58
IVAN
“I thought the end of all this war doom and gloom would mean you had more time for me.” Yasha swaggers into my office and plops down across from me. He’s trying to frown, but he can’t quite hide his amusement with himself. “I’m a mess without you, compadre.”
I roll my eyes. “Cora hasn’t seen Jorden around much lately, either. You have any idea where she’s been?”
The most obvious grin spreads across his face as he shakes his head. “Nope. Haven’t seen her.”
Yasha isn’t fooling anyone. Cora and I know exactly what kind of debauchery our best friends are up to. But bring it up and it’s deny, deny, deny.
“I guess it’s hard to see clearly when the lights are off and you’re tangled up in sheets together.”
Yasha faux-gasps. “The fact that you think I’d have sex in the pitch dark like a teenager is… it’s insulting. If I ever had the pleasure of a night with Jorden—which I’m neither admitting nor denying—then I would do it in full daylight with the windows open and enjoy every delightful second.”
He’d be describing those details to me at painful length if Jorden wasn’t making him keep their relationship on the down-low. Left to his own devices, Yasha isn’t discreet enough to keep anything secret, let alone when he’s having copious amounts of sex.
My second-in-command blinks away his thoughts and looks at me, a dopey smile still plastered on his face. “Anyhow—if I could do that, then I would. But since I can’t, I’m here in your office, wondering why you are here in your office. I thought everything was settled.”
“Everything is settled. Mostly.” I power down my computer and lean back in my chair. “But there’s always more to do.”
“Later,” Yasha says sternly. “Right now, we celebrate. The Sokolovs agreed to the terms you sent them. We split profits from gunrunning, one of our least profitable sectors, and otherwise, they are going to fuck off. Mikhail wasn’t wrong: we threw shit on the ground and they licked it right up. That is a major win deserving of a few weeks away from your computer, at least.”
“It’s not finished yet. There still hasn’t been any word from Alexander.”
Cora hasn’t said it, but I know she’s worried about how her stepfather is going to react to the fallout of everything. So far: silence. He could be gathering his forces for retaliation as far as we know. I wouldn’t put it past him. The man is desperate. Cora was his only real asset, so without her, he’ll have to succeed based on his own merits.
Which means he doesn’t stand a fucking chance.
Yasha waves away my concern. “Alexander is a nobody. Konstantin told me he’d relay the details of the arrangement to him, including your ‘marriage’ to Cora. Beyond that, he doesn’t matter. His only power was in working with the Sokolovs, but now, the Sokolovs work for us.”
I waver. “They don’t work for us; they work near us. We aren’t partners and we have to be ready for them to find a better deal somewhere else and betray us.”
“I am ready for that. I’m looking forward to it, actually.” Yasha grins. “I want another crack at those assholes. Let’s give them what they deserve.”
“If it wasn’t for Cora, they’d already be dead. But I can’t risk having the Sokolov army out for blood. They’d come for Cora and she has been through enough. I don’t want a war.”
Yasha lets out a long, low whistle. “She really has changed you.” At the sharp look I toss him, he holds up his hands. “In a good way, man. You’ve always been a strong leader. Better than your dad ever was. For a while there, I was worried you’d burn yourself out fighting every slight against the Bratva. Now, you know what’s really important. The men trust your leadership.”
It’s rare to catch Yasha in a serious conversation, but he isn’t smirking or tossing out a secret wink between sentences. He means it.
That means something to me.
“I think we’re both made better by the women in our lives,” I say.
Yasha starts to nod and then catches himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m free as a bird. No woman in sight.”
“Right. Then I guess I won’t remind you to tell your woman that you and I have plans tonight. It’s our first rendezvous with the Sokolov lieutenants. A gun shipment is coming into the harbor.”
“Oh. Shit,” he groans, digging his phone out of his pocket. “I forgot. Luckily, I have no one to text and cancel plans with. I definitely won’t tell her to come hang out with Cora tonight so she’s here when I get back to the mansion.”
This is the Yasha I’m used to. Even him keeping things on the down-low is him sharing all of his thoughts, feelings, and plans.
“Good thing, because Cora is busy tonight and can’t hang out with anyone.”
Yasha’s face falls. “Really? You’re letting her out of the house?”
“Fuck no. Not yet. But she and Marcus are meeting up here for dinner.”
“Wow. That’s a big deal for her.” He finishes his text to “Definitely Not Jorden” and pockets his phone. “Is she nervous?”
“She said she wasn’t, which is a lie. But she’ll be fine.”
Yasha stands up and saunters towards the door. “I’m sure she will. She has a lot of practice with this.”
“Practice spending time with her dad for the first time in ten years?”
“No. Practice dealing with emotionally-closed off men who are desperate to get to know her.”
Yasha barely darts out of the door frame fast enough to dodge the pen I chuck at his face.
* * *
The warehouse on the harbor has been in Pushkin control for decades Once upon a time, it was used as a front for illegal poker games and clandestine drug dens.
Now, it’s a storage facility on the harbor filled with construction equipment—and, for just a few hours once a month, weapons.
A unit of my men scour the property for any sign of betrayal. They scan the building and the surrounding warehouses searching for the slightest hint that Konstantin Sokolov is planning to push back against our arrangement.
Finding nothing, Yasha and I go in.
“I feel like a recruit again,” he says, checking the gun at his hip. “I haven’t been out on a run like this in years.”
