Vitaly (Las Vegas Petrov Bratva #3)

8. Mila

8

MILA

“ T here!” I point to the cabin appearing in the distance, my arm wrapped around my torso.

Alik guns Nikita’s Lincoln, jolting me back into my seat. The closer we get, the more my spine lengthens, adrenaline ripping through me.

But I don’t see the Jeep that was there before.

My eyes scan the yard as I let go of my bruised torso to brace a light touch against the rear window. My lungs shrivel until I can barely breathe.

“This is it?” Nikita asks, turning to peer at me in the back while Alik parks the car.

I nod, unable to speak because I already know what awaits us inside.

Nothing.

He’s gone.

After cocking his gun, Nikita throws open his door and makes his way to the front door of the cabin, following Alik’s lead.

I open the door with trembling fingers and follow after them.

“Ladies first,” Nikita says, taking my arm as I approach and shoving me toward the door.

My palms flatten against it to catch myself. I press my forehead into the wood for a few seconds to stifle the curse itching to leap from my tongue.

Nine years. Nine years , I’ve survived the Petrov family, but one day being back and Vitaly has managed to get me killed.

And I will be killed. I’ve seen Nikita’s temper. I let his mortal enemy get away, and he’ll never forgive me for it. He won’t let it go unpunished.

“ Go ,” Nikita growls, the gun on my back.

I wonder if he’s hoping Vitaly will shoot me first. He’s obviously trying to use me as bait, or at least as the fall guy.

Lifting my head from the door, I inhale a shaky breath and twist the knob, barely relieved when I find it unlocked.

I step into the bare kitchen that’s just as I left it. The pot of soup is still on the stove. The money he offered me is on the counter. The passport I ripped up lies on the floor where I left it.

No Vitaly.

“Vitaly,” I call out in the ghostly quiet house. The place feels more haunting than when I thought I was a captive. Creepier, somehow.

I look over my shoulder and shake my head at Nikita. He waves me forward, his weapon at the ready.

I continue into the cabin, finding the room he kept me in. The abandoned bowl of borscht is still on the nightstand. Next is a bathroom and one last door. My eyes close as I put my hand on the knob.

“Vitaly?”

No answer. Nikita stands with Alik down the hall, their guns pointed my way. When I peek at them, both look ready for Vitaly to appear, but neither look hopeful.

I never thought it was possible for me to feel this, but… If Vitaly is in that room and kills these two men, I’ll be relieved. I might even let him go.

I slowly open the door.

Blood drains from my face as I scan my eyes over the empty room. My clothes are folded in a pile on the bed along with a note on top.

I go to the closet first and open it up, hoping to find something he left behind, something to indicate he’ll be back.

Nothing.

Not a T-shirt, toothbrush, nor a spare sock in this place.

Nikita appears in the doorway just as I make my way to the clothes. The note he left me only says one word.

Sorry .

Sorry?

Did he know Nikita would kill me for this? Is that what he’s sorry for?

I doubt it. I doubt he even truly cares.

He destroyed my life then came back nine years later to finish the job.

“You let him get away.” Nikita’s voice is low and menacing as he stares into an empty dresser drawer. He slowly turns his head toward me.

I drop my attention to the jacket I wore last night and search the inside pocket for the money I picked up, grasping at something to ease his anger, remind him of my usefulness. When I find the envelope, I pull it out with a tiny gasp and turn his way.

“We can find him,” I say, holding up the envelope. “He didn’t find the cash from last night, and he told me his resources were limited. He won’t be able to make it far.”

“He left an envelope full of cash on the kitchen counter,” Alik pipes in, creeping closer. “That wasn’t an accident.” He takes the envelope from my hand and peeks inside at the cash. When he meets my eyes, I force myself not to shrink away. “He didn’t miss this either.” He holds up the envelope. After peering down to read the note, his eyes move back to me in a knowing stare. “What are you not telling us?”

“Do you know where he is?” Nikita asks, his nostrils flaring as he stalks closer.

“No.” I shake my head vigorously. “Pakhan, you know I would tell you?—”

“The only thing I know is that you’re one disappointment after another.” He takes my hair to yank my ear to his lips, pulling a squeak from me. “I’ll give you one opportunity to tell me the truth… Where is Vitaly?”

