11. Matvey

11

MATVEY

"Having fun?"

Petra turns to me with a surprised look. "My, my, if it isn't the runaway groom," she croons in Russian. The automatic doors of the Jupiter Hotel whirr shut behind her back. On each side of her, Petra's bodyguards glare at me in unison. "What brings you here, fiancé? Come to guard the princess's tower in person?"

I ball up my fists. "I'm not in the mood for your games. What the hell are you doing here?"

She gives me an enigmatic half-smile. Who does she think she is, the fucking Mona Lisa ? "Just popped by to compliment the chef. Those salmon tarts? Delicious. Tried to bribe the recipe out of him, but he wouldn't stop shaking long enough to speak."

Note to self: give Rowan a raise.

"That's it?" I sigh. "Cut the shit, Petra. I know you were at the penthouse just now."

A light chuckle. "What, caught me on those pricey cameras of yours? Or did a little bird whose name rhymes with Trisha sing a pretty song in your ear?"

I step closer to her. Her bodyguards tense, but I don't give a shit. I'm a way faster draw than either of them. "If you harassed her in any way?—"

"Oh, ‘ harass' is such an ugly word." Petra scoffs theatrically. "Please. What's a little girl talk between friends?"

"She's not your ‘friend.'"

"And she's not your anything," Petra retorts, her tone suddenly sharp. "So what's she doing here?"

I grit my teeth. "I don't have to justify myself to you."

"Tough shit," she hisses, taking a step forward. Despite her doll size, she's managed to get herself all up in my face, and I don't like that one bit. "Because I own your army, Matvey. Me. So yes, actually, you do owe me some sort of?—"

"Let's get one thing straight here," I snarl, too far gone for games. " You don't own shit; your father does."

"Listen—"

"No, you listen." I force her to take a step back, pressing her up against Tweedledee or Tweedledum, I don't fucking care which. "I can get my alliance anywhere . There isn't a single Bratva in New York who'd turn down the Groza name, and you know it."

"And what would that cost you?" she spits, a snake reeling back to bite. "No pakhan worth their salt is going to give up their title to you."

"Maybe not," I concede. "But none of them is ever gonna make you vor , either."

I watch her swallow that hard truth. Good. Let her remember where she stands.

"Is this your word's worth?" she murmurs with venom. "A bastard child and a common whore?"

"My word," I growl, "is my bond. So I'll honor my end of the deal."

She exhales. "Good?—"

"—unless you give me a reason not to."

I can see her lip quivering. Her face is a mask of fury, barely contained. Petra Solovyova was always too small for the storm raging inside her. I can respect that. Hell, I can even admire that.

But I won't tolerate her slights toward me or mine. And make no mistake: April Flowers is mine now.

So is the child growing inside her.

"What's that look like, then?" Petra asks in a bitter whisper.

There it is: surrender.

"Disrespecting my child, for one."

"And the mother, too?"

"And the mother, too." I raise my arm just enough to let my jacket lift over my gun. "And I'm sure I don't need to tell you what harming either of them would mean, do I?"

For a long moment, Petra's silent. She takes the hit with her usual grace—blinking away her frustrated tears like they were never there. Recomposing herself, her mask, one cracked piece at a time.

And then, finally, there she is again. Cold and smooth as ice. "Well, then," she says with a forced smile, "sleep easy. I won't get in the way of my own dreams."

"I had a feeling you'd say that."

"Mm," Petra hums, walking up to fix my tie. A peace offering—or a hidden knife. "Give your little flower my regards. After all, we're going to be family soon. As long as she behaves, I won't touch a petal on her pretty little head."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then there won't be a stem left to find."

I'm about to yank her wrist right off when she lets go herself, chuckling amiably. "Relax, Matvey. I'm just pulling your leg. I agreed, remember? No disrespect. No harm." She starts to walk around me, dragging her manicured nails lightly along my sleeve as she passes. "Just a little condition of my own. After all, we're partners. Right?"

"I don't enjoy being threatened, Petra."

"‘Threatened'? What threat?" she asks innocently, blinking up at me from afar. "For goodness's sake, you're Matvey Groza. Surely you can keep your house in order…?"

