33. Matvey

33

MATVEY

After the balcony incident, I've been wary of leaving April alone. I came so close to losing her—I don't even want to think about what it would be like to come home and find it empty a second time. Just me, May, and an endless void to fill.

And a cat that can't stand the sight of me, but that's a different story.

So when Vlad demanded another round of drinks with his son-in-law, I almost declined. I almost made up some work-related emergency—my legit business, because otherwise he'd know I was lying—and shut myself back in the penthouse, away from the chaos my Bratva has been lately.

But then April started working again.

This past day and a half, it's like someone lit a fire under her. Her wicked stepbitches have no idea what's going to hit them. For once, they actually did something useful with their lives, even if their intentions were far less than noble.

Of course, if April loses, I'll pay them a midnight visit to balance the scales.

The point is, I can't picture that happening. Not with how hard she's been working. And her eyes—it's like there's life again in there. Like there's light again in there.

That's the only reason I accepted Vlad's invite. Well, that and the fact that Petra's staying with her, even if she's currently mummified in a thousand layers of chiffon.

"You got this?" I ask Grisha before leaving.

My third looks at me with pleading eyes. In his arms, May starts pulling on his beard. "I believe I've got this," he says uncertainly.

Who would've thought? So Grisha's got a gap in his resume after all.

I clap him on the shoulder and make my way out to the car. Tonight, it's Yuri who drives me.

"How have things been at work?" I ask as we take off.

"Tense," he admits. "But no one's thinking of rebelling anymore. After Ivan…"

We let it hang in the air. Ivan's been the last in a long, painful streak of betrayals this year. Tonight, I'll ascertain if it's really over.

A scantily clad hostess leads us to our table. Since Vlad was the one who picked the place, it's only to be expected that it reflects his standards of class rather than mine.

When he sees me arrive, Vlad stumbles upright. "Son!"

I glance at the half-empty bottle of vodka on the table. "I see you started without me."

"Nonsense. We'll get more."

That's exactly what I'm worried about. "I hope you don't mind if my brother joins us."

"Of course not!" Vlad bellows. "But he'll have to loosen up, too."

"Sorry?" Yuri balks.

"Come on, you bastard, drink something!" Vlad drags him down to sit. "You aren't pregnant, too, are you, boy?"

"He's driving," I cut in. "No drinks for him."

Yuri shoots me a grateful look. By contrast, Vlad scrunches up his nose. "Kids these days. Back in my day, you didn't leave the house without a nice bottle of vodka to warm you up."

"Yeah, ‘cause you had to sleep in the trenches," Yuri mumbles under his breath.

"What was that, son?"

"Nothing."

I bite my cheek. "Get to the point, Vlad. I know you didn't ask me here for the pleasure of my company."

"So paranoid," the old man sighs. "Always so paranoid. Very well."

He motions for us to sit. I take my place in front of him; Yuri remains standing at my side. I can practically feel his dislike for Vlad oozing out of him. My brother has many fine qualities, but subtlety isn't one of them.

Not that it matters. I'm the one who married his daughter. As far as Vlad knows, that's my baby in her belly.

Which means I'm the one who has to endure him.

"The vory , son… they're concerned."

"Oh?"

Vlad steeples his wrinkled fingers. "Yes. I'm afraid that nasty business with Ivan has left you looking a bit tyrant-like."

"I didn't realize I was running a group of Girl Scouts."

"My boy, you really should take this more seriously."

"And you should really stop calling me that."

He raises his hands in surrender. "Fine, Matvey. But my point stands. The vory are afraid of you."

"Good. That's the way it's supposed to be."

"If they respect you, yes. But even that's starting to falter."

"And I assume you have some pearls of wisdom on that front?"

Vlad smirks, oblivious to my sarcasm. "Of course I do. Anything for my dear daughter's husband."

I clench my fists under the table. "Let's hear it, then."

The old man downs another shot of vodka. His face is a ridiculous shade of red, but under the pink neon lights, I can't tell if he's really that drunk. For a while now, I've been wondering if Vladimir Solovyov is truly the fool he wants me to think he is.