“I don’t know,” I groan, my voice trembling with fear. “I swear, I am loyal , Pakhan. You know me.”

His hand winds my hair so tight, I clench my eyes shut at the sting.

“ Wrong answer .”

Nikita shoves me to the floor where I catch myself on my elbows, bruising them along with the rest of me.

I roll over to meet Nikita’s eyes, to beg for his forgiveness, but I know it’s too late. I’ve seen him like this. I’ve watched him kill so many others for the crime of being weak, and I begged him to give me the chance to show him I was strong.

He gave me the chance. I failed. This is my punishment.

He looks at Alik and nods, giving him the go-ahead to kill me. I shift my body to Alik, my eyes dancing around his blank face. “Alik, please ,” I beg, shaking my head as he closes in on me. He slips a knife from his pocket then pulls me onto my knees by my hair, holding the blade to my throat.

I suck in breaths through my nose as my eyes close, and I focus on relaxing my body, focus on letting the fight go.

I will not die crying or squirming. I won’t die a coward.

When Alik bends to my ear, I flinch at his warm breath, expecting the knife to move at any moment.

“Tell me why he came back,” Alik whispers, his voice so low, I’m not sure Nikita can hear. “Why does he want to help you? Tell me and I’ll fight for you.”

I swallow bile, the knife so close to my neck, I feel it as my throat contracts.

Why does Vitaly want to help me?

What did he say?

I’m the last thing his father gave him, and he wants to honor that.

It isn’t about me. It’s about Vlad Petrov. He’s trying to use me to make amends with the father he got killed.

He’s pathetic.

I open my mouth, the words perched on my tongue, but Nikita’s phone ringing cuts off my thoughts. He pulls it from his pocket and glares at the caller ID before answering.

“ What ?”

His eyes expand as the person on the other end talks, and without saying another word, he hangs up, his teeth baring with rage.

“We have to go,” he grinds at Alik. “Kill the bitch, then meet me at the car.” He steps toward the door, but Alik stops him.

“I think we should keep her alive.”

Nikita turns and gives Alik a murderous stare.

The knife leaves my throat as Alik stands. “Vitaly took Mila for a reason. We don’t know how useful to us she is until we know what that reason is. He could come back for her…”

“No.” Nikita slowly shakes his head. “He isn’t back for her… He’s at my house .”

Alik blinks in surprise. “He’s that stupid?”

Nikita nods then gestures to me. “Kill the bitch. Now.”

“Sir.” Alik cups his hands in front of him. “I will do this if you want, but I’m asking you, please reconsider. Trust me . Something feels off. I’m afraid we’re going to kill our enemy’s weak spot.”

Nikita considers Alik’s words for just a moment before grunting and waving a hand. “We don’t have time for this. Put her in the car if you think we need her.”

When Nikita leaves, I raise onto my feet, ignoring Alik’s offer of his hand. He may have saved my life, but he isn’t a friend.

I’m not sure anyone in this world is.

Vitaly

Nikita has changed so much.

My eyes run over my father’s old office, now Nikita’s , while listening to the girl’s voice trembling against the phone she presses to her ear.

The walls of the office used to be a dark red, the desk a mahogany that boasted classic tradition. My father had respect for a time before his, and his taste displayed that. He liked things with history, everything antique.

Nikita’s tastes are different.

I run my finger over the crease between the gray wall and a modern, black and white painting that matches the vibe of this room. My father’s antique chairs are gone, and in their places are purple, velvet monstrosities sitting atop an impractical, white rug.

What I’ve seen of the rest of the house is the same. Modern and sleek without a breath of my father left.

“S-sir,” the girl says from the entryway. When I turn my head to her, her shoulders slump.

Nibbling on the inside of her cheek, she walks the phone to me and holds it out. I spare it a brief glance before turning back to the painting.

“Do you like this?” I nod toward the black and white smudges of paint. I don’t know what it’s supposed to be or what it means. Or what it’s supposed to make me feel. Maybe I’m dead inside.

“Um…” She takes her time answering, the phone slowly lowering to her side. “I-I’m not sure, sir. Do you like it?”

Do I like it?

Do I like any of this?

