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And we’re back to it. I think the relief of seeing my parents managed to last all of five minutes before I’m ready to walk out the door. “Speaking of which,” I say, slapping my hands on my knees and rising.
The motion reminds me of Ben instantly. That was his signature move for ending my dad’s lectures if they ran too long.
I push past the pang that lances through my chest at the reminder and head toward the front door. “I should probably be going before any paparazzi catch a whiff of the fact that I’m here.”
“Wait,” Mom pleads, surprising me with the pained worry in her expression. Typically, she reserves that look for Ben.
Pausing, I turn to face my mother, curious to see what she might have to say.
“It’s just… I was hoping you might be able to talk some sense into your brother,” she says, her eyes teary as she reaches out to take my hand.
Of course, she was. Why else would they ask me to come home? I’m an idiot. “What makes you think he’ll listen to me?” It’s not like I haven’t been trying to talk sense into him for months now.
“You two are close. He’s always listened to you,” Dad says, rising from the couch to join my mom in their attempt to convince me.
Sighing heavily, I rub my forehead. “I don’t think he’s going to want to hear anything I have to say,” I confess.
“Won’t you at least try? He’s your brother, Dani. And if we do nothing, I’m afraid we really might lose him this time. He’s not going on some bender, trying to be a cool kid and make some memories. Violence changes a person, and I worry that this is something he might not come back from,” Dad says, his voice pained.
I’ve feared the same thing. If Ben can’t see how far down the wrong path he’s going, could he reach a point of no return? I don’t want to think of my brother being caught up in the life of a criminal. It’s taking all I’ve got to wrap my mind around the fact that Pyotr and Efrem are.
How have I been so naive, so blind, for all these years, and now that my eyes are open, it’s like I can’t stop seeing the crime and violence that’s right on my doorstep.
“I’ll talk to him,” I agree to put my parents’ minds at ease.
But it makes my heart ache because I don’t see how I pull Ben back from this ledge.
“Thanks, honey,” Mom says, pulling me into a hug.
“I’m doing this for Ben,” I state, clarifying that it’s not about my dad’s campaign or even my mom’s concern right now.
They’re not ready to accept me as the daughter I am, so as far as I’m concerned, we’re still miles from mending the rift between us. But Ben’s worth the effort. He’s always been there for me, loved me no matter who I am, and I want to do the same for him. Only I want him to be able to live with himself when everything is said and done.
And this Ben, the one who would aim a gun at anyone, that’s not the Ben I know and love.
9
EFREM
“Where are you?” Pyotr demands in Russian, his expression turning thunderous as he white-knuckles his phone. “And you just heard about this now?”
He pauses, listening to the person on the other end of the phone. But this can’t be good. He’s pale with rage as he paces in front of his office window. Val and I share a look from the corners of our eyes, and his lips thin as he frowns.
“Meet me there in fifteen.” He ends the call a moment later, his eyes flashing as he looks wildly around the room. “Blyat!” Pyotr hisses, sweeping the contents off his desk in his fury.
Glass shatters as a snowstorm of paper flutters to the ground, and his shoulders heave as he breathes heavily. This cannot be good.
Combing his fingers through his hair and tugging at the roots, my pakhan takes a moment to compose himself. Then he looks at me and Val. “We’re going to Satine,” he states and strides toward the door without another word.
It’s early—too early for whatever shit we’re about to face, and I suspect this is going to be a doozy. But we follow silently and join him in the Escalade minutes later. He’s on the phone with his captains for the entire drive, commanding several men to go to the house and not let Silvia or Isla out of their sight. Others, he sends to the various distribution locations and clubs we have around the city.
We pull up in front of Satine in record time, the front looking lifeless and empty. But the shattered front windows—painted black to block out the daylight—look like jagged teeth. They tell me we’ve been hit again.
Gleb arrives before we’re out of the car, pulling up on his motorcycle and slinging his leg over the side as soon as he kicks the stand into position. The pretty boy doesn’t wear a helmet, which works fine for his whole windswept model hairstyle.
“Vova should be inside,” he says, his voice flat and deadly as he joins us in front of the strip club.
Gritting his teeth, Pyotr casts a glance toward me, then Val. “Brace yourselves,” he warns.
