61. Matvey

61

MATVEY

I haven't been at the office for one hour before the doors burst open.

"You mangy fucking dog!" Vladimir strides in, waving his fist in the air. "You mudak ! You dare dishonor my daughter?!"

Great. Just fucking great. One would think Petra would at least give me the morning before tattling to dear ol' Daddy. No such luck, apparently.

Grisha and Yuri come rushing in after Vlad, guns drawn, but I motion for both of them to stand by. "Hello, Vladimir. We really must stop meeting like this."

"How fucking dare you!" Vlad roars. He raises his fist to strike. "I'll wipe that smile off your face, you govnyuk ?—"

Without any effort, I catch his punch midair.

With my injured hand.

"I don't believe I was smiling," I growl.

Then I tighten my grip.

I watch Vlad's face drain of all color as my fist clenches around his, making the bones pop. His bodyguards balk, but not one of them has the guts to raise his gun at me. After all, I've still got one free hand. "Matvey?—"

"Let's get one thing straight here," I hiss, my grip now steel. "If you have grievances with me, I won't expect you to keep silent. I'm not that much of a tyrant. But you will mind your tongue, and you will remember your fucking self." Vlad's face scrunches up in pain, but I still don't let go. "After all, I'm going to be your pakhan soon. So why don't we keep things civil?"

" Blyat' , fine! Fine! I apologize!"

Only then do I release him.

"In that case, you have my regrets as well," I add. "Believe me when I say I never intended for any of this to happen."

It's not an apology: it's the truth. If there's one thing I regret, it's this goddamn mess. Had it been up to me, Petra could've lived and died a virgin.

But it wasn't up to me.

And I've already made my choice in the matter.

Vlad is still fuming, but he seems to have calmed down enough to remember his English. "I'm glad to hear that. People may call me old-fashioned, but even I don't expect a young couple to keep their hands to themselves until marriage. I understand a man has needs."

And a woman doesn't? I briefly wonder what it must be like to be married to someone like Vlad. Suddenly, I feel a flash of sympathy for his late wife.

"But a child is another matter entirely," he continues. "My family's honor is at stake here."

"As is mine."

He offers me his hand. Swallowing back my disgust, I give it a firm, hard shake.

"Which is why the wedding has to be celebrated within the week," Vlad concludes.

For a second, I'm sure I must have misheard. "The week," I echo.

"Of course! We want to put this matter behind us as soon as possible. I trust you agree?"

"Yes," I concede. "But this week won't work. April's baby is due."

Those two words— April's baby —are enough to turn Vlad's face back to cherry red. "Fuck that suka ," he spits. "Fuck her ubljudok. They can disappear for all I ca—AHHH!"

"I thought," I snarl into his ear, my grip suddenly steel again, "we agreed to be civil."

"Alright, blyat' , alright!" Vlad hisses out in pain. "But this has gone on long enough, sonny. It's time you think about your real family."

Sonny. I should rip his fingers out just for calling me that. But I force myself to remember the situation—what's at stake here.

My brother. His family.

"So?" Vlad demands. "Are you a man of honor or not?"

"If you doubt that, then you shouldn't be in business with me at all," I growl back.

And then, before my eyes, Vlad's expression transforms.

"Perhaps not," he replies with a newfound calm. "Perhaps I should just cut my losses. Withdraw my support and my numbers. Then I'll have to make new friends. Do you want to know what I've heard?"

It's like watching someone rip off a mask. Vlad's voice grows calmer, his demeanor colder. For once, he looks every bit the pakhan the streets used to whisper about. The feared Solovyov patriarch, famous for gutting his enemies like pigs, first with his words and then with his knives. It was the reason I sought him out in the first place.

Still, all this time, I never thought I'd see his fangs in person. After age shortened his temper and dulled his mind, every single pakhan in New York believed that version of Vlad to be gone—myself included.

If I didn't despise the man, I'd almost have to respect him.

Since I don't bother answering his question, he answers it himself. "I've heard that the feds are in the market for new friends, too," he says. "I bet they'd be very, very interested in the famous Matvey Groza."

