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“The police caught the perpetrators, but that wasn’t good enough for me,” he continues, venom dripping off his every word. “The men who killed my family may be rotting behind bars, but the bastards who ordered the attack are alive and well, walking amongst us like they own this damn city. Because, frankly, theydo.”
“The Antonovs,” I mumble. “Which one are you after?”
“All of them,” Ivanovich replies. “I plan on exterminating every last one of those rats, and you’re going to help me do it.”
My guts tie themselves up into impossible knots, a churning heat burning a hole through my stomach. I always knew the detective had a few screws loose, but this is a whole other level of insanity.
“I know you’re trying to push them out of Moscow,” he says. “I’ve been watching you ever since the traffic stop all those years ago. I could tell the second I met you that you had plans of your own. So why don’t we work together, hm? That way we both get what we want. If you help me make the Antonovs disappear, it’ll clear the way for you to take over the city just like you want. That’s what I call a win-win.”
I remain silent as I mull his words over. This is certainly a turn of events. It definitely explains why the detective has been so adamant about hanging out around the taxi depot. Was he trying to find some dirt on me in the hopes of blackmailing me into helping him? Could it be that because he found nothing, he’s now resorting to this last-ditch attempt at manipulation?
Idowant the Antonovs out of the way, but Ivanovich was right.
I won’t be caught dead talking to a cop.
“Leave,” I tell him. “Never come back. If you dare make the mistake of showing your face again, I’ll ensure it’syouwho disappears.”
Ivanovich huffs, disgruntled. We’re at an impasse and he knows it. If he kills me, there’s no doubt in my mind he’ll alert my neighbors. IfIkill him, I’ll have a dead officer on my hands—and I frankly don’t want to have to spend all night chopping him up into manageable bits.
“This isn’t the last of me,” he says, stalking off toward the front door. “Youwillhelp me, Nicolaevich. I’d much rather have you as an ally.”
“Get the fuck out of my sight,” I growl.
Once I’m sure he’s gone, I finally allow myself the luxury of breathing. My heart rails against my ribcage, the rush of blood past my ears almost deafening.
Fuck, that was close. Too close.
I have to weigh my options very carefully. I haven’t admitted to anything, but the detective clearly knows what my brothers and I are up to. I’ve already got the Antonovs to worry about, and the last thing I want is a vengeance-seeking cop to make things even harder.
I plan on exterminating every last one of those rats.
Thoughts of Sandra pop into my head. I think about her sweet lips, her fiery spirit, the way she always holds her head up high. Does Ivanovich plan on going after her, too? It’s unfortunate, what happened to his wife and child, but twenty years… Surely Sandra would have been far too young to have known what was going on. She wasn’t responsible for what happened, but the way the detective spoke made it sound like total warfare.
I swallow hard. I have no idea why I’m so bothered by this startling revelation. At the end of the day, I need Sandra to step aside. I needallof them to step aside. From the very beginning, I knew this takeover wasn’t going to be without a little violence and trickery. Kidnapping the heir to the Antonov Bratva was one of the milder things I was prepared to do to get my way.
But things are complicated now. Maybe a littletoocomplicated.
I could warn Sandra. Let her know a madman hellbent on revenge might be headed her way. Or I could put my own family first, double down, and do what has to be done. There’s no room for feelings here, no room for doubt. As the head of the Nicolaevich Bratva, I can’t afford to be so weak.
For now, though, it’s probably best if I play it by ear. With enemies lurking around every corner, I need to keep my options open. Think on my feet. If I don’t, I’ll be in a whole world of trouble.
Chapter 18
Sandra
“And where do you think you’re sneaking off to?” Frederick asks me as I make my way down the stairs. He’s lounging on the living room couch, phone up to his face with his feet crisscrossed on top of the far armrest. He looks cozy, bundled up in one of the sweaters Aunt Alina knitted for him for his twentieth birthday this year.
“I’m not sneaking off anywhere,” I say. “I’ve just got work to do.”
“Do you need any help?”
I give my little brother a sweet smile. He’s not as involved with the Bratva as I am by choice, much preferring his books and a quiet existence. Freddy’s always been this way. Too kind and frankly too soft-spoken for this world, which is probably why Mom and Dad never felt the need to push him too hard. They trained him in the basics—self-defense, firearm handling, everything a Bratva prince might need to know—but overall, he’s pretty much hands-off unless he wants to be involved.
It must be nice, I think, to live however he wants without the burden of familial expectations. From the moment I was born, my future was planned out for me. Sometimes I catch myself feeling a little envious of my siblings, but then I realize I wouldn’t know what I wanted to do even if Ididhave the freedom to choose. Growing up to be the pakhan was all I ever aspired to as a child.
It’s a little sad, now that I think about it.
So I shove the thoughts from my head and continue toward the door where Vance is waiting to escort me out.
