Chapter Six

Vladmir

The boss wasn’t speaking to me.

Generally, I wouldn’t think anything of it, but I knew his anger had everything to do with me.

This was the second time I had kept something from him.

The first was regarding my daughter, when Baranov sent me the image of her at the Gentleman’s Club. It was an image that still haunted me to this day. Instead of going to Maxim for help, I went after my daughter myself. Even I knew going into battle alone was suicide. But like any father, I didn’t think.

I let my emotions rule, and it almost cost me everything.

Now, with this crap regarding Aksana, I wasn’t sure about anything. Bossman wasn’t typically a forgiving man. He didn’t believe in second chances. So, I wasn’t shocked when we arrived home and I found myself sitting in his office with the rest of the inner circle standing around me. No one said a word while Maxim just sat behind his desk, glaring at me.

If he thought I’d flinch, he was going to be waiting for a very long time. I’d seen too much and done too much in my life.

Nothing really scared me anymore.

“How long?”

“Valhalla called me two years ago.”

“So, for two years, you knew about this?”

“Not all of it. But yes.”

“Just out of curiosity, is there anything else you’ve been keeping from me? Because now would be the time to speak up.”

“Just one more thing, but I’d rather speak to you in private about that.”

Maxim leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk.

“There are no secrets in this house, Vladmir. You know that.”

Taking a deep breath, I nodded.

“Alright then. Two years ago, I hid Aksana with an MC in the Shenandoah Mountains.”

“The Sons of Hell,” Maxim interrupted. “I am aware of them.”

“While I was dropping Aksana off, I saw someone. Someone very familiar. Aleksandr’s brother, Nikoli. He’s a brother in King’s club.”

“Excuse me?” Aleksandr growled, stepping forward.

Aleksandr was once a beautiful dancer, destined to be the next danseur in the Bolshoi, the Russian Imperial Ballet Company, before the night of the massacre. He barely survived and now walked with a distinctive limp. He would never dance again.

Turning to the man I considered my brother, I added, “He doesn’t know about you. Well, that’s what King told me. He looks just like you, Aleksandr.”

“Are you sure?” Aleksandr asked, hopeful.

“Very. I thought he was you at first. I had planned on telling you as soon as I got back, but Petrovitch found me first. Then the next thing I knew, you guys were carrying me off that tanker.”

Aleksandr looked at Maxim, waiting.

“Get with Dmitry and verify before you do anything else.”

With that, Aleksandr and Dmitry left.

Nikoli was one of us. A bastard child of the Russian Bratva. If the young man I saw in Virginia was indeed Nikoli, then after many years, Aleksandr would finally have his baby brother back.

“Rurik, go find my wife. Tell her I want to see her.”

“Yes, boss,” the young man said before leaving as well.

“Nikandr, go with him.”

Alone with Maxim, I said nothing, waiting for him to blow.

I watched as he got up and walked over to the bar, pouring himself a glass of vodka before downing it all in one swallow.

Turning to me, he sighed. “I should kill you.”

“Yes, you should.”

“God damn it, Vladmir!” Maxim shouted, throwing his empty glass across the room. “Stop being so fucking amiable! You don’t have to pretend with me.”

“What would you like me to say, boss? I withheld vital information from you twice. You have every reason to kill me.”

“Oh, shut up, Vladmir,” he groaned, dropping back down into his chair. Rubbing his hands down his face, he sighed, sitting back in his chair while he looked at me. “You know damn well I’m not going to kill you. Not because you don’t deserve it, but because I refuse to look my goddaughter in the eye and cause her anymore pain. You, however, are another story. Tell me more about this woman. Can I trust her?”

“She gave you the thumb drive. Dmitry will verify everything soon enough. As for trusting her, she’s never given me any reason not to. I was skeptical at first when I met her, but she knew too much about things only someone within Baranov’s inner circle would know. Coupled with her association with Satan’s Angels, I don’t think we really have a choice in the matter.”

“What is your gut telling you?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“The woman, Vlad. How do you feel about her ?”

Frowning, I waited for him to clarify.

Maxim rolled his eyes and groaned. “Jesus, man, you realize she is a woman, right? A beautiful woman.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“He’s asking you if you have any romantic feelings towards this woman.” Illyria chuckled, walking into the office.

Sitting up straighter, I frowned. “No. She means nothing to me.”

“Well, that’s obvious,” Illyria snarked, sitting on the edge of her husband’s desk. “So, you’ve known this woman for two years and all you’ve talked about was shop?”

“I had other things to handle. I don’t do idle chitchat.”

“Vladmir, you are turning forty-nine this year. If you don’t wake up and see the world, you are going to grow old and die alone.”

“I have seen the world,” I clipped, counting off the places on my fingers. “I’ve seen Russia, Canada, Mexico, France, Great Britain, Australia.”

“Those are the same places I sent you to kill someone,” Maxim groaned.

“And I did my job, so what’s the problem?”

Illyria sighed, getting up from the desk. Walking over to Maxim, she plopped her ass down in his lap as he wrapped his arms around him.

“You are wasting your life. You deserve to find happiness. Find love again,” Illyria stated, and I groaned.

What was it with meddling women and their need to make everyone around them just as happy as they were? Did the boss look happy? Sure. But after the fucking run around his woman put him through, the man was probably happy that she didn’t kill him.

Illyria Valentinetti could try the patience of a Saint.

Why would I want anything to do with that?

No. I was happy where my life was.

