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Chapter 37 – Viktor
Hand laced tight withBriana’s, we pushed through the front door of my uncle's house. The butler, Anton, was always peeved that we never knocked, but he did smile when he saw Sophia. Although she was merciless in the way she hounded Anton, my sister had a way of making that crusty exterior melt, and the warm soul inside the ancient butler always came out, ready to do her every bidding.
“We brought lox and bagels,” Sophia sang out to him, waving a bag in front of him.
Anton’s eyes rolled back in pleasure. “Smoked salmon? Perfection!”
“And we can whip up some more of that brown sugar and cinnamon spread,” Sophia insisted. “Come on, Bri. The kitchen is this way.”
But I held onto my prize a moment longer. Jerking her into my side, I placed a kiss on the top of Briana’s head. “I’ll see you shortly,” I promised.
As I let her fingers slide through mine, a pang reverberated through my chest. I should be in bed, sound asleep, with her tucked safely into my side. There hadn’t been a chance to catch any; we’d been too greedy fulfilling other needs.
After mercilessly taking her from behind—something we both enjoyedverymuch—we’d decided it would be good to get the metaphorical ball rolling. The most important factor in our plan was my uncle. While Sophia held a childlike assurance that he would see the right of the situation, Briana and I kept our fears to ourselves.
Before she disappeared after my sister and the butler, Briana paused and gave me a long look. Neither of us said anything, but enough emotion passed between that look that words weren’t unnecessary. We loved one another. It didn’t need saying or professing right now, just like my proposal in the middle of the night wasn’t timed right either. It was there in our actions—in the persistence toward fighting our way out of hell together. In the physical and emotional draw to one another. I felt it. And from the way Bri looked at me, she did too.
“Ace!” Uncle Igor boomed from down another hallway.
Briana scampered away, and I stalked to meet my pakhan. Today, he wasn’t my relative. Today, he was my enemy, someone I needed to strategize against with the aim of ensuring no blood was shed. “I’ve come because we need to talk. Sophia is bringing in a tray of breakfast, but before she gets in here, I want to tell you my side of the story.”
He gave me a nod and gestured me into his study.
A groggy Nikolai banged through the opposite door, joining us in my uncle’s inner sanctum. “What the devil is all this about?” he rasped, voice thick with tobacco and booze from the night before. “I already told my father it was Dmitri.”
“Yes, bad business that it’s him who’s the traitor. The bastard is popular,” Uncle Igor tutted.
“Shut the door,” I clipped. Igor scowled at me as he passed to sit at his desk. “That wasn’t to you, sir,” I added.
There was a gruff, unintelligible sound, but Igor let it go.
“Both doors are shut. Happy?” Nikolai scrubbed his hands over his face. “Now, where the hell did you tear off to last night?”
“Jakov Petrovic. His auto body shop, to be specific.”
My uncle crossed himself. Nikolai fell into a chair. I waited.
“I don’t know whether to be angry or proud enough to throw you a party,” Uncle Igor finally coughed out.
I waved my hand. “Before Sophia comes in, I need to say something else. I’m not marrying Anya Volkov.”
There were strings of curses and insults, but I continued pushing forward. “It was her father who sent the mole. Whether Dmitri is acting under orders to start a war here or going rogue for profit, I don’t know, but I won’t marry the daughter of a false friend.” I slid my hands into my pockets to keep from crossing my arms over my chest.
Igor pushed back from the desk, running a hand along his freshly shaven jaw as he eyed me. “Is that the only reason, plemyannik?”
