Chapter 37

Yaroslav

A pril 11 th , Charleston City Private Hospital

I’m pulled from the depths of my hell by a bright light.

Could it be? Somehow me, Yaroslav Volkov, leader of the wolfpack, bona fide monster is being given a second chance? After all I’ve done, the people I’ve hurt, could I be forgiven for my sins and go up, not down?

But as my brain starts to drag itself out of the pits of my subconscious, it becomes depressingly clear. I’m not dead at all. Certainly not destined for heaven, nor am I in the fiery depths of hell. I’ve awoken in a hospital bed, unable to move and with no idea what’s going on. A different kind of hell.

The bright light comes from the bright sunshine outside, a gloriously sunny day. Doesn’t the weather know it has no right to be cheerful?

I failed.

The last thing I remember is the explosion, coming from where Marta, my sister, was being held captive by my enemy, Roman Sharkozi. I didn’t make it to her in time. There’s no way she could have survived the blast. A quick survey of my bandaged body and the increasing agony I’m now experiencing, tells me I barely survived myself.

What about the others?

Have I been usurped? My men, dead, with Roman now in charge of my empire?

Kim.

Kim was kidnapped alongside my sister Marta. I was forced to pick one to save first, and I chose Kim. At least I got her out unharmed. She will have been outside of the blast radius.

But where is she? How long have I been here?

I’m thoroughly unaccustomed to not being in complete control. I’m a man who likes to know everything and now I know zip. It’s incredibly frustrating.

I try to move, to get up, but my body screams in protest, my back feels like the skin has been stretched tight and covered in the itchiest material known to man. I’m knowledgeable enough about injuries to know that means I’ve suffered burns, bad ones.

To my relief, a doctor arrives at that moment. An older gentleman with gray hair and large bags under his eyes. “Hello, Mr. Volkov, it’s good to see you awake and alert. Your uncle will be glad to hear it,” he says, catching me by surprise.

“Innokentiy is here? How long have I been out for?” I ask, my voice coming out hoarse from disuse.

If Innokentiy is here, that means it’s been at least a couple of days, it’s not like Russia is just around the corner.

“Today is April 11 th , you came to us on March 27 th , so it’s been just over two weeks. You’ve been in a medically induced coma,” the doctor replies while inspecting my chart and checking me over.

Fuck. I’ve been here for over two weeks. No wonder Innokentiy came over, two weeks is enough time to topple a Bratva without strong leadership.

I reply, “So my burns are bad?”

The doctor seems more intrigued than surprised that I’m somewhat aware of my injuries. “So you remember what happened to you?”

“Not really,” I lie, “But I remember there was a fire, and my back certainly feels like a burn.”

I don’t want to give too much away about how it happened, I’ve no idea what the doctor knows and the last thing I want to do is implicate myself or cause a police investigation if the situation’s already been handled.

The doctor nods as though this is normal. “You received quite severe burns to your back and arms, luckily these were second-degree, not third, so no skin grafts were needed. But due to the extensive nature of the wounds, there was significant fluid loss and an electrolyte imbalance that we’ve been treating. You also had a bullet wound on your left arm, close to the shoulder as well as a lower surface graze on the same arm from a bullet. The gunshot wound to your shoulder nicked the artery, so we were required to give you a transfusion, but luckily, we stopped the bleeding and repaired the tear. However, you’ll be left with some considerable scarring, I’m afraid.”

He eyes me, waiting for a reaction, but I don’t give him one. Scars are the least of my concerns. I try to sit up, wincing at the pain as I do so.

“I can get you something for the pain,” the doctor suggests, noticing my discomfort.

I don’t want to fall asleep or be impaired. I need to find out what’s going on. I need to get out of here and find Kim. Take back my empire. I can suffer through the pain. A little suffering is part of the job.

“No. Thank you,” I add, trying to be polite. “Is my uncle nearby? Is there a way you could contact him for me?”

I’m hoping Innokentiy can give me some answers.

“Yes, actually, he’s here. He’s just in the cafeteria, I’ll get someone to bring him to you once I’ve concluded my tests.”

