60. Andrey

60

ANDREY

The manor is uncharacteristically quiet.

No chatter.

No barking.

No laughter.

I used to think I preferred it this way.

What the fuck was I thinking?

"Where's Viktor?" I hurl the question at Shura the moment he walks out of the guest bedroom that Katya's settled in.

"Viktor? Fuck Viktor," Shura spits. "What does he have to do with this?"

He's doing better since we managed to get Katya back, but his fists are still balled tight. He's waiting for a fight to break out at any moment.

It's not enough to have Katya back—he needs to know who ordered the hit on her. He needs to find them and kill them to make sure it never happens again.

I understand the instinct.

"More than we realized." I slam my fist against the doorframe, letting the pain focus me. "When I kicked him out, I thought he'd tuck his tail and cower like the little rat he is… But I was wrong."

I should have known that cornered rats tend to bite.

Shura pulls the door shut, deadly focused on me. "What do you mean? Why the hell would Viktor target Katya? What does he stand to gain from taking her?"

"The same thing he'd stand to gain from attacking Natalia's aunt in her home," I say. "We're scattered all over the city and trying to pick up the fucking pieces."

Shura's eyes narrow. "Viktor doesn't have the balls to do something this elaborate."

"I agree. But he's not the mastermind behind it. He's just the puppet—as per fucking usual."

I can practically hear his mind whizzing as he connects the dots. "You think he's working with Nikolai?"

I snort. "Nikolai is too smart to get into bed with someone as useless as my brother. No, if he forms an alliance, it's gonna be with someone who's bringing something to the table."

"But who?—"

"Slavik."

"The fuck ? Slavik?!"

Normally, I would've told Shura the second Natalia called me, but he was caring for Katya. I didn't want to interrupt.

Now, there's no other choice.

I nod. "He's back. He called Natalia personally. He took the credit for putting Annie in the hospital."

Shura runs a hand through his thinning hair. "Fuck. I thought we were rid of him."

"You and me both," I say darkly. "His return complicates everything . "

Shura's gaze goes distant as the gravity of the situation sinks in. "If Nikolai realizes that Slavik is back, brother… all hell will break loose."

"Which is why he won't find out."

He hisses through his teeth. "That's going to be next to impossible to contain. We don't even know why Slavik is here. Do you think it's a temporary visit?"

"If it's not, we'll convince him to make it one." I grab my keys. "Come on."

I march towards the door, eager to sort out this situation before any more shit hits the fan. When I glance over my shoulder, though, I realize Shura isn't following.

"What… what about Katya?" he asks.

Blyat' . He must really love the woman if there's even a question of him staying with her instead of coming with me.

"Need I remind you who abducted her in the first place?" I snarl. "You think any of our women are safe with Slavik around?"

He nods crisply before I even finish the question. "You're right. Obviously, you're—Fuck. Okay, I'm coming." He follows after me, back straight, chin high, ready for war.

Good. I'll need the best of him.

So will the women who depend on us.

As I pull us out of the driveway, I call Drogheda. I placed Arina within the institution well after Slavik left, but given my brother's complete lack of moral fiber, I have to assume her location has been compromised.

Once the receptionist at Drogheda is made aware of who I am, she transfers me immediately to the chief psychiatric administrator.

"Dr. Fernando."

"Mr. Kuznetsov," he starts, his voice already shaking, "is there something I?—"

"I have an issue, and I'm sure you'll do everything in your power to see that it's solved."

He rushes to assure me he will do exactly that, still tripping over every syllable. I can hear the frantic wheeze of breath rattling in and out of his chest.

It's a pleasant reminder that, although there are a handful of men on this earth who seem to think they can kill me and take what's mine, the rest of them are content to lie down and let me step right over them.

As it should be.

"My father is back in town after an extended absence. Considering he and my mother are still legally married, he has certain legal rights where her medical care is concerned."

