Chapter Fifteen

Ilya

"W ell, what do you think?" I questioned Dmitri because he was the one person I knew who would always be honest with me, even when the truth might hurt, as it so often did.

Dmitri mulled over everything I told him. "It does not sound good, but that's not as important as what you think. Do you believe her?"

That was an easy question. "I have no reason not to believe her other than my sheer disbelief that any of my men would steal from me. And so recklessly at that." There were a number of men who belonged to the bratva because their fathers or uncles were involved, which was helpful because they knew the score, knew how things were meant to be. But it also made them seasoned criminals.

"Okay, but this needs to be said, Ilya."

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. "What does?"

"Not all of the men who made the journey with us to America are your men. Some are here at Oleg's insistence. Never forget that."

"What are you saying, Dmitri?" I knew what he was getting at, but I needed to hear it.

My second-in-command shrugged. "Only that. Not all of the men on your payroll are loyal to you first."

I heard what he said, but, more importantly, I heard what Dmitri didn't say. He thought, or at least suspected, Oleg might have something to do with my screwed-up numbers. "Okay, but why?" That was the part that didn't make any sense. "The more successful the business is, the more money goes in his pocket to fund his lavish lifestyle."

"You are kidding." Dmitri laughed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Your star is rising fast, maybe a little too fast, which could make Oleg look weak, and you more important."

"Me?" That was ridiculous. "This was always going to be mine. Father made sure of that."

"Perhaps, but you come here and within months you are doing much better than anyone expects. In his shoes, I would be worried that soon you'll start to think that maybe you deserve more than smalltown America, that maybe you deserve to lead the whole fucking bratva. And if you start thinking that, then maybe you might want to take what is rightfully yours." He paused dramatically. "The tip of the bratva spear."

He was right, and the more I thought about it, the more his words resonated with me. My father had led our organization for decades and he led it well, everyone got fat and rich. He was highly respected and just as feared by the men he commanded, as well as his enemies. Many would have killed for his position, but few, if any, were bold enough to attempt it.

"Oleg could have killed me if that was the case."

"He could have, yes. But the optics are better this way, are they not? The benevolent uncle stepping into his brother's shoes, guiding and teaching his vulnerable nephew to become one of his soldiers. Family and respect and all of that old-school bullshit are powerful tools."

"Okay, that's one option, but are there others?"

"There are always employees with sticky fingers." His tone said he didn't believe it.

"I guess this is my first real leadership test, then."

"I guess so. What will you do?"

"That is a good fucking question, Dmitri. I'll let you know if I figure it out."

He laughed. "You will figure it out, Ilya. You've done well up to this point."

"Yeah, thanks."

I spent hours weighing Dmitri's words and Brooke's warnings, but I couldn't believe it. Or maybe I just wasn't ready to believe it. Either way, those thoughts colored my phone call that evening with Oleg.

"You are doing well, Ilya. I am proud. Your father would be proud." It was the same script as each phone call, only now I wondered if he was sabotaging me to make sure I never did too well here in America.

Paranoia, my father used to tell me, was part of being in the bratva. The constant worry that someone was after your seat and the things they would do to make it theirs. He'd warned me about being careful with who I trusted, what women I allowed into my bed and my life, new friends and even old friends.

"If you need help with anything, you can count on Uncle Oleg. Always."

"Of course," I answered robotically. "You have been a great resource for me, Oleg."

"I want you to succeed, Ilya. It makes the Kuznetsov bratva stronger, more powerful."

That made sense. Any faction of the bratva that succeeded meant we all did. More money, more power, and more influence meant we were all in a better position no matter where in the world we operated.

"Any problems?"

"None that I haven't been able to handle," I informed him.

Oleg laughed. "Never be afraid to make a point, Ilya. Swift and brutal, just so that others know that you can."

"I'll keep that in mind. But now I must go. Weekend nights are busier than usual, and I need to make a few appearances."

"Of course. Business comes first."

The call ended and I felt mildly better about things where Oleg was concerned. Perhaps I was being paranoid, and the source of my problems was closer to home? Though like Dmitri, I did not think that any of my men would betray me. However, Brooke's warnings were still at the forefront of my mind. Someone was stealing from me, which meant they were stealing from the bratva.

It would not go unpunished.