I nod, relieved I will be getting answers sooner rather than later, and allow the doctor to continue his tests in silence, only responding when asked questions.

“Everything seems good, great actually, I anticipate that we can release you soon. You’re a lucky man, Mr. Volkov,” he says with a smile before rushing off to deal with the next patient.

Before long, Uncle Innokentiy arrives, striding in with his usual confident swagger. He’s aged since I saw him last, his belly rounder and jowls looser, but he still dresses like a much younger man and preens like a peacock. As usual, he’s wearing a three-piece suit, the waistcoat strains over his girth. His hands are adorned with several diamond-encrusted rings. In short, he looks exactly how you’d imagine a Russian Mafia member looks—which is the opposite of being discrete.

“Nephew! How glad I am to hear of your awakening, for a while we were worried you might not make it,” he says, in his usual unaffected tone, like we could be discussing the weather, not my near-death.

“Uncle, you know it takes more than that to take out the Volkov Pakhan,” I reply, doing my best not to show how much pain I’m in.

Innokentiy despises signs of weakness. He was especially harsh about it when we were kids, and more so, once my parents died. Even when my father was alive, he would chastise him for being too soft, though he was anything but.

Innokentiy scrutinizes me for a moment before nodding, satisfied. “And now you have some battle scars to show as trophies of your survival,” he declares, despite having largely remained out of the line of fire all his life.

Innokentiy prefers to use his intellect, scheming, and making financial deals, rather than brawn. He was always the smaller, more physically weak of the two brothers. It’s what made him and my father a good team, it’s what makes him useful to me, too.

“But that’s enough catching up,” Innokentiy adds, as though we’ve done anything of the sort. “I know you must have questions. But we need to discuss business first.”

“The porcelain shipment is due in six days,” I reply, referring to the important trade deal with have with Thomas Gillihan, the head of the Gillihan Mob. I may be in a hospital bed, but business is business.

“Exactly,” Innokentiy replies. “With you rendered out of action, I felt it would be best for me to take over and assist in tracking matters, but your secretary Artem withheld vital information from me,” he says, referring to my righthand man disparagingly. “So, I cannot be held responsible for any fuck ups he’s made.”

So, Artem is alive, that’s a relief. I also can’t help but feel proud of Artem. Following the attack, I don’t know who I can trust anymore. Even family. Before, I trusted my uncle implicitly. Marta and I had been estranged for years, but shortly before her death, we reconciled, and she mentioned some rather unsettling opinions about our dear uncle. Until I know for certain who I can trust, I’m keeping my cards close to my chest.

“Artem was just following my orders, Uncle. He knows how important this project is and that only a select few should have all the information, lest it causes us to become compromised. Your job is to handle the financial aspects. I trust that he has it all in hand and that, if there was a problem, you would have been the first person he went to,” I placate him.

Innokentiy sniffs dismissively but doesn’t press the matter further.

“Now, we must talk about the incident at the factory,” he says. “I’m sure you must be aware that your sister, Marta, did not survive the explosion,” he adds, before continuing, as though this isn’t upsetting news. “The issue now is your little cyka .”

“Kim is not a bitch,” I reply, my temper flaring.

He looks amused. “You might change your mind about that once you hear what happened.”

“What?” I ask, now suddenly worried. At least, if he’s talking about her as a problem to be solved, that must mean she’s still alive.

“When Artem and his men arrived, they helped the injured and gathered the dead. Miss Kimberly Walsh was not among them. Nor were the surviving enemies,” he says pointedly.

My heart floods with dread, the one thing I had been counting on was that Kim got out safely. Perhaps she fled and is hiding somewhere, waiting for me to come find her? If she saw the explosion, she might even think I’m dead. I ache thinking of the pain she must be in.

“That doesn’t mean she left with the enemies. She could be hiding, she’d just been kidnapped and witnessed a massacre. She might not know I survived. Did you try to find her?” I ask, keen for more information about Kim.

Innokentiy looks at me as though I’m a fool for a second before replying. “Of course we did. The kidnapping was obviously a set-up to take you out, your affection for her is a weakness. We needed to know her whereabouts.”