There's a pregnant silence while I let Dr. Fernando fill in the blanks. "You wish for me to bar him from seeing her?"

"Bar him. Withhold information. Expel him from the property if you have to. He is not to be allowed admission into Drogheda."

Dr. Fernando's swallow is audible. "Th-the thing is, Mr. Kuznetsov, legally speaking, he has, as you said, certain rights?—"

"If he gets within a country fucking mile of my mother, it's your neck I'm coming for. Is that enough motivation for you?"

"O-of course, Mr. Kuznetsov."

"Good. If Slavik tries to make contact, I expect you to inform me immediately."

"O-of cou?—"

I hang up and make a sharp turn that has Shura gripping his arm rest. "You really think he'll target Arina?"

"I'm not taking any chances. Just to be safe, station some men on the premises."

Shura pulls out his phone and starts typing. "Where exactly are we going?"

"Hunts Point. The quickest way to find Slavik is to find Viktor. Rats flock together, Shura. If we get one, we'll get them all."

My phone continues to buzz throughout the drive, though I ignore it as we pull up in front of the laundromat. Distant gunshots pop off. Homeless wanderers groan and shuffle down the sidewalks, though the wiser ones beat a hasty exit when they see me approach.

The laundromat hasn't run a single laundry cycle in the two years I've owned it. Out front, the air is rich with the smell of rot and decay. Inside, the windows are dark and the mattress in the back of the room is in disarray, a stained sheet twisted in a heap on the floor. Empty bottles line the far end of the room. A moldy burrito lies on a paper late in the center of a flaking card table.

All surefire signs that my brother was here.

"He hasn't been back in a couple of days," Shura observes, wrinkling his nose against the stench.

"He'll have left us some sort of message," I say. "Slavik didn't come back just to avoid me."

As we step into the rear office, I come face to face with the "message" my father has left me.

It's in the form of none other than Fyodor Navalny, my father's right-hand man.

Seated behind the ancient, crumbling desk, he looks like he did a decade ago—big, beefy, grizzled into something barely human. He's perhaps a little grayer around the temples and the beard, but no less fierce for it.

"Fyodor," I greet, hiding my rage behind a forced smile. "It's been a long time."

"It has, young master."

Young master. The word choice is not an accident.

Fyodor is reminding me of my place now that Slavik is back. He's reminding me that the hierarchy has changed.

I grin a little wider. This time, I don't have to force it. "It's pakhan now, Fyodor. It has been since Slavik fled the country with his loyalists and his whore."

Fyodor doesn't react. "I assume you're here to speak to your brother."

"I figured it was the easiest way to see Slavik."

"Then you'd be right," Fyodor rasps, his voice grating like sandpaper. "You can follow me. I'll take you to the pakhan ."

More power games. A younger Andrey might've taken the bait. Might've raged and seethed at my father's petty insults. I'm older now. I have more to lose.

And less room in my head for the old bastard who tried to mold me in his image.

"That won't be necessary."

Fyodor is halfway out of his seat when I speak. As I do, he freezes. "Excuse me?"

"Slavik has gone through a lot of trouble to get my attention, but a phone call would have sufficed. Then again, he's always been a showman, hasn't he?" I pause, enjoying the flash of irritation on Fyodor's face. "If my father is so desperate for an audience with me, he knows where to find me. I do have some errands to run today, though, so… let's give him an hour, yes? If that won't work, I'm afraid I won't have any more time for the foreseeable future. Please pass along my apologies to the old man."

With that, I turn and leave.

It's a distinct pleasure to turn my back on a man who used to do the worst of my father's fucked-up bidding. To not fear him in the least as I go.

Shura is pale-faced as he climbs into the Escalade beside me.

"Why the fuck would you invite the bastard to the manor?" Shura growls.

"Because Slavik needs to understand that I'm not intimidated by him." My hands tighten on the steering wheel. "And there's no fucking way I was going to go crawling to him. It's my Bratva now. It's time my father learned that lesson."