?” I ask with stiff formality.
The two older men exchange a glance. “Judging from the looks on your faces,” Vadim says as his eyes skitter between me and Kirill, “this is not a social call.”
I take the only remaining seat between the two brothers. Kirill remains standing. “You’re right about that, Uncle.”
I flinch. It hurts to say.Uncle. It’s a title that means something. It has weight. Responsibility. And this motherfucker has smiled at my face for years, supported me openly day after day—and, all the while, plotted against me.
Who knows? Maybe it started long before Adrik. Maybe Adrik was nothing but a pawn in Vadim’s game.
“What’s going on, son?” Fyodor asks. “Is the family okay?”
“No,” I intone. “The family’s not okay.”
Fyodor recoils with concern. Even Vadim has the audacity to look worried. It’s so damn convincing that it floors me. Even now, he keeps lying.