He clears his throat before I can fully decide. "What you did to bring the Groza Bratva back from the grave—that was admirable. It earned you a reputation. But it also means you're lacking a type of security all other Bratvas have."

Oh, this should be good. "And that would be…?"

"A bloodline."

I frown. "My grandfather?—"

"Is dead. Has been for many decades now. And your heir is still unborn."

Behind me, Yuri growls, "How dare you?—"

I hold my hand up. "It's fine. Let him speak."

He backs off in surprise. Vlad takes the opportunity to pick up where he left off. "You don't have a bloodline behind you, Matvey. That's your weakness. All Bratvas are built upon one thing: history. Family. That's where leaders get their legitimacy. And you, Matvey—you have more skill than any pakhan out there. But you don't have a father to back you, and that hurts your position."

"Are you suggesting I make peace with Carmine?" The mere idea is enough to make me sick. With every second that goes by, it gets harder and harder to hold back my anger.

Vlad must sense that, because he hurries to clarify. "No, no. I wouldn't dare presume."

"Good. Then?—"

"… but you could still do something else."

I scoff. "Let's hear it, then. Should I raise my grandfather from the grave?"

"No. You should appoint me."

For a second, I'm sure I must have misheard. "Say that again."

"Make me your brigadir ," Vlad insists. "Do that and I'll keep your ranks in order. My men and yours."

"Last I checked, they were all my men."

"Then you should check again, because their loyalty is wavering."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. This is ludicrous. It's so absurd, I almost want to laugh. "What about your beloved bloodline? In case you haven't noticed, you still aren't my father."

"I'm your father-in-law. That's as close as it gets."

"And if I refuse?"

Something crosses Vlad's eyes then. Something frosty and sharp. "Then that's your prerogative," he says coldly. "But your men will keep scattering. And it won't be long before someone runs their mouth again and blows up another D.C. deal."

I freeze. "What?"

"It's about credibility," Vlad keeps prattling on. "And frankly, you've already screwed the pooch too many times, both figuratively and literally. Like that girl you keep?—"

"That's enough." I rise from my seat.

Vlad scrunches up his face. "You can't go on pretending, man! You're married, but you're living with another woman and child. I'm not saying you can't have bastards, but most men have the sense to keep them far away from?—"

"Vlad. Stop talking."

"Because you can't handle the truth?"

"Because if you say one more word, I'm gonna have to blow your brains out."

Vlad stiffens. Neon lights or not, I can see the color drain from his face plain as day. "Very well. I'll stop."

"Thank you for your advice, as always. Yuri, let's go."

I'm halfway down the hallway when I hear Vlad's voice calling after me. "So you'll consider it? My proposal?"

I bark out a laugh. "Go to bed, Vlad. You've had too much to drink."

Then I head out into the night.

As soon as we're out of earshot, I pull Yuri close. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"He knows about the D.C. deal. That someone from the inside blew it."

Yuri blinks. "That's…"

"Something he shouldn't have known," I snarl. "Take the car. Tail him. I want to know if there's more."

"More what?"

"More moles."

My brother looks shocked. "You can't seriously be thinking about accusing Vlad. You'll lose the Solovyov support."

"I'm not going to accuse him. His slip might mean nothing."

It's true. Vlad's got a big mouth; he could've easily heard something and parroted it back to me. Or…

He could've been in league with Ivan.

Either way, I can't be taking chances. Not now. Not when I have so much to protect. If I'm going to oust Vlad, I'm gonna need ironclad proof.

"Then isn't it better to let it go?" Yuri pleads. "If he finds out?—"

"He won't find out," I interrupt. "I trust you."

Yuri's objections die on his tongue. "Motya…"

"I'll hail a cab. Keep me posted."

He gives me a short nod. "Yes, pakhan. "

Then he's off into the night.

By the time I make it home, it's already dark. But when I open the door, I find the lights on. "April…?"

Then I step into the living room.