Uncomplicated and mess free.

Getting to my feet, I buttoned my suit and said, “If that is all, I’ve got things to take care of. Illyria, it was wonderful talking to you as always. Now, if you both will excuse me, I will see myself out.”

“Not so fast, Vladmir,” Maxim said curtly.

Standing my ground, I waited for him to speak and when he did, for the first time in my life, I didn’t know how to respond.

“I want to know more about Aksana. Which means everything, and you are going to find it out for me. Understood?”

What the hell did he mean by everything?

What else was there to know?

He had the standard workup on her. I gave him that.

He heard from her own lips the issue, where she was from, what she was running from, who she was affiliated with, etcetera.

Hell, she gave the man a thumb drive with all of Konstantin Baranov’s business dealings and contacts on it.

What more could he want?

Heading for the kitchen, I couldn’t think of anything I left out.

I was meticulous with the information. I never left anything out. Sometimes, I’d been told I ask too much, redundant stupid shit that made no sense or had nothing to do with what was going on.

How in the hell did I mess this up?

“Vladmir!”

Snapping out of my conundrum, I smiled when a precocious little boy ran over to me.

Kneeling down at his level, I said, “Good afternoon, Master Henry. What are you doing today?”

“Did you find me a school yet?”

“Not yet, but I’ve got my eye on a few good ones.”

“Do they have art classes?”

“Two of them do, yes.”

“Cool!” Illyria’s young nephew grinned from ear to ear.

Henry Valentino Valentinetti was the only child of her slain brother, Salvatore Valentinetti. Unlike his father, Henry grew up away from the family and all the bloody drama and lived a relatively normal life before one of Boris Petrovitch’s men killed his father. It was only after Sal’s death that the Valentinetti family and Maxim learned Illyria inherited custody of her young nephew. The boss didn’t even blink and wasted no time hiring Harbor Security to acquire and protect the young boy.

Henry was smart, inquisitive, and loved to paint.

He was also the spitting image of his father.

Getting to my feet, I acknowledged Henry’s caregiver.

“Clara.”

“Mr. Ivenok,” the young woman politely said as she walked over with Illyria’s and Maxim’s son Maximiliano on her hip.

Clara Rushton was the daughter of Illyria’s housemaid and companion, Mrs. Rushton, who was once the companion to Illyria’s mother before her death. Now that I thought about it, the Rushton women had always worked for the Valentinetti Family in some capacity.

Clara was a pretty young woman, who helped Illyria during her pregnancy and afterward to take care of young master Maximiliano Salvanetti Fedorov. Now two years old, Little Max, as we sometimes called him, was exactly like his father, down to the ruthless, annoying glare he gave when he was bored that he inherited from his father. The kid was always thinking, watching everything around him.

He was his father’s son.

Nodding to the young master, all I got in response was his standard ‘I’m bored’ glare before he found something else to occupy his time. Apparently, the toy car in his hand was more important than me at the moment.

Glaring at the kid myself, I asked, “That one behaving today or do I need to call for reinforcements?”

Clara smirked. “No. Max is actually behaving today. I think that talk his father had with him finally sunk in.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” I clipped, looking at the brat.

It was bad enough that the toddler was the son of Maxim Fedorov, but to have Illyria Valentinetti as a mother, well, that was a lethal combination. To make matters worse, Little Max wasn’t just in line to inherit the dynasty his father was building, but the Italian Mafia and the Soulless Sinners also protected the little shit.

The kid was untouchable.

Anyone who dared harm one hair on his head would start a war they had no hope of winning because the entire underworld would rise up and protect that little boy.

“We are meeting Aksana and Katiya for lunch today. She has offered to make the boys an authentic Russian meal. Would you like to join us?”

Blinking, I looked at the young caregiver and shook my head. “No thank you, but I will walk with you.”

It was only a short walk and when we entered the kitchen I found Aksana already there, bending over the stove, taking out a tray. On the stove there were a few large pots bubbling and whatever she was making smelled wonderful.

“Hi, Vladmir.” The beautiful woman smiled at me as she placed a hot tray on the unused burners.

“Are those pirozhki?” I asked as the scent of hot baked pastries, packed full of potatoes, meat and cabbage, filled my nose, instantly taking me back to the time my mother would cook the wonderful comfort food.

“Yes.” She smiled and added, “And I’ve also made—”

“Holy crap, is that solyanka?” Nikandr asked, walking into the kitchen, heading straight for the stove. I said nothing as the man bent over the large pot and took a good whiff. “Oh man, it is solyanka. I haven’t had this since we left Russia. My mom used to make it all the time. It smells just like hers.”

Aksana blushed. “Thank you for that.”

“Why do I smell pirozhki?” Maxim asked bluntly as he too walked into the kitchen, sniffing around like a damn bloodhound.

What the hell was wrong with everyone?

Since when did we let our stomachs supersede everything else?

“I just took a batch out of the oven, and I’ve also made fresh bulka,” the woman added. “Would you all like some?”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” Nikandr grinned like a fool, reaching for a bowl, and Maxim smacked his hand away.

“Call the others. We’re breaking for lunch.”

“Good idea, boss.” Nikandr smiled, running out of the room.

Seeing me, Maxim ordered, “Help Aksana set the table. I’ve got to go get Illyria. She needs to try this.”

Slapping me on the shoulder, he leaned close and added, “If this meal is as good as it smells, I might just forgive you for keeping secrets.”