38. Matvey

38

MATVEY

Baby's safe , April texts me later that afternoon.

I immediately let out a sigh of relief. On the inside, though, because Grisha and Yuri are here in the office with me and I'm in no mood for follow-up questions. But it's still a weight off my chest.

After a bit, another text bubble pops up. Still cozy, though.

"Motya?"

My amusement must show on my face, because Yuri's staring at me like I've suddenly suffered a stroke.

"Yurochka's idea isn't half-bad," Grisha summarizes for my benefit. Lately, my third has been able to tell at a glance when I've missed an entire chunk out of a conversation. With how distracted I've been in the past few weeks, it's a miracle I've been able to make it through meetings at all. "Expanding in the Middle East would certainly build a reputation for the Jupiter Hotels' name."

I hum in approval. "It would be quite an investment."

Under the table, I type a reply: Good. I press send. Then, on a whim, I add, I trust Petra's been behaving.

My screen lights up with April's answer moments later. It's a picture, blurry and clearly snatched against the subject's will. Petra's arm is outstretched towards the phone, her face scrunched up in annoyance, while April's grinning in the corner and making a peace sign.

Caption: Hasn't knifed me yet!

"—making it a medium-term investment with guaranteed returns," Yuri wraps up.

Shit. I spaced out again. What a fucking hassle. "Mm."

"It would also give the vory an alternate project to focus on," Yuri adds. "To take their minds off of…"

He doesn't need to say it. The words " The D.C. Acquisition" are seared on everybody's mind.

"The vory will focus on what I tell them to," I half-snarl. "I don't intend to babysit them with side quests."

That said, when I finally glance at the report in my hands, I realize the numbers look good. More than good, in fact.

Besides, Yuri showed initiative. That's something to be encouraged, not punished. Every pakhan worth their salt knows this much.

"Make it three years."

"What?"

"Make our money back in three years," I repeat, rising from my chair, "and you can move forward with this."

Yuri looks over the moon. "Yes, pakhan. "

"Cut it out." I give a light slap to the back of his head. "I swear, it's like you think I'll hit you."

"You did hit me," Yuri points out. "Just now."

"Trust me: if I'd hit you, you'd know."

Pushing Yuri's strange behavior aside, I check my phone again. A new picture has popped up: Petra's bodyguards, raiding my pantry.

Also, we're out of food , the caption reads.

I'm itching to walk out the door. Christ, it's not even five . Am I really so keyed up that I can't wait a couple of hours to give April the punishment I promised her?

I'm this close to ordering Grisha to drive me back. Take an early leave and kick Petra's goddamn locusts out, kick everybody out, until it's just me and April. Until I can finish what I never got a chance to start this morning.

And then the door bursts open.

My hands fly to my gun. So do my men's. But it's only for an instant: the second I see who it is, I lower mine. But I don't tell them to lower theirs.

"Vlad," I greet coldly.

"You!" Vlad splutters, followed by two brainless gorillas that roughly resemble the ones I fired earlier. Seriously, does the vacant stare come with the job or do they give them a complimentary lobotomy? "Do not ‘Vlad' me. You know why I'm here."

"I'll assume this is a social call." The threat in my tone is clear enough: Do not test me.

Unfortunately, Vlad's not much brighter than the company he keeps. "What are your intentions with my daughter?" he demands, spittle flying everywhere. Grisha looks tempted to hold out an umbrella for me. Really, I wouldn't say no.

"Marriage," I deadpan. "You've known this for a while, if I'm not mistaken."

"Marriage! You've got some nerve, young man."

"A necessary quality for any pakhan worth their salt, you'll agree."

Clearly losing the battle with his own nerves, Vlad pushes on. "You think we're all idiots, huh?" I don't answer that. It wouldn't be diplomatic. "You think I don't know what you're up to?"

"Enlighten me."

He slams a dried-up palm on my desk. "Where's the DNA test?!" he screeches, frantically looking around the office like he thinks he's going to find it pinned under a paperweight. "And don't even think of lying to me. I want a straight answer: Is that curva 's brat yours or not?!"

