12. Mila
12
MILA
“ S o who’s driving?” Vitaly asks as he walks behind me toward the same SUV my assailants drove. I don’t even know if anyone has cleaned it. It could still smell like a corpse.
“I don’t drive.”
I walk around to the passenger side and slip my hand from my leather jacket to open the door. My hair swings in a high ponytail when I climb in and rest my hands in my lap, the suede material of my black pants warm against my palm.
Vitaly climbs behind the wheel and starts the engine. “Too good for it?”
I flick my gaze his way. “What?”
“You said you don’t drive. What are you, the queen?”
I roll my eyes at his teasing tone and stare out the windshield as he drives through the gate. Conversation needs to happen. It must happen, so it’s lucky for me that Vitaly is chatty.
But it’s going to make for a long day.
And my driving, or rather my not driving, will not be the first topic. It is kind of sad that I don’t know how. I’d rather he just think I’m stuck-up.
“Think we’ll run into Alik today?” he asks when we’re a mile or so down the road.
Alik . I nearly laugh.
“If I were you, I would hope not.”
Vitaly takes his eyes off the road to glance at me, obviously wanting more.
“You know how you ruined my family’s legacy, and I hate your fucking guts for it?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Yeah, well, if there’s any one person in the world who hates you more, it’s Alik. You got him tortured, right? You’re the reason he has that red iris?”
Still, Vitaly doesn’t respond.
“Plus, he was a soldier for a long time, you know. Like assassin shit. Clean-up crew until Nikita took him under his thumb, and he is loyal for it. The only reason Nikita made him underboss is because Alik is trustworthy, and Alik is trustworthy only because he fucking hates you and will do anything it takes to keep Nikita in charge.”
Because if Nikita isn’t in charge … it would be so easy for Vitaly to take over. Half the Bratva is hoping for that. But not Alik. Definitely not Alik.
“He’s the one who found your location in Russia so the assassins could go after you.”
“I get it,” Vitaly snaps. My amusement at Vitaly having the nerve to ask about Alik slides, lowering the tilt in my lips. This is the first time he’s snapped at me. I didn’t realize until now that he hadn’t.
I search his face for the anger I heard in voice, but among the hardness, all I see is pain. Real pain in his eyes. Pain that cannot possibly be faked.
“Why does he matter to you?” I ask, my voice considerably lower.
Vitaly just stares out the windshield. I open and close my mouth, debating on whether or not to pry. Eventually, I face forward and let the silence consume us.
“You’re going to have to tell me where I’m going,” he says. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.”
Right.
I shift and lean toward the GPS to input the address to our first stop, a barber shop at the corner of Custard Street. Letting the female navigator do the talking, I lean back in my seat and watch the buildings pass when we reach the city.
It’s weird. Talking to Vitaly is the last thing I want to do, and yet, the silence isn’t pleasant either.
Why does he care about Alik?
Is he part of Vitaly’s plan? Does he need him?
“You didn’t get that bruise on your face from sparring, did you?” Vitaly asks, breaking the awkward silence. I already miss it.
“What would you like me to tell you?” I sigh. “I ran right into a doorknob. Came out of nowhere. I’m a clumsy, clumsy girl.”
“Does he usually hit you?”
“ No ,” I grind out. “Just when his dearest nephew comes to town.”
“He did it because I’m here?”
I turn to glare at Vitaly’s stupid, clueless expression. “You got another girl killed by borrowing her phone, but you thought?—”
“You didn’t help me,” he points out, as if it matters. “You tried to kill me.”
“But I didn’t finish the job, did I?”
Vitaly’s eyes widen as he turns to look at me for just a moment before he pulls the SUV into a gas station.
I sit up, my hand planting on the dash. “What are you doing? We have a schedule to keep.”
He ignores my concern, putting the car in park and turning to face me. “Are you saying Nikita hit you because you, a hundred-pound woman, did not successfully kill me?”
My mouth opens with a scoff. “Okay, first of all, I weigh a hundred and twenty and you’re a condescending cocksucker. Secondly, he was seconds away from having his attack dog slit my throat when he got news that you were at his mansion. You made me look weak, and Nikita doesn’t tolerate weakness. If you fail, you die. That is how we, as a brotherhood you know nothing about, stay strong.”
By the time the words are out of my mouth, my chest is heaving from the strong breaths I take through flared nostrils. Everything he says feels like a challenge. It’s all wrong. All insulting to me, my life, my dignity. I can feel my sensitivity, can feel my overreactions, but his lips moving is a trigger I just can’t stop reacting to.
Who cares if I’m a woman? I was acting as a soldier . I am an equal .
Nikita wouldn’t have hesitated to slice the throat of a man who let Vitaly get away. He would’ve tortured the man first, ripped out his nails, done so much worse . I am grateful to my Pakhan for sparing my life, but it would have been insulting for him to treat me like what, a victim ?
But he didn’t because he does not perceive me as the frail creature Vitaly sees. He views me as a woman, his woman. One who is capable of things, including letting him down. He showed me mercy; he gave me another chance. He may even give me a ring.