"Careful," I warn.

"And you are famous, aren't you? As CEO and pakhan . It's not like you've gone to great lengths to keep your cover. In fact, you're the topic of conversation at every table within two miles of the courthouse. State attorneys everywhere are dying to find something that will finally stick."

"I won't repeat myself, Vlad."

"You don't need to. After all, we're still friends. Family, really. But if we weren't, I'm afraid I'd have no other choice."

I can't believe my ears: this mudak is threatening me. Me. Plain as day, in my own office, in front of my men.

And yet, as much as I hate to admit it, he's found the one chink in my armor: I haven't been careful with my cover. This city whispers my name like I'm the goddamn boogeyman—every kill, every catch, I made without paying any mind to the tracks I left. I didn't care about being clean; I just needed to stay a free man long enough to exact my revenge.

I never thought I'd have something to live for afterwards.

"Do you really think you could do that?" I sneer regardless. "Ruin me before I can ruin you?"

"People say my Bratva is dying," Vlad remarks. "I suppose it isn't far from the truth. It's why I need an heir in the first place: a strong man who can lead us into the future. And make no mistake, son—no one would like you to be that man more than me. But if you couldn't be that…" For a second, his eyes flash as cold as Petra's. "Then I'd show you just how dangerous a beast on its dying breath can be."

Kill him , my instincts scream at me. Kill him now and be done with it. Be done with him.

But where would that push my revenge?

"But of course, this is all just hypothetical." Vlad backs off, hands raised, voice pleasant again. "Like I said, we're still friends. All that's left to settle is a date."

I clench my fists so tight my knuckles start bleeding again.

If all I did was call things off with Petra after the baby's birth, it would have still been salvageable. If I'd spun Vlad a tale of duty and honor, maybe an alliance would have still been possible. Maybe he would have even taken Yuri as a replacement. As long as I named him my heir, it would have been acceptable.

And I would have. God, I would have.

But now, there's a baby.

And if I risk Vlad's wrath, there's no telling what would happen to mine.

I could protect them , the man in me insists. I could protect my child and April both. Get them out of the city, out of the country. As much as it would tear my heart from my chest, I'd do it.

But no one can keep somebody else safe twenty-four-seven. Not even the strongest pakhan in the world.

As it stands, there is only one thing I can do. Only one choice left to make.

"Sunday."

Vlad blinks. "I beg your pardon?"

"The wedding will be celebrated on Sunday," I force out. "I trust this settles the matter to everyone's satisfaction."

For a moment, Vlad looks like he wants to object. I wait for him to do it. Wait for him to give me the last excuse I need to whip out my gun and make a mess of my carpets.

But all he does is nod. "Very well," he agrees. "Sunday it is."

When he offers me his hand this time, I don't shake it.

The second he's out the door, I hear Yuri heave a sigh of relief.

Then Grisha steps in front of me. "What the hell is going on, man?"

It's the first time I've heard him speak like that. Insubordinate. "Remember your place, Grisha," I growl.

"Apologies," he amends. "I'll rephrase. What the hell is going on, boss ?"

"What's going on is that I'm getting married," I snarl. "As we all knew I would eventually. And I don't owe you a fucking explanation."

"You certainly don't," Grisha says flatly. "But I'd very much appreciate one. And so, I suspect, would April."

"Do not say her name!" I slam my injured hand on the table. Red spreads to the papers underneath.

Blood in the water .

"Gather the vory ," I command. "And do not ever question me again. It'll be the last time I let you."

"Grisha…" Yuri puts a hand on his shoulder. "It's fine. Just… leave it at that. Please."

Grisha looks between me and Yuri. His eyes are filled with suspicion—he can tell something happened while he was elsewhere, and he can tell Yuri knows, too. After all, he isn't my third for nothing.

But whatever he finds on our faces, it's clearly not enough to insist.

So he takes a step back and bows. "Yes, moy pakhan. "

Then he goes to gather the vory for the announcement.