“And? Where is she?” I ask eagerly.

He looks at me and rolls his eyes, shaking his head, “See, this is what I’m talking about, you are far too invested in this girl you barely know. You’ve let her make you soft.”

“Watch it, Uncle, you’re still talking to your Pakhan,” I warn.

“My apologies, Pakhan,” he says, his voice bordering on sarcasm. “The girl is with Roman Sharkozi.”

My stomach drops, “So they took her again once my men had been dispatched? Where are they keeping her? Why haven’t you rescued her?” I demand.

Innokentiy fixes me with a level gaze. “Why haven’t you considered the possibility that she’s on Roman’s side? Initially, I assumed she was just some gold-digger, but perhaps she was sent by Roman to seduce you all along, to infiltrate your home and lure you into a trap.”

As much as my initial reaction is to deny this—to say that I know who Kim is and that it’s not true, I can’t help but realize that if our positions were reversed, I’d be asking the same thing.

“I considered it when we first met, but I got to know her, looked into her, there are no connections…”

Innokentiy looks doubtful so I continue. “I know what you’re thinking, but she’d have to be the most successful con woman ever to pull this off.”

Though now I’m starting to doubt my conviction, Innokentiy is right, it all does seem very convenient how she came into my life, befriended my sister and convinced us to reconcile, then the kidnapping, and then fleeing the scene with the enemy. It doesn’t look good.

“If this is true, what use is she to Roman? If she really is a plant, and we’ve realized that because of the kidnapping, why take her again? Why not leave her behind to continue to feed back information and influence us from the inside? That would be the better play,” I reason.

Somehow Kim being kidnapped and at the mercy of my enemy is preferable to her being one of them.

Again, Innokentiy surveys me, looking pleased with himself. “So, you don’t know then? Your little bitch has got a pup in her belly.”

Shock and confusion hit me like a ton of bricks.

“Pregnant? Kim is pregnant?” I ask incredulously.

Innokentiy nods, “According to my intel.”

Relief mingled with fear fills me as I realize why Roman must have her. “That explains why Roman took her, to use the heir to the Volkov Bratva as leverage. Why the fuck didn’t you storm in there to get her the second you heard this?” I ask, enraged that the life of my unborn child has been toyed with.

“Because we need to know all the information first rather than risk another ambush trying to rescue someone who isn’t even on our side. Ask yourself this, how would Sharkozi know Kim is pregnant when you didn’t even know? Surely, there can’t have been many people, if any, that she would have confided in before you. Therefore, it stands to reason that he knows because she told him,” he replies pointedly.

Again, he’s frustratingly logical and I can’t argue with his reasoning. But that still doesn’t change the fact that, no matter who Kim truly is, or her motivations, it’s still my child she’s carrying inside her. I don’t give a fuck why or how he has Kim and my unborn child, just that he does. The fact that Innokentiy has left her there so long without making an effort to rescue her tells me he doesn’t feel the same.

Innokentiy may not have any legitimate heirs with his wife, but if I die without an heir, the Bratva falls to him. David, of course, usually would be next in line, but given his mental health issues, there’s no way that would happen. Innokentiy might be a loyal follower of mine, but perhaps that loyalty doesn’t extend to my child.

“Leave me. I need to think. We’ll talk again soon, Innokentiy,” I reply, deliberately not calling him Uncle, as usual, to show that even if he might be family, I’m still the one in charge.

He nods cordially, “Of course, Pakhan. You should rest. I will see you soon, don’t worry, everything is running smoothly with me around,” he says pointedly before departing.

I need to speak to the only two people in my life I know for certain I can trust, my brother David and Artem. After borrowing a phone from a kindly nurse who came to check on me and bring me some food and more medicine, which I refused, I called Artem.

Artem briefly filled me in on things as much as he could on an unsecured line and informed me that David has been in a bad place since Marta’s death and my coma, telling me he’s been unresponsive and withdrawn. He promised they’d both visit me soon. I dismissed it, telling him that I will be discharged shortly. I have more important directives to issue him than being by my bedside or babysitting my brother.

No matter what it takes, I need to find Kim and bring her back, Alive.