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“Just like his father.” Gunsyn takes in a deep breath, collapsing onto the folding chair closest to him. He hacks and wheezes until he can catch his breath, and his eyes water from the exertion.
“I told you, Gunsyn.” I rip the glass from his hand and drain it in one gulp. “You’re an old man.”
Gunsyn shifts his body away from my hand and eyes me with contempt and plenty of resentment.
“Pakhan, please,” Alexander motions toward the large wingback chair. “We have business to discuss.” He looks at the other. “You’re wasting time quarreling with us. There is nothing to prove here.”
I’d have preferred a folding chair than to sit in Gunsyn’s stink, but I lean back on torn fake leather mended with frayed duct tape.
“I need to know,” I say to them calmly, “everything that there is to know about Budanov. I’m supposed to believe he’s a traitor, but I know nothing other than a name. So, you will tell me why he is a traitor, or I will continue thrashing you until none of you can walk.”
Alexander glances over at Ippolit, whose inscrutable gaze stays on me. Sighing, he decides he will be the one to take the bait. He stands and sits in the chair beside me, careful to check for stainson the seat. His bespoke suit stands out in the squalor of the warehouse office like a peacock in the mud.
“Zakhar Budanov,” he starts, “was theAvtoritetbefore he turned against your father.”
The room falls silent, and the calm delivery of those words stuns me. There hasn’t been anAvtoritetin the Starukhin Bratva for decades. The traditional power structure of the Bratva has room for someone who held tremendous sway and power, a right-hand man, if you will.
But the title of theAvtoritetis something far beyond that. To bestow this rank upon a man of the Bratva is to signal your absolute trust in him. A pakhan trusts hisAvtoritetwith his deepest secrets, ones that not even his family knows.
For as long as I’ve known, Father never had one. And neither I nor Matvei were given this title. I myself have never considered granting that title to anyone else. Not even to Rurik.
My heart pounds as I try to process this revelation.
“Impossible.” I try to deny it, but my voice fades. “There would’ve been signs. There would’ve been—” But before I can finish, Zhanna’s cursed voice starts echoing in my ears again.
Your bride has a dark past.
Is this the past that she told me about? But she also warned me about my own brigadiers. Just what is that crazy old woman playing at? I look at each man in turn, narrowing my eyes as I do so.
More importantly, what aretheyplaying at?
“Yes, my pakhan?” Ippolit secures the window, making sure the latch is locked before he sits down. When I don’t reply, his monotone voice resumes talking while he continues to watch me intently. “Perhaps she’s playing you for a fool as her father did yours.”
“Who?” I tug at the tie around my neck and angrily toss it onto the concrete floor. “Who did Budanov turn to after he betrayed my father?”
“Who do you think?” Gunsyn asks nastily, fully recovered from the fight. His eyes narrow as he points his stubby finger for emphasis. “He went to the only man who could do anything to us.”
The stale air in the room wraps around me like a fist around my neck, choking the air out of my lungs. My hands clench around the armrest of the chair, knuckles whitening with the effort to restrain myself.
“Emilio Lanzzare …” I whisper.
“Budanov knows everything there is to know about us,” Alexander resumes talking. “He was theAvtoritet, after all. Every little detail was hidden in his brain, and his betrayal nearly undid everything.”
My jaw drops at the realization of what Alexander is saying. I know what I must ask next, but I don’t want to hear the answer. Hearing the answer will make it real, and I desperately want it to remain nothing but rumors on the wind.
“My brother …” I look at them, one after another.
Ippolit bows his head and sighs. “Budanov must’ve known that Matvei Gennadyevich would stand to take your place all thoseyears ago. He must’ve tipped off Emilio about the hit. And in return …” He spreads his hands in feigned helplessness.
I look away, feeling nausea roiling my insides at the revelation.
“How convenient that his daughter emerged immediately after my coronation.” I lean back, and Alexander pours me a glass of vodka. I grasp the glass tightly but don’t drink. “You should’ve told me …” I murmur.
“We tried, Nikolai Gennadyevich,” replies Gunsyn loudly. “But you stopped us from questioning the bitch the right way.” Gunsyn leans across the desk, and the passion in his eyes vibrates. “And now it’s come to this.”
“But Budanov has revealed his hand,” Ippolit states stoically, sipping his vodka. “The bombing at the gallery was the first attempt, and the incident at the wedding shower was the second. You are now on his radar, and he will not stop until he gets his daughter back.”
“A daughter who is surely acting on her father’s orders,” Alexander points out. “After all, it’s like you said, my pakhan. How convenient that she emerged immediately after your coronation.”
