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What!? How does Belov know our history? Judging by his self-satisfied grin, he knows he hit his target. Leo’s hold on the gun tightens, his aim shifting to target Belov’s head. “You know shit about what happened in our past.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I knew your father well—not exactly friends but business associates.” A jolt of surprise shoots through me as this revelation. “He would come to Russia often, as you know. He was even a guest here a few times. We drank cognac together well into the night. Well, he would drink, and I would listen. After a few drinks and a bump or two of cocaine, Serge was quite talkative. My daughter—the daughter I was sworn by my honor never to contact—lived under his roof. I had a vested interest in keeping tabs on your family.”
If looks could kill, the combined looks of venom directed at Belov would have him dropping dead to the floor. But that’s not what happens. Instead, Belov goes in for the kill. His voice is deceptively light when he adds, “Alyona doesn’t know the truth, does she, Leonid? Why don’t you tell her. In fact, tell everyone in the room. I imagine your brothers don’t know the full story, either.”
All attention shifts to Leo. He’s still like a statue, his heavy breathing the only outward sign that Belov’s words have unsettled him.
“Leave him alone,” I snap back. “You have no right to interfere like this. What happened in the past is between us. Not you.”
“He’s right,” Leo says, voice hoarse. He lowers the gun in his hand. “You deserve to know the truth.”
“But not like this," I argue. I pull him towards me, but he won’t look me in the eyes.
“Yes, Aly, because you may not want anything to do with me after you learn the truth. When you learn how weak I was.”
“That would never happen,” I insist, but it’s as though my words bounce off a wall. Leo’s trapped in his own thoughts.
With a gesture, Belov clears the room, sending all his guards to wait on the other side of the door except Pavel, his right hand.
My eyes dart to Yulian, then sweep over Andrei and Daniil—all wear expressions of shared confusion. Kira shoots me a worried look. She understands what’s coming next.
I don’t know what Leo is about to tell me, but I do know there is no turning back from here.
Kneeling down, he grabs my hands in his and proceeds to shatter my world.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN
7 YEARS AGO
LEO
When Alyona’s breathing steadies,her body soft in sleep, I ease out of bed. It’s just after midnight, Papa will be awake, and I know exactly where to find him. I move quietly through the halls, having rehearsed this conversation in my mind over and over. He won’t be happy, but my decision is firm. There’s no doubt or second thoughts.
Alyona is all I’ll ever want and need. She showed me there was another way. That I can create my own destiny. That I can live in the light. She believes in me, believes I am capable of so much more, and I will prove her right. I’ll make us a life beyond the brotherhood, with her by my side.
The dim light under Papa’s office door tells me he’s still working, the life of a pakhan is a 24/7 gig. Not that he minds. Papaisthe Kozlov Bratva. It wasn’t a legacy passed down to him, it was a legacy he created, that he fought for. Hell, he moved continents knowing his business could only thrive on American soil since the bratva in Russia was too entrenched to make room for an upstart like him.
But leading a bratva to greatness is his dream, not mine. I knock softly. The shuffling of papers on the other side of the door ceases. “Enter,” Papa’s booming voice rings out.
My father sits behind his grand mahogany desk, a king perched on the throne. There’s not a computer in sight. Papa doesn’t believe in electronics to run a business, not an illegal one at least, he’s a gentlemen’s handshake kind of guy. What good is a contract when a bullet can drive the point home much more effectively?
“What is it, son?” Papa asks, lowering his bifocals down his nose.
“We need to talk. It’s important. It can’t wait until morning.”
“Very well.” He gestures to the seat across from him, and I sit. Abandoning his glasses on the desk, he rubs the bridge of his nose. “What is it?”
The confidence I’d felt earlier is a little shakier now. “It’s about Alyona. Alyona and me.” I take a moment, debating how to tell him. But with my father it’s best to be direct. “We’re together, Papa.”
He raises his eyebrows, not in surprise, but in confirmation. “I know,” he finally says.
“You know?”
“I know everything that happens in this house, Leonid. Why would you think differently?” His face turns stony, an unsettling stillness settles around us.
There’s a cruel edge to Papa. I’ve always known it—the terrifying way he’d yell at my mother when they fought, or the way he’d punish soldiers when they disobeyed him. But I’ve never had it directed at me. Not like this.
Until now.
