Chapter 32

thirty-two

Kane

“You’re a dick.”

My brother pins me with those disconcerting eyes, not bothering to scowl. “You’ve lived as an American for too long.”

“You scared the shit out of my wife.”

“She is stronger than you think.”

I toss back the shot, letting it hit the hotel bar hard. I left Nevaeh in our room with four of Ilya’s men standing post outside. She’d protested their presence, but it only took Ilya sliding those cool eyes to her before she conceded, lifting onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to my jaw before whispering about a bath she’d take and to enjoy my visit with my brother.

Now I’m sitting in a quiet hotel bar with my brother I haven’t seen in nearly four years. We talk, not often, but we keep in touch enough to know what’s happening in each other’s lives. At least, Ilya knows what’s happening in mine. He doesn’t share his life with anyone, not even our father. I know of the business, but his personal life? No.

I’m not even sure he has a life outside of the business.

“Mother is pissed you married an American without bringing her home first.”

I make a noise in the back of my thoat. “Her approval wouldn’t have mattered.”

“She would have approved.”

Hearing him say that means a lot, even if it wouldn’t have mattered either way. “She just wants little Volkov babies running around.”

Ilya cringes, but it’s so faint, if I didn’t know him like I do—even with four years having passed between us seeing each other—I would have missed it. An unpracticed eye wouldn’t have seen it. Wouldn’t have suspected the idea of siring children made his blood turn colder than it already ran.

I laugh. Ilya doesn’t crack a grin. “We’ll leave that to you and your simple rockstar life.”

“It is pretty simple,” I admit, because as hectic as it can be it’s nothing compared to the life I was trained to live. “But I was never needed for anything else.” I wink as I say, “Spare, remember.”

Ilya sets those eyes on me. They’re so like mine and yet so not. I have my father’s eyes. Bright, shocking blue. Kirill, my oldest brother, has my mother’s eyes of coal black. Ilya is an abomination in between. There’s an explanation for his eyes—a rare genetic thing—central hetero-something-or-other. But still, even though there’s an explanation, and even though it’s rare, they’re creepy. I don’t imagine everyone with the trait can make a man want to shed his skin just by standing under the piercing weight of his gaze.

That’s just an Ilya trait because Ilya is, well, Ilya.

Still, I’ve had a lifetime to perfect my mask of indifference. Besides, I know it pisses him off, mine and Kirill’s indifference to that gaze.

Ilya slams back his shot, surprising me. Without a flinch at the burn, he twists to face me. “You are trained in both businesses,” he begins matter of fact. “You have the knowledge to run the family empire. The whole empire. Not one half or the other. The whole thing. You were sent to America to continue that training. You made the choice to abandon the family businesses. You made the choice to take your own path, and father has supported you in the only way he can. What you are not, and have never been, is the spare.”

“I was the backup. Trained the way I was so that in the event either you or Kirill failed, I would be able to step in.”

“You were given more training than either me or Kirill. You have more knowledge than either of us about our family businesses.”

“Because I am the youngest. The spare.” How is he not seeing this?

Ilya doesn’t blink those cool eyes. “Because you are the chameleon. Order of birth has nothing to do with where we stand in the family. Kirill manages Volk Vault Bank because he is good with the kind of clientele that frequents it. His sophistication blends in with the mega upper class.” A small sneer hits his lips, not surprising me. Ilya has never been patient with the mega rich, even though he himself is one of them. “I manage the less legal family affairs, and the businesses that front these affairs because I am cool and distant. I compartmentalize my emotions to a point some believe I have none.” His head tips and a slow shadow of a smile hits his lips. “Maybe they’re right.”

“That’s bullshit.”

He shrugs. “Neither Kirill nor myself could wear the mask needed to run each other’s business. You, however, have more masks than anyone I know. More,” he pauses, studying me. “Personalities. You pick them like clothes.”

“It’s a talent,” I mutter dryly.

“It is. That’s why father honed it.”

Done with this conversation, I change it. “You met Nevaeh’s ex.”

Ilya signals to the bartender for another round before he stands and moves to one of the more secluded booths in the hotel bar. The place isn’t packed as it is, but I stand and follow him all the same. Ilya is nothing if not careful always.

He doesn’t speak until two glasses of pure vodka are slid in front of us and the waiter is gone. “I introduced myself. The meeting was enjoyable on my part.”

I nod, watching my brother carefully because I know exactly what enjoyable means for him. “Did you leave him breathing?”

“With a warning to never contact Nevaeh again. Then I got a call from my little brother informing me that he ignored my warning.”

I raise my brow. “Where is he?”

“Missing.” Those eyes hold mine. “You and your wife had already landed here in New York when he’d been seen, publicly. He went missing a few hours after you landed.”

“Will he be seen again?”

“No.”

I should feel bad. Maybe if I was raised like most others, I would. I don’t.

Antonio might be the son of a beloved Senator, but he was a cruel little shit who thought he could abuse a woman into standing trapped as his wife. My woman.

He’d hired a man to hurt her, terrify and threaten her.

I don’t need to know what Ilya did to know he deserved it. And, Ilya had given him a warning, a chance. Antonio was the one who hadn’t heeded that warning. Hadn’t learned from his initial mistakes.

“Good. Did you get the name of the man he hired to threaten her?”

Ilya gives me a single, slow nod. “He broke far too quickly. It was boring, really. Someone with his political ties should be better hardened.”

I grunt.

Ilya gives another small shrug. He studies me for a long moment where I slip my own mask of cool hard into place. “The name.”

“Jacob Yancey,” Ilya says. “A military man. He was dishonorably discharged from duty after he beat a man half to death for accusing him of cheating in a card game.”

I raise a brow but say nothing.

Ilya continues, “He is intelligent with a history of paranoia and as of three years ago, he has no known address. Antonio found him on the dark web. How the idiot managed to figure out the dark web is beyond me. There, Jacob went by another name but thanks to Ian, we were able to uncover his identity and history.” His eyes are cold as ice as he adds, “Jacob Yancey is a psychopath for hire with obsessive tendencies. He’s wanted for questioning in the disappearance and suspected murder of Arianna Newfield, a twenty-three-year-old woman who disappeared shortly after engaging in a romantic relationship with Jacob Yancey three years ago.” Ilya shifts to pull out his phone, tapping the screen.

He slides the phone across the table to me and I stare at the woman with the bright smile. Her warm brown eyes and caramel hair and bright smile.

My blood turns cold.

If Nevaeh had a doppelganger, it would be Arianna Newfield.

Before I can speak, Ilya continues, “Arianna met Jacob while she was in a college. They started talking and the relationship quickly turned romantic. Her family says she ended things when she caught him cheating. Or tried to end things. They reported he threatened her to make her return to him. She refused and went missing shortly after. He’s been in hiding ever since.”

“You think he killed her?” I already know the answer.

“I do. And I think he’s fixated on Nevaeh because the two women share traits.”

“They don’t just share traits.” I push his phone back to him. “They could be sisters. Twins.”

Ilya blinks slowly. “I think it’s a good possibility he transferred his obsession from Arianna onto Nevaeh. The video recordings I’ve seen from Ian suggest as much. The similarities to his own relationship with Arianna and the relationship Nevaeh had with Antonio, how she left him. I think it all hit a nerve.”

“Fuck me.” Something gross and cold fills my chest. “I need to find him.”

“I will find him. You are too public. Too involved in this.”

My fists curl and release. Curl and release. “I want him dealt with. Permanently.”

Ilya smiles for the first time. A true, wide, scary as fuck, smile. “It would be my pleasure.”