It's a familiar scene: fabric lies scattered everywhere, like a bomb has gone off at Louis Vuitton. Shaking my head, I search for April amidst the chaos.

A bunch of tulle shifts. From underneath it, a human figure pops up. "Oh! You're back!"

Shaking my head, I pluck a piece of lace from her hair. "Where's Petra?"

"She went home. She said, and I quote, ‘I'd rather die than see another ribbon.'"

"Sounds about right. Grisha?"

"In the guest room with the baby. Don't worry—he's watching me, too." She points to a nanny cam in the corner. "I think May fell asleep on his lap, though. He probably can't get up. Or call for help."

"He's faced worse."

"Wanna go relieve him of his duties?" April grins. "I have a surprise, but I need to set it up."

"Oh?" I lean in close. "And am I going to like this surprise?"

She puts on a mysterious air. "We'll see."

I smirk and head to the guest bedroom. "You dead yet, old man?"

"Nearly." Grisha's voice is a terrified whisper.

"C'mon, I'll take her."

My third is all too happy to dump the hot potato back into my hands. "All yours, boss."

May stirs, but only for a moment. The second I put her down in her crib, she snuggles against her fluffy feline bodyguard and quickly goes back to snoozing.

"I didn't know she did that," Grisha comments, dejected.

"She's a baby, not a bomb. You're allowed to put her down."

"I'll make a note for next time. How did it go with Vlad?"

"Strange. I'll update you tomorrow. Go get some sleep."

To be fair, Grisha does look like a truck ran him over twice, but that's not the reason I'm dismissing him early. That wicked glint in April's eyes, her mischievous smile—I wanted to take her then and there. If he doesn't get lost in the next five seconds, I won't care that he's in the room at all.

Luckily, he seems too tired to argue. "Alright. Goodnight, boss."

When he leaves the room, I stay behind. I take a moment to watch my baby, sleeping peacefully in her crib.

Your heir is still unborn. Like fuck she is. I don't care what Vlad says—my bloodline is right here.

Just then, April peeks her head in the room. "All done. You can come look now."

I follow her out into the living room. She goes to stand next to her mannequin, covered by a long white sheet. She's wearing the biggest grin I've ever seen. "Ready? One, two… three !"

WHOOSH.

It takes me a second to understand what I'm looking at. There's a dress there, certainly, but there's also… more.

Guns, for one thing.

The mannequin's pose is nothing like I've seen in any shop's window: elbows bent, center of gravity low, one Kalashnikov in either hand. Like a bride ready to turn her wedding into a bloodbath.

"Are those real?" I ask.

"I don't think so? Petra lent them to me."

Definitely real, then. "Hm."

I walk around the piece, taking in the details. That pure white bonbon dress I saw two days ago has been transformed completely, ripped in a million different places. Around the waist, a sturdy black bodice. "This is…"

"Kevlar," April confirms. "Or rather, my take on that."

"Your take?"

"Yes! I've been thinking about this for a while now, actually. Since you…" She gestures awkwardly at her shoulder.

"Since I got shot?" I fill in.

"That, yes. Back then, your shirt was ruined, but your jacket could still be salvaged, yeah?" She starts walking around excitedly, her mile-a-minute mind struggling to get the words out all at once. "So I've been wondering: what if you'd been wearing a different jacket? One that was light, stylish, but bulletproof? Because vests don't really cover your shoulders, and anyway you're not always gonna be wearing one, but you know what you are gonna be wearing no matter what?"

"A suit jacket?" I guess.

She snaps her fingers. "Bingo. A suit jacket. So this vest is kind of like… an experiment? I was thinking, if you like it, I could try to do more with it. Like, make an actual suit. What do you think?"

I think you're amazing. I think you're beautiful, and smart like a whip, and way too fucking pure for me.

I think I… "Matvey, stop that!"

No can do. I already scooped her up.

I twirl her around and she laughs, over and over. I could listen to that forever—the sound of April laughing.

"I think," I finally answer, "that you've outdone yourself."

"Why, thank you. Can you put me down now?"

I bring my lips close to hers. "Not a fucking chance."