Chapter 14

Fourteen

K irill

"She hates me. My wife hates me." My fingers dig into my eye sockets as I lean over my desk, tired.

"As does Mother." My brother's dark humor knows no limitations. "Papa said she cried." His laugh is followed up with a mockingly heavy sigh. "Her first son, her pride and joy, married without her."

I push away from the desk to lean back in my chair. "How long does it take?"

There's a pause. "Before she no longer hates you?"

"Yes," I grit. I'm on the edge of patience.

"Well. It's you, so—never." My fist curls around the phone.

"Ilya."

Laughter, then, "Get her a cat."

The fuck? "I know I didn't hear that right."

"I'm serious." He finally sounds it. "I kidnapped Irelynn's cat when I kidnapped her. I did it because she loved the thing, and I knew it would hurt her deeply to have been parted with it."

"Get to the fucking point." I regret ever confiding in him.

"The point is that when Irelynn was fighting against me, looking for any way she could find to escape, the thing that grounded her was her love of the cat. The cat that she would have to abandon in order to flee." A clink of glass sounds over the line, and my eyes slide to the bottle of vodka and glass that perch on the edge of my own desk. "Like you said, she hates you now. She's been plotting her escape—an escape that will fail, but nonetheless, she is plotting. Give her something to love. Something to care for more than she cares about her freedom. And in a way she is not yet capable of caring for you."

Mulling over the idea, I must admit, it's rather genius. "You're a fucking psychopath, you know that?"

"I'm the psychopath, but you're the wolf in sheep's clothing."

"I prefer bear, and I don't wear sheepskin . "

His chuckle is dry. "Everyone knows I'm dangerous, a thing to be feared, a nightmare come alive. But you—you smile and joke—you assimilate, and people spill their secrets that you sharpen into the blades that gut them." He takes a sip of his drink. "I'd argue, of the two of us, you're more dangerous, brother."

More dangerous, maybe. As unhinged? Not a chance.

I say nothing.

Ilya pivots. "Is Artyom still making payments to the mercenary?"

"Yes." I finally pour myself two fingers, swallowing it back in one go.

"When will the news become public?"

"That Volk Vault Bank has bought yet another financial institution?" I smile into my drink. "The public knows it's been bought, just not who holds the deed."

"And Artyom? He is not suspicious?"

"Artyom is a fool. He doesn't even use an alias to transfer funds to the Yakuza mercenary."

"He's made a dangerous ally," Ilya observes darkly.

"Who is more likely to kill him than continue a long-term relationship."

Ilya sighs into the line. "Do we know what they want with this alliance?"

"No. But I can speculate."

"And your speculations are?"

"To claim Volkov territory in America." Sometimes, this game is exhausting.

Ilya considers. "But what of the Yakuza? What could they possibly want that Artyom has?"

"I don't think they want something he has. I think they want something he's promised to give, when he finally acquires it." My office door opens and Dimitri walks in, making eye contact as he slides into the chair opposite my desk. "Our relations with the Yakuza are tense, at best. If Artyom has promised to work with them after he's claimed Volkov territory, I can't see why they wouldn't consider the venture a profitable one."

Ilya laughs darkly. It's the laugh that precedes a vicious, horrific ending. My skin still crawls at the sound, but I show no visible weakness, even though my younger brother's tactics of torture haunted my nights for years. Worse, he'd been the inspiration behind the crafting of my own monster. The ripper under my flesh.

His voice over the line would have any other man quaking. "But the Volkov territory is expanding."

"It is."

"Speaking of," he pauses, sips his drink. I do the same. "How are our political friends?"

"Eager to invest." I watch as Dimitri leans forward to pour a glass for himself. "Ground breaks this week."

"When are you leaving?"

My gaze slides to the calendar. "We'll be in Oregon by the second week in April."

"And you're taking your wife?"

I sigh. "Hopefully she likes me by then. Keeping her in her country might be difficult, otherwise."

"You'll manage."

"Mmm," I grunt. He doesn't know my new wife.

Ilya's voice is serious again. "Get the cat, brother."