Vitaly… Vitaly never even gave me a second glance.
At this thought, I try to whip my gaze away, but something about the way Vitaly stares at me, so locked on, so curious, brings me back to him. He’s looking for something.
“What?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything.
He waits a few more seconds to respond. “If you failed Nikita, as you said … then why are you alive?”
My face cools as blood drains, and although I want to break away from his gaze, I stay put.
Oh no.
I said too much.
“I’m his woman,” I huff like it’s obvious. “He had a change of heart.”
“Right after he heard I was at his mansion, he chose not to kill you.”
“He was angry.” My shoulders slouch, and I roll my neck as I think of the right words to explain this away. “He?—”
“You’re backtracking.” Vitaly’s eyes move over my forehead. I imagine him taking in the beading sweat. “And you’re a terrible liar.”
Not always. Not with everyone. Not with most people.
Just with him.
Frustration with myself builds so heavily that my lip trembles, even as no tears form. My tear ducts dried out nearly a decade ago.
I turn to stare out the windshield, feeling the weight of my fuckup.
“He kept you alive to use you, didn’t he? What are you supposed to do? Tell him everything I say to you?”
I close my eyes, hating him for voicing it, hating him for figuring me out so easily.
One day. I've been a spy for less than twenty-four hours, and I’ve already blown my cover.
I’m dead. It’s over, I’m dead.
“Mila.”
“Please,” I croak, my throat thick. I cough and force myself to sit up straighter in the seat. I don’t look at him. I can’t look at him. “I don’t think we should talk anymore… We’ve wasted enough time as it is. We have a schedule to keep.”
Vitaly sighs and runs a hand through his thick hair. “Right.”
Mercifully, he puts the SUV in reverse, and we’re soon on our way to our first pickup.
I stare out the window and try not to think about my future. Or my past. Or present. It doesn’t work, of course, since I’m not brain dead, but I try.
“I don’t want to get you hurt,” Vitaly says in a soft voice, making my eyes close. I wish he’d just stop. “I didn’t understand Nikita’s reasoning for killing Felicity, and I truly didn’t realize he wanted to kill you for my actions too. I need you to tell me if I do something that could have negative consequences for you.”
“This conversation will have negative consequences for me.”
“It won’t… I will never speak a word about anything we talk about, and neither will you.”
I release a dry laugh, but it’s so soft, I doubt he hears. “It won’t matter.”
“I don’t understand.” He shakes his head and looks to me for answers I don’t intend to give.
“Just drive the car, Vitaly.”
He groans his frustration. “If you could just?—”
“I don’t trust you!” My voice is a yell that’s so much higher than I intended, damn near a shriek. It’s full of pent-up anger, resentment, bitterness, and maybe even fear.
This, at last, silences the brute next to me. He’s quiet the last few minutes of the drive, and neither of us say a word as we walk up to the barber shop door, me intentionally taking the lead.
This is my father’s territory, so I know these people. It isn’t a coincidence Nikita sent us here after he just raised rent for these people. We’re bound to run into problems. I’d rather be the one to handle them, not the man who’s come to Vegas for the sole purpose of creating chaos.
The bell chimes above the door as I open it and step inside, letting it shut partway on Vitaly with a satisfying slap of his hand on the wood. The place isn’t busy—just two patrons in chairs, each with a barber tending to them—and another man, probably another barber, off to the side.
“What can I help you with?” the idle man with moles all along his neck and a receding hairline asks. He has a nice smile with surprisingly white teeth for his age, mid-sixties or so.
I can tell by his friendly tone that he isn’t the one I’m here to see. The owner wouldn’t know me, but my bruised face and Vitaly’s bulky form don’t say patrons. We’re trouble.
The resentful eyes of a barber with gray curls tight against his scalp find me, and he gives a bitter grunt before putting down his clippers.
“We’re here on behalf of Nikita Petrov,” I say before Vitaly can open his mouth. I don’t think it was necessary to say anything, but I like the idea of setting the tone that I’m the one in charge.
“Be right back,” the old man mutters, shuffling behind a curtain and disappearing from view. He returns with an envelope he thrusts toward me so forcefully, it makes me think he wants to slap me with it. “ Here .”
I take the envelope and pull out the bills, ignoring the people watching. Normally, we’d count it in the car, but with the price increase…
Yup, it’s short.
I slide the cash back in and give the man a firm look. “Where’s the rest?”
“That’s all of it.” He waves angrily to the envelope. “That’s every dime you leeches are getting from me this month. You’ll get the same next and the month after.”
I take a long inhale through my nose, though I was prepared for this. I’d hoped we’d make it through a few stops before getting violent, but it’s just as well.
“Everyone out,” I say, my raised voice holding an authority that doesn’t give the surge of power I thought it would. I like power. I don’t particularly like this kind of violence. Killing stubborn, old men isn’t what I set my sights on.
The patrons are quick to leave, but the two other barbers need the gray-haired man’s nod before they reluctantly trudge through the front door, the chime announcing their exit.
