45. Andrey

45

ANDREY

Sarra, like her mother, is still asleep when Grigory starts to stir. The girl sleeps like the dead. Remi can be barking at a squirrel outside the window while Grigory wails his little head off, and Sarra won't wake up.

Grigory, on the other hand, takes after me. He's restless once the sun falls, which is how we find ourselves wandering through the moonlit gardens together night after night. He seems to like the sound of my voice, though, so I've told him about how his grandmother designed the gardens. How she adored them as much as he seems to.

"You would've loved her," I tell him, kissing his head as we meander between trees and around flower beds.

Ivan successfully moved my mother to a new care facility three states over. I don't want to believe my father would really attack her, but I know better than to underestimate him. She has a full-scale security team and around-the-clock care.

The daily updates from the staff aren't exactly uplifting, though. They're full of temper tantrums, refusals to take her medications, long bouts of confusion. The transfer has her on edge, and she's been asking for her own mother a lot.

I understand the impulse. As the world around me gets messier, I want my family closer—Natalia, the twins, Misha. Hell, I get antsy when the dog is out of sight for too long. If I thought there was any chance it would work, I'd build hundred-foot tall walls and never leave this property.

But the danger has a way of slipping through the cracks. The only way to keep them safe is to root it out.

I walk Grigory through the corner of the garden where my mother spent most of her time. It looks different now than it did back then. The gardeners keep things trimmed and weeded, but I preferred the wildness of my mother's gardening. Regardless, I can still feel her here on quiet nights like these.

"Hopefully, one day, you'll get to meet her," I tell him. "She should be here with all of us. She's part of the family."

I point out different flowers to him and talk about constellations I know nothing about until Grigory lets out a whimper I recognize immediately.

"Hungry already?" I kiss the top of his head and walk back to the house. "Papa's got you."

We trudge back inside and into my office, and I prepare a bottle of formula. Then we settle back onto the couch as he feeds.

He's halfway through his milk when his hand flutters against my chest, curling into my t-shirt as his eyes start to get heavy. Nothing ever feels quite so pure.

I used to spend sleepless nights in this office, worrying over territories and enemies. It feels like a different life. A different man.

Not for long, though.

Grigory's eyes are almost closed when my phone lights up, vibrating on the coffee table. Shura's name appears on the screen, and that old life comes flooding back.

Trying not to bother my son, I answer quietly. "It's late, which means this can't be good."

"It's Nikolai," he explains sharply. "He's hit a few of our places. Two of the clubs, a restaurant."

"How bad is it?"

"Three dead, seven injured. Some damage to the properties themselves."

"Motherfucker."

"He left a note." Is it my imagination or is Shura's voice shaking with anger? "The same one at all three locations. I'll be at the manor soon, and I can show it to?—"

"Tell me now." I snuggle a sleeping Grigory onto the sofa, building a dam of pillows around him before I stand up. Suddenly, I'm thrumming with untapped energy.

Shura sighs, then starts to read. " Congratulations on the baby, Andrey. Fatherhood must be exhausting. No wonder you've been MIA lately. Enjoy the paternity leave; wish I had the luxury. My best—Nikolai. "

"Fuck."

"I'm turning into the drive," Shura says. "I'll be in the office shortly."

A few minutes later, Shura sweeps into the office. He's red-faced and angry, but when he sees Grigory on the couch, he softens. "Is he okay?"

"I just got him to go down." I gesture for Shura to follow me to the opposite side of the room. "Where's the note?"

I read it again, not surprised by the contents, but surprised by how angry seeing it in writing makes me.

" Mudak ," I hiss, tearing the paper to shreds. "He put a lot of effort into making sure my men would see this message."

"They're just cheap tactics."

"And they might actually work." I let the shredded pieces of Nikolai's message fall like snowflakes and then I stomp over them as I start pacing again.

"Your men will stick by you, ‘Drey."

"Efrem was proof that that isn't true. It looks bad, Shura. Nikolai managed to hit me again while I was busy doing what? Changing diapers and playing Mr. Mom?"

The vein in Shura's jaw is twitching. "You're not ‘playing' at anything. These are your children you're raising."

I stop short, my gaze turning on the sleeping baby on the couch. I can only see the apple of his cheek turned up towards the ceiling. Instantly, the guilt sweeps in on the heels of anger. "You're right." I shake my head. "You're fucking right. And I don't have to apologize to anyone for wanting to be there for them."

"I know you want to sort out shit with your father first—but we can't let Nikolai run wild, either."

"If only Slavik had been considerate enough to pick out a more convenient time for a takeover. It's the least he could have done." I stride over to my son and sit down beside him. "Having kids has shown me how little I know my own father. No matter what happens between Grigory and me, I could never raise a hand against my boy."

"That's because you're capable of something that Slavik was never capable of." He winces like he already regrets what he's about to say, but he plows ahead anyway. "Love."

I just laugh bitterly.

Shura drops down into a chair. "Blame Kat for the sentimentality. I wasn't like this before her."

"Our women have changed us," I agree. "I don't think that's a bad thing."

He tucks his hand into his pants pocket and withdraws a packet of unopened cigarettes. "Except now, we have something to lose."

"How long you been carrying those around?"

"Since Katya started fraternizing with the enemy," he replies darkly.

"She's doing it for the greater good."

"No offense, brother, but that thought doesn't keep me warm at night. Not when I know that my woman is keeping that stinking pile of horseshit warm at night instead. And yeah, I know she's not actually doing the warming herself," he snaps before I can interrupt. "But it doesn't make it any better."

I match Shura's scowl with one of my own. "If I thought she was in any real danger, I'd pull her out of there in a heartbeat. You know that, right?"

Shura nods slowly. "Still, there are factors that are out of your control. And that includes Viktor."

He looks exhausted. Gaunt and hollow. I start to wonder why I didn't notice sooner, but then Grigory hiccups in his sleep.

Oh, right.

I've been wrestling with sleepless nights of my own. Just in a totally different context. I bounce onto my feet, a lightbulb flashing suddenly over my head. "We have to start thinking outside the box if we're going to take down these bastards quickly. The sooner this is over, the sooner Katya's free from Viktor's clutches, the sooner Misha gets some closure, the sooner Nat and I can concentrate on our family."

Shura's eyebrows arch hopefully. "What do you have in mind?"

"A certain somebody who was on that jet with Slavik on his swan song out of here. The only one who never made it back."

The hope withers on Shura's face. "You're not serious?"

"Why the fuck not? We know she's still alive."

"Doesn't mean she knows shit."

"And what if she does?"

Shura rises to his feet to meet me, still frowning. My enthusiasm isn't catching, apparently. "Brother, if she knows anything of importance, she'll be closely watched. What if Slavik is expecting you to go to her?"

I snort. "Have you met my father? He thinks she's beneath him, which means he'll underestimate her."

Shura straightens up. "Okay, so we get her Stateside and talk to her. What if she knows nothing?"

I shrug. "Then it's back to the drawing board."

Though I pray it doesn't come to that.