She starts sashaying away with her bodyguards in tow. I debate pulling out my gun and dropping a body right here, right now, in the middle of the street. Teach Petra Solovyova what it means to truly cross me.

But, before I can make up my mind, she calls over her shoulder, "Oh, by the way. I talked to my father. For the sake of his little girl, he'll allow this farce to continue." She throws a smile from behind her shoulder, all teeth. "But you should probably talk to him soon, too. Vladimir Solovyov isn't a patient man, after all."

Vladimir Solovyov is a has-been , I want to spit in her face. He's a septuagenarian with a dying Bratva and no heir to take over. He'll be patient if he knows what's good for him.

Before I can indulge the urge, Yuri appears at my side.

" Dasvidaniya! " Petra waves, blowing us a kiss and climbing into Vlad's limo, her twin hounds in tow.

I itch to grab my gun. But Yuri places his hand firmly on my shoulder and whispers, "Don't. We need her."

I shake him off, cursing up a storm. "Fucking insufferable."

"She can be, yeah."

"I'd rather marry her goddamn father."

"I don't think you'd look that good in a white dress."

I glare at Yuri. "Is there a reason you're here, or did you just want to finish what Petra started?"

Yuri clears his throat, stepping back. "My bad. I just wanted to tell you it's done."

I frown. "You have the test?"

He shakes his head. "That's… still underway," he says, sounding weirdly uncertain. I'm about to pry into what exactly's got him acting so strange, when he adds, "I meant the other thing."

I massage my temples. If this day goes on any longer, the migraine I'm brewing might be the death of me. "Quit speaking in riddles, brother. What thing?"

"The kidnappers. We have them."

That jolts me to attention. "Where are they?"

"In the warehouse, with our men keeping watch. I'm heading there now."

I give a quick nod. "Good. Do that. April mentioned one of them was Russian. He could be one of ours."

Yuri frowns. "You think our men got turned?"

"I don't know, but I'll need you there until I find out. If there's a traitor in our ranks, they might not be working alone."

"Understood," Yuri answers, straightening where he stands. If he were to salute me right now, I wouldn't even blink. Nothing whips Yuri into shape like an important task to oversee. "Will you be coming along for the fun?"

"No." I shake my head. "I'll meet you there later. Start without me. Make those lowlifes understand what it means to mess with one of us."

For a moment, there's only silence. Then: "That was quick," I hear Yuri half-joke, half-sulk.

I whirl around. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he backtracks. "Just…" A pause. I can see his eyes grow uncertain again as he gathers up the courage to ask the question burning up inside of him. "Is that what she is now? ‘One of us'?"

I roll my eyes all the way to the back of my skull. "Not you, too."

"I'm just saying," he mutters. "We don't know if she can be trusted yet. What if the kid isn't yours?"

"She can't be trusted," I tell him flatly. "She's not blood. And if the kid's not blood, either, then they can both go fend for themselves."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Yuri flinch. Does he think I'm being too harsh? Maybe. Yuri always had a kinder heart than me.

Luckily, I don't have a heart at all. That's what I tell myself, even as images of April on the run start crowding my head.

April, with a bundle in her arms.

April, running for her life.

April, staring down the barrel of a gun…

No , I tell myself resolutely. That won't happen. If the child's mine, then they will have the full force of the Groza Bratva to protect them.

And if it isn't…

"If it's not mine," I say out loud, "whoever's after her will soon realize their mistake, too. So don't worry, Yura: no one's going to get hurt here. Do you understand?"

No one that doesn't deserve it , I add with a rush of bloodlust, picturing April's kidnappers with a missing row of teeth.

Yuri nods. "I understand, Motya."

"In the meantime," I say, "put a rush on that paternity test. The sooner we know, the better."

"Yes, moy pakhan. "

I ruffle his hair. "What's with the formalities now? You're so weird tonight. Anyway, go. I'll catch up."

"Where will you go?"

I glance up at the hotel. At the balcony above all balconies, up on the penthouse floor. The one I know is mine.

The one that's now April's, too.

"I think," I answer, feeling an uncharacteristic grin pulling at my lips for the second time in as many days, "I'll go have dinner."