“We’re just here tonight to make sure things go smoothly. Once I trust the Sokolovs are going to uphold their end of the deal, we’ll pull back and let the rank-and-file handle the transfer.”
Yasha snorts. “You say that like you’ll ever actually let yourself trust those slimy fucks. I’m going to be handling the weapons trafficking until I’m dead. Or until the Sokolovs are dead. Whichever comes first.”
“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen tonight,” I mutter out of the side of my mouth. “I’d hate to get blood on this shirt.”
We step through the door to see Konstantin’s men waiting in front of pallets of boxed firearms. I approve everything, then they get to work. Half an hour later, the Sokolov soldiers are done repackaging the weapons shipments and have started taking their cut of the supplies.
“Look at this,” Yasha proclaims, his voice echoing off the metal walls. “Who would’ve thought we’d all be here like one big, happy family?”
There are a few too many suspicious glances being tossed around for me to feel like we’re a family. But this whole arrangement has gone a lot more smoothly than I thought it would.
No weapons have been fired and no one is dead. If the Sokolov gunrunners are pissed about the deal I made with their boss, they don’t show it. They toil in grim silence.
“Cats and dogs,” Yasha continues. “Oil and water. Yet here we are, working together. I’m inspired. Someone put me on the cabinet of foreign affairs. I think I’m ready to create world peace.”
Everyone has been letting Yasha ramble for a few minutes uninterrupted, but suddenly, a voice cuts through the nonsense. “You really love to hear yourself talk, don’t you?”
My gun is in my hand before I even turn around. Because I don’t need to see who it is. I already know.
I turn to face Mikhail Sokolov.
“I told your father to keep you far, far away from me.”
He’s standing in the doorway, flanked on either side by guards who don’t stand a chance in hell of saving him from me.
“My father is my don, but he isn’t my keeper. I can go where I like.” Mikhail walks slowly into the warehouse, arms extended like he’s a fucking circus ringmaster.
Yasha groans. “Well, so much for peace on earth.”
The Sokolov men have finished loading the weapons, but they’re all standing around watching their future leader question me. It’s not the end to the evening I imagined.
But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited about where this might end.
Mikhail running his mouth and showing up where he doesn’t belong… If that isn’t a reason to put this mudak down, then what is?
“If you or your boss were going to kill me, you would have done it already. You know what I think it is?” He smiles. “I think Ivan’s little wifey asked for mercy for me.” Mikhail isn’t talking to Yasha or to me anymore. He’s giving a speech to the gathered men. He’s trying to rewrite history. “Cordelia plays the sweet and innocent part well, but no one bags men like the two of us without some ambition.”
“The fact that you think you and Ivan are in the same category is hilarious,” Yasha interjects. “The funniest thing you’ve said all night. But I suspect whatever you’re about to say is going to be even more asinine. Please. Keep going.”
Yes. Please. Every word out of his mouth is yet another reason to pull the trigger.
Mikhail clears his throat. “Let me be blunt then: your wife is a gold-digging bitch who jumps to gobble up whatever opportunity lines her pockets the best. When you drive your Bratva into the ground, she’ll come crawling back to me.” He lifts his chin, looking down his crooked nose at me. “She’ll beg for me to forgive her, and I will—for one night. But when I’m done fucking her senseless, I’ll snap her neck and throw her away like the trash she—”
The guard to Mikhail’s right goes down with one shot to the shoulder.
Mikhail ducks down, arms over his head, while Yasha takes down the man to his left. The guards are only wounded, not dead, but they don’t rush back to their feet to sacrifice themselves in front of Mikhail. Neither do any of the other Sokolov soldiers lining the room.
I have a feeling they’ll thank me once he’s dead.
Mikhail is still cowering when I grab him by the front of his shirt and throw him back against the wall. His head bounces off the metal, the vibration shuddering up the wall.
“How is this for ‘face-to-face’?” I growl. “Am I close enough for you, Mikhail?”
His eyes are wide, searching the room for anyone willing to step forward and help him. He comes up empty.
I slide into his line of sight and shake my head. “You wouldn’t have come here without all this backup. You thought they were going to rush in to save you. You thought you were safe.”
“My father will start a w-war over this,” he stammers. “You’ll lose more than it’s worth.”
“More than what is worth?” I ask. “More than you’re worth? Definitely. You aren’t worth the breath I’m spending explaining myself. But if you mean that I’ll lose more than killing you is worth… Well, I have to disagree. Because killing you is going to be fucking priceless.”
I press my gun to his temple. He flinches away. Tears well in his eyes and sweat beads on his forehead. He’s shaking from head to toe like the spineless coward he is and always has been.
“Tell me you’re sorry, Mikhail.”
He looks up at me quickly, a spark of hope in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Ivan. I shouldn’t have come. I’m—”
I shake my head. “No. Tell me you’re sorry for what you did to Cora. Apologize for everything you did to her.”
He hesitates for only a second before the press of my muzzle to his skin reminds him what is at stake.
“I’m sorry I forced her into marriage. I’m sorry I kidnapped her and held her hostage. I’m sorry I kept her from you. I’m sorry I—I’m sorry for everything. I… I don’t know what else to say.”
“That’s enough. That’s more than enough.” I let go of his shirt and he sags against the wall in obvious relief. “I’ll tell Cora those were your last words.”
I let that sit for half a second. Just long enough for Mikhail to understand what is happening.
Then I shoot the motherfucker in the head.