My lips dip into a frown. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I suppose it was unrealistic to have expected nothing to have changed. Or for anything to have stayed the same.

“No,” I answer at last, turning to face the girl. She lowers her wide, baby blue eyes to the rug and cups her hands in front of her. Sandy blonde hair is pinned back, which I’m sure she finds a damn shame considering how badly she looks like she’d like to hide.

I wonder what her job is. Upstairs, after taking out the guards, I found a whole room full of women in the servants’ quarters, or what used to be. Four sets of bunk beds worth of girls seems a bit excessive for cooks and gardeners.

Are they all whores? He keeps them here , on site? Why?

Letting my gaze fall away from her, I wander to the desk and sit down in the high-backed, leather chair, letting my forearms rest on the sleek surface as I search for something that’ll help me with this next part. Nikita is on his way, so I don’t have much time before I spoil his shot at killing me.

I’ve been able to pick up a few things from afar about Nikita, even being as disconnected as I am. I have contacts who have contacts who claim that Nikita’s leadership is unstable. His ruthlessness makes him difficult to follow, and not all of his people are loyal.

Even without this information, I could’ve guessed as much based on him trying to kill me. If he wasn’t threatened, he wouldn’t bother. I paid for my sins the way my grandfather chose for me to pay for them, and there’s little part of me that thinks Nikita would try to kill me out of revenge.

He wants to kill me because he’s afraid. I’m a Petrov. But not only that, I’m Vlad’s son, the rightful heir to his precious throne. A confident leader would know his people had his back, that they would choose him over me, that my blood would cease to matter.

But he’s not a confident leader. And if his empire is as rocky as it sounds, killing his own nephew to protect what should be unbreakable loyalty is only going to make him look even weaker than he already is.

This is a hunch, but… I don’t think it’s the Bratva’s plan to kill me or that they even know about it. I think it’s Nikita’s own personal mission.

So my plan, the best one I can think of, is to simply bring them in on it. Let them choose where their loyalty lies and pay the consequences if I’m wrong.

My eyes roam to the girl. She hasn’t moved. Hasn’t even taken her eyes off the floor.

“What’s your name?” I ask, making my voice as soft as I can remember how.

How long has it been since being soft was even an option?

“Felicity,” she whispers.

“Could you come here, Felicity?”

She hesitates, closing her eyes a moment as if summoning bravery before cautiously walking over to me.

“Do you know any of the lieutenants’ names?”

She nods.

“Do you know any of them personally?”

Again, she nods.

“Are any of their contacts in that phone?” I point to the cell she called Nikita on. She bites down on her lip but doesn’t answer, which makes me think they’re in there, but she doesn’t want to say so.

Is she loyal to Nikita too?

I flip a piece of paper with numbers on it over and find a pen, then I scoot both toward her. “Could you write down the names of all the lieutenants you remember, please?”

I take the phone from her hand, and she reaches out like she wants to snatch it back from me, her wide eyes glazed with fear.

I consider telling her I won’t hurt her, but it feels like it would slow down my progress, so I keep my mouth shut and pull up the contacts on the phone. I should recognize at least some names if they’re in here. All I need is a couple of lieutenants for word to spread.

Felicity picks up the pen and hovers it over the paper, her hand shaking so badly, it distracts me from my search.

Her face is twisted, pained. She looks like she’s going to cry.

“I’m not going to hurt anyone else,” I say, remembering the guards outside. Not all of them are dead. I aimed to wound, not kill.

“If I help you, he’ll kill me,” she says, a sob trailing her words.

He would?

He’d kill a harmless girl for writing some names on a paper for the guy with the gun?

I consider this, scrolling through the contacts thinking about how I could avoid that, when I land on a name I recognize well. But not the name of a friend.

Roman McCall.

Another man who will want me dead.

Who would want me alive ?

I wrack my brain for someone, anyone from my past who might stand by me, but the only person I can think of is Alik. The underboss who isn’t an option.

I hand the phone to Felicity. “Click on a name. Nikita won’t know you did it.”

She looks uncertain but takes the phone and scrolls through the contacts only a moment before hitting a name I don’t recognize.

I put the phone to my ear and prepare to ignite a flame that won’t be easily put out. I hope Nikita’s up to the challenge.

Because I’ll see him soon.