41. Matvey

41

MATVEY

I couldn't be prouder.

I watch April on the stage, that huge check in her arms, laughing and shaking hands and getting photographed for the contest's yearbook, and I feel my chest swell with something I've never felt before.

When she leaps down from the stage, I catch her in my arms. "Congratulations," I murmur in her hair. "You're about to become a very expensive tailor."

She squeezes me tightly in return. Her cheeks are just the least bit wet, but I pretend I don't notice. "Don't worry," she laughs. "I'll keep giving you the friends and family treatment."

"Just as long as you don't give it to anyone else," I growl as memories of tying April's wrists together with a length of blue silk flash in my head.

Her cheeks burning bright scarlet says she's remembering the exact same thing. "Hey," she says, "I don't actually have to bring this thing to the bank, do I?"

I ruffle her hair. "Nope. Hand it to a valet. They'll bring it to the car."

"I bet Grisha's gonna be thrilled about having that in his rearview mirror."

"He'll deal. He only uses it to spy on passengers anyway."

Someone coughs behind us. I'm tempted to ignore them, but I have a sneaking suspicion I know who it is. Even the stench of expensive perfume isn't enough to mask how full of shit the wearer is.

I reluctantly let go of April. "Mrs. Le Blanc."

She shoots me a mildly terrified look, but doesn't say anything back. Probably too scared to talk to me . "I suppose congratulations are in order," she grumbles to her stepdaughter.

"You really won't have time for that baby now, will you?" Anne fake-sighs.

That's it. I'm about to finally put them in their place when April's hand stops me, landing gently on my shoulder.

"I'll make time." She smiles politely. "That's what family does, after all." Then her face turns serious. "I hope you've learned something from this, Anne."

"Have a quickie in the bathroom for good luck?"

"Cheating gets you nowhere." April's expression goes softer. Kinder. It throws me off—and it seems to throw Anne off, too. "If you're really interested in fashion, I can always give you a few pointers, you know. You can try again with a piece of your own next year."

"And why would you do that?"

"Because I'm still your sister," she replies. "I can be your sister. If you'll let me."

I shake my head. Of course she'd say that. It's just like April—to extend a helping hand to someone who's always been an enemy. To try and fix things, even now.

For a second—only a second—something flickers across Anne's eyes. Something like doubt.

But it's gone as quickly as it came. "Oh, please. Don't make me laugh. As if you could ever teach me anything!" She starts cackling maniacally, but it's so forced, everyone can tell. "Did you forget? You lost, too! The shitty dress I stole from you just lost !"

It's like watching a train wreck happen. A split second after the words leave Anne's lips, her face goes slack, realization dawning. Of what she just said—and of how loudly she said it.

"I mean… I mean… !"

April gives a sad little nod. "Okay. If that's what you want. Goodbye, Anne." Then she turns to leave, my hand firmly in hers.

"You okay?" I whisper as soon as we're out of earshot.

"Yeah, I just… I thought maybe she could still come back to her senses. I know half her act is her mother's doing, so… I don't know." She sighs. "Guess I hadn't given up all hope after all."

I squeeze her hand. I can't blame her for wanting to try to salvage her relationship with her sister. For hoping they could become like her and Charlie: united despite the interference of their parents. "Some people don't change. And it's not your job to change them."

She smiles. "I know. It's gotten me a while to get here, but… now, I know." Her fingers interlace with mine. "Love changes people. And people who don't love anyone but themselves will never change. That's okay, too."

"It is?"

"Yeah. I've already got somebody who loves me."

I pull her closer to me, and we step out under the stars.

My good mood from April's victory carries well into the morning. It's almost a pity I'm going to have to spoil it.

"Well?"

Next to me, Yuri's tapping his foot nervously. I don't blame him. After that meeting at my loft, I still haven't clarified this part of my plan.

But soon, all will become clear.

The two representatives from the Groza and Solovyov teams stand before me. They're two young recruits, messengers sent to the slaughter, to take credit for their bosses if they win and take the fall if they lose. I can't say I envy their positions, but I also don't give a shit. They're Bratva—they knew what they were signing up for. Besides, it's not like they're doing it for free: if the vory sent them up, it's because they're the candidates they chose to join their ranks.

But there will be no promotion today. Not that any of these men know that quite yet.

"You." I point to the Solovyov recruit. "Talk."

"Sir…" the recruit begins. His name is Lev, one of Vlad's entourage, still wet behind the ears. "I'm terribly sorry, pakhan . The deal for the right half of the building was about to be concluded when…"

"Let me guess," I cut in. "A mystery buyer stole it from under your nose."

His face tells me I'm correct. "If you'll just give me another chance?—"

"No need. Get out."

"Sir, please?—"

"No." I rise from my seat. "I expected better. Clearly, the Solovyov Bratva wasn't used to winning. That's going to have to change here."

He swallows. "Yes, pakhan. "

"Now, go before I change my mind."

I watch him scurry away like a rat, tail tucked between his legs and folders forgotten. "Why did you let him go?" Yuri whispers.

"You'll see," I reply in hushed tones. Then I turn to the Groza recruit—my own man. "Anatoly. What do you have for me?"

He sets the folder on the desk. "The left side was acquired without troubles, sir. Here is the paperwork."

I flip through the file. "Nice work. Flawless, really."

"Thank you, pakhan. "

He doesn't see it coming. For some reason, they never do.

I whip out my gun and slam the grip into the back of Anatoly's head. "No, thank you. "

He goes down like a puppet with strings cut. He's not dead, of course: that would defeat the purpose.

"What the hell?!" Yuri rushes over. "That was our man!"

"Yes. And he's a spy."

"How can you know that?"

I lean back against the wall. "Think, Yura. If you were Carmine, would you sabotage another acquisition? Or would you use it to destroy your enemy?"

Realization dawns in my brother's eyes. "So that's why you did this? You set up the one that would ‘win'?"

"I did. Whoever's working against us would, naturally, also work against the other team. And now, we know there is someone working against us: whatever this is, it didn't die with Ivan. There's a mutiny."

"But… it could've been a coincidence!" he protests. "Just because he lost, it doesn't mean?—"

"Really?" I cut in. "You think last-minute mystery buyers come along every other day?" I scoff. "Think again, brother. This is Carmine we're up against. If we want to beat him, we need to be one step ahead of him."

For a long time, he stays silent. "This is crazy," he says finally.

I massage my temples. "Fucking tell me about it."

"What are we gonna do with him?"

I glance at the passed-out recruit on the floor. "Take him to the warehouse. I want him to tell us everything he knows."

Your move, Carmine.