“You know rent has increased.”
“I don’t give a goddamn,” he spews, showing teeth that aren’t so impressive like his friend’s. “That’s the third time this year you’ve demanded more. It’s destroying our livelihoods. Most of us can’t pay our bills, so why don’t you and your friend run along and tell your boss there ain’t nothing left in the pond for you to fish. It dried up. Find another fishing hole.”
“Mr. Petrov doesn’t care about your fishing hole. What you give us is pennies; it’s meaningless . What he cares about is obedience, and those who choose not to meet his demands suffer the consequences. Taking a stand isn’t worth your life. Go get the rest of the money.”
The old man’s head falls backward with a cackle, his hand planting on his flat belly. When he faces me, he shakes his head. “Little girl, I’ve lived a good, long life. You can’t scare me with your threats.”
His eyes move to his right and narrow as he stabs a finger at something. “Hey, you keep your hands off that.” I turn to follow his finger and find Vitaly gingerly sliding a photo frame off its hook on the wall. He holds it up in his hands and studies it. It’s of the three barbers, quite a while back. Probably when the place first opened. How touching.
“Are you brothers?” he asks, turning his head to face the old man.
The old man just glares, hunching his already hunched back Vitaly’s way.
Vitaly looks at the photo once more and hangs it back on the wall. I roll my eyes.
“Look,” I say, trying to get back to the point.
“I don’t think I’d pay it either.”
My eyes widen, and my head slowly swivels toward Vitaly. I hope my face conveys the depth to which I want him to shut his stupid mouth, but he doesn’t even acknowledge me.
What the hell is he doing?
He shrugs, his eyes pinned to the old man. “It’s noble, really, that you’re taking a stand. Three times in a year?” he tsks. “That’s unacceptable. You people have families, lives, employees.” Vitaly looks around the room as he shakes his head.
Is he trying to make them revolt? Is that what he’s doing?
Why is he the one who gets to carry the gun? I feel my pocket for my knife and consider pulling it, giving the man one last chance before ending this and moving on. Maybe even moving on to Vitaly. If this isn’t a crime worthy of execution, I don’t know what is.
“It’s horseshit,” the man spits. “And you’re the one doing it, you crook. Don’t talk like you’re on my side of things.”
“I’m definitely not on your side.” Vitaly walks until he’s next to me. “But I do understand where you’re coming from. And if I have to kill you today, you’ll die with dignity and honor. I hope that’s enough for you because if you think you’re helping the people on your street, you’re not. You’re harming them. If you’re sacrificing yourself for some greater cause, you’re dying in vain.”
The man scoffs, clearly unconvinced. “If there’s no flour, you can’t bake bread. The mobs are gonna learn that if they bully us, there won’t be anyone left to pay their tax. Either make it fair or you can take nothing at all.”
Vitaly nods like he understands. “If every man were like you, it could work. And if every leader were reasonable, you’d definitely stand a shot. But you’ve been around for a long time, haven’t you? You’ve seen this bullying as you call it? That’s why you’re fed up, especially now with how severe it’s gotten, and you’re encouraging people to take a stand with you. But not all of them were around to see the others who’ve tried to do what you’re doing. They’re naive, some of them are weak. Most have families they want to protect. Even you…” He motions to the picture on the wall.
Color drains from the man’s face. “Don’t you dare threaten?—”
“I wouldn’t dream of threatening you, sir,” Vitaly interrupts, his expression serious. I’m in a trance, watching him. I don’t know when he officially took over, but I’m not sure my presence registers to either of them anymore. “ I have been around a long time too, despite what you may think, but I’ve been watching from the other side of things. I remember the Pakhan before the current one, how he dealt with situations like this. Every time anyone gave him trouble, the masses paid for it. He would raise the rent over and over too, as a punishment until every person fell in line. The more they fought, the worse it got. Not just for the troublemakers, but for everyone. The previous Pakhan was a sick, vindictive man who I’m certain took pleasure in the suffering of others.”
Vitaly lets that sit only for a moment before continuing.
“You cannot win this way against a man who enjoys being challenged. Die if you must but do it with the knowledge that the people you’ve organized your little strike with will die with you, and those who are left will have their rent increased in another few months. I promise you, that will be the outcome.”
Vitaly pulls his gun from his waistband and holds it at his side while he waits for the old man to make his move.
The man’s eyes shift, his jaw working as he thinks. He doesn’t look angry anymore or hardly even bitter. He looks apprehensive, maybe even regretful.
He smacks his lips and looks at Vitaly. “Who are you?”
“Vitaly Petrov.”
I don’t know if the man recognizes the first name, but he obviously knows the last. He stares at Vitaly for a few uncertain seconds before turning and walking to the backroom. Vitaly doesn’t put his gun away until the man returns with a handful of cash and hands it to him without making eye contact.
“Which place you goin’ next?” the man asks.
Vitaly looks at me.
“Mitchell's Bakery,” I answer.
The man’s jaw works. “Wait ten minutes before carrying on. I’