61. Andrey

61

ANDREY

There was never a doubt in my mind that Slavik would show up. He's too curious, too greedy, too fucking pompous not to seize the chance to come to the manor.

I watch from the front parlor as four SUVs stop at the base of the driveway and my brother and father climb out.

They're accompanied by a dozen men, all decked out with earpieces and guns. For reasons I'll never understand, the men who walked onto that jet plane and left with my father to Russia have remained by his side all these years. I'd commend them if it didn't mean more people I might have to kill.

Viktor's suit hangs loosely on him. There are dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks are hollow. Must be hard to eat with that mangled right hand of his, I think as he shoves his bandaged hand into his pocket.

"I'll do the honors of letting our ‘guests' inside." Shura scowls before trudging to the foyer. Just as he disappears through the door, my phone starts to ring.

It's not Natalia this time. It's Leonty.

"Whatever it is, make it fast," I bark. "I'm busy."

"Er, it's Natalia," he says quickly. "She's… Brother, she's not doing?—"

Heavy footsteps grow louder. "Leonty, you'll have to handle it for now. Mila's with you, isn't she?"

"Yes, but?—"

"And Remi?"

"Yes, sir, but?—"

"That's what they're there for: to help her. Use your best judgment. I have to go."

I hang up on his strangled protest and turn my phone to silent. Guilt weighs on my shoulder, but the stakes are high. I can't afford to be distracted.

Natalia will be a lot worse off if I don't take this meeting.

Slavik is an imminent threat. Letting him move unchecked could have consequences that stretch far beyond the safety of my family alone. My entire empire could be compromised.

I pocket my phone as the door opens. Shura enters first, holding the door for my father and brother. As soon as they are through, he slams the door closed on the rest of my father's men.

Fyodor hisses from the hallway, but Shura bolts the door with a smug smile.

"Was that necessary?" Slavik drawls.

"It's for the pakhan to decide what's necessary," Shura replies coldly. "Not you."

Viktor glowers. "How dare you? Do I need to remind you?—"

Slavik holds up a hand and Viktor goes silent. "That's okay, Viktor. Loyalty is to be commended. No matter how misplaced."

"Sit down," I order, suddenly impatient to get them out of my house as soon as possible.

Slavik claims the biggest armchair. "How interesting to be asked to sit in my own home. As though I were a guest."

I take the sofa directly opposite him. Up close, I can see the changes. He's fitter than I would have expected for a man closing in on his seventies. The mess of hair he used to sport is gone now, replaced by a close-shaved crewcut that makes him look younger and more severe at the same time.

Viktor stands at Slavik's back like a nervous guard dog, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Sit, brother," I tell him. "Your remaining hand is safe from me today."

Viktor opens his mouth to snap back, but Slavik clears his throat and jabs his chin towards a chair. Viktor holds his tongue and sits down.

Good boy. Heel for your master.

"It was poor form, punishing your brother that way," Slavik admonishes me coolly. "I'm told his hand will never be fully functional again."

"I thought that would be preferable to him being dead."

"You made an invalid of your brother for a cheap piece of pussy?" He shakes his head in quiet disapproval. "We are Kuznetsovs! We don't fuck riffraff. We certainly don't knock them up."

My smile dies as my jaw clenches.

Seeing that, my father sighs. "I shouldn't need to say we don't let ourselves come to care about riffraff, either—but it seems you might need to relearn that lesson."

It was a slight slip of my mask, but it was enough. I won't let it happen again.

"She's carrying my child. That is all."

"I think not. I see what she really is: a weakness." He leans back, arms folded, legs crossed, perfectly at ease. "I thought I taught you better. I thought you were smarter than your brother." Viktor flinches, though if Slavik notices, he shows no sign of it. "Love…" The word twists on his tongue. He makes it sound dirty, ugly. Wrong. "—is nothing more than a liability."

"The only liabilities I see are the two men standing in front of me."

Viktor hisses. Slavik leans forward and steeples his fingers together. "I don't remember you complaining when I handed you my empire and smoked the competition in a single move."

"Don't act like a saint, father. You didn't rat out the Rostovs for my benefit."

"Why else would I have done it?" He's barely blinking. The effect is unsettling.

"You tell me. Petty revenge is my best guess, knowing you. Nikolai must have offended you. Did he not kneel to kiss the ring fast enough? Did he do a poor job licking your boots? I know how fragile your ego can be. It's the same for all weak men."

The smile slides off his face, turning his gray eyes icy once more. "You dare to sit in my house, use my title, command my men, and call me weak?"

"You've been gone a long time, so you must be confused." I lean forward to mirror his posture, resting my elbows on my knees. "This is not your fucking house and it's not your fucking Bratva. Don't you get it, old man? You're not in charge anymore."

Slavik sinks back, never taking his eyes off me. His fingers run through his thick beard again and again. "I acknowledge that you've done well in my absence, Andryusha. You've built on my legacy, and you will get the credit for it once I reclaim my rightful place."

"You and I have very different ideas of where your ‘rightful place' is."

He carries on, ignoring me. "Out of gratitude and respect for everything you've done, you can keep your men and this house. I will even let you keep the whore, if that's what you truly want."

"I don't want anything you have to offer. Not when it means falling into step behind you."

"I am your father. You will be pakhan again one day. After I am done."

"I owe you nothing."

"You owe me everything!" he roars, face purpling as spit flies past his lips.

I stay perfectly calm. "The man I am and the pakhan I am… It has nothing, absolutely fucking nothing to do with you." I crack my neck. "You want proof? Look at the useless dead weight kneeling at your side."

His eyes narrow. Viktor tenses. For a moment, the silence feels like it's on the cusp of breaking into bloodshed and chaos.

Then the moment passes.

"This has been an enlightening conversation, son," Slavik states as he pushes himself to his feet. "It's good to know where we stand."

I square my jaw. "Am I right in assuming you're here to stay?"

"Oh, yes. Russia was a good respite, but this is home."

Snapping his fingers, he motions Viktor to follow him. My brother's eyes dart to mine, clearly embarrassed by his treatment, but unable to do a goddamn thing about it.

My fool of a sibling picked the wrong side.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Slavik," I call after them. "It's not just me you have to deal with. Nikolai won't take kindly to your return, either."

Slavik looks supremely unconcerned. "I'm not worried about the Rostov boy. He's just another ant that requires squashing. He'll die the way they always do: squirming beneath the heel of my boot."

With that, he departs.

Shura follows Viktor and Slavik out, and I turn back to the window. I'm confident in my power and my men. The problem is that Slavik seems just as confident.

What makes him so damn sure he'll get back control of the Kuznetsov Bratva?

What does he know? What has Viktor told him?

The door flies open before any answers present themselves. Shura is breathless, and the look on his face sends my heart plunging into my stomach.

"It's Natalia."

The moment I step into the hallway, I smell it. Beneath the antiseptic and the over-bleached hospital bedding…

Blood.

Olaf's limp body is lying in the threshold of the door. I jump over him and nearly trip over Anatoly's corpse.

"No, no, no!"

As I search the room frantically, I find Remi lying behind the armchair, eyes closed, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

I turn the room upside down, but I already know there's no point.

She's gone.