My gaze turns to ice. Don't kill him , I chant over and over in my head. He's your future father-in-law.

If I didn't need his daughter's godforsaken dowry, he'd have bigger concerns than even my hands around his throat.

But somehow, I manage to rein myself in. Unlike Vlad, I know how to play this game. And I'm not about to lose to a geriatric idiot's idle threats.

" Ms. Flowers's child , " I correct icily with a firm step forward, "is none of your concern."

"None of my concern!" Vlad balks. "You've been dishonoring my daughter! And you won't even take responsibility?—"

"The DNA test has already been run."

That seems to douse Vlad's flames, if only a bit. "Well, then?" he demands. "Is it yours or not?"

Without a word, I hand him a sheet of paper. One I've had on my person for quite a while. One that Grisha personally prepared.

I watch Vlad's beady eyes scan the document. When they get to the bottom of the page, I already know what they'll read:

INCONCLUSIVE.

In his grip, the paper crumples. "What is the meaning of this?!"

"It means we'll have to wait," I answer, clipped. "Until the baby's born."

"Until it's born ?!" Vlad's eyes damn near bulge out of their sunken sockets. "This is a travesty!"

"This is biology," I correct. "I'm afraid even the Bratva's powerless against that."

At first, I wonder if Vlad's too far gone to listen to reason. My excuse is ironclad, but will it be enough?

An annoying part of me reminds me that Petra warned me about this. My father isn't a patient man.

Luckily, I'm even less patient.

So when Vlad starts spluttering again to the tune of, "This is a trick! This is—" I stomp my foot down.

Hard.

"This," I growl, taking yet another step forward, "is how it is. So either get with the program or get the fuck out my office. I can find another bride, but I can guarantee you'll never find another heir."

Vlad's face goes up in flames. "You…!"

"Me," I agree. "Me, who's going to save your dying Bratva. Me, who's going to double your numbers. Me, who's going to marry your precious daughter. Me. So if I were you, I'd start showing a little respect."

I don't bother disguising my threat. I want it to be crystal clear: if he pisses me off, I can find a million ways to make him pay for it. Including making his daughter pay for him.

Of course, I'd never fucking do that. I'm not the kind of scum that goes after women and kids, regardless of whether the woman in question can or cannot kill you with a toothpick.

But Vlad doesn't need to know that.

"That said, we've both invested a lot in this union." I relax and unclench my fists. "I'm certain neither one of us wants to go back to square one for such a pointless reason. Right?"

It's a question in name only. But Vlad's a businessman, too, and it doesn't take long for him to remember that. "Right," he agrees uneasily. "I admit… I may have let myself get carried away."

It's as much of an apology as I'm going to get. Not that I give a fuck about Vladimir Solovyov's regrets. "No matter. I'm glad we could clear this up."

Vlad looks like he's just swallowed a lemon. "Likewise."

"Well then," I say, grabbing my suitcase, "if there isn't anything else?—"

"Actually, there is."

I stop halfway to the door. Yuri and Grisha exchange a long look. "Speak," I force out.

"We should bury the hatchet properly," Vlad says. "Man to man."

"We just did that."

"Did we?" Vlad remarks. "I don't see a drink."

I roll my eyes inwardly. Of course—Vlad's old school. To him, everything from a minor business deal to a shootout with a rival organization demands to be made official through alcohol.

"We haven't shared a bottle since you asked for my daughter's hand." Vlad taps his foot lightly. "It's long overdue. A man should drink with his future son."

I nearly punch him then. I'm no one's son. My mother's dead and my father saw to it.

But I force myself to calm down. This close to the finish line, I can't afford to slip up. Vlad's goodwill is a better outcome than I hoped for—I shouldn't let it go to waste.

But if you go, you won't make it to family dinner.

The thought makes me beyond furious. When has April become more important than my business? My dream?

"Fine," I accept at last. "But you're paying."

Vlad's face breaks into a sly grin. "I wouldn't have it any other way, syn. "

On my way down, I type a quick text to April. Can't make it tonight. Something came up.

Hopefully, Petra can hold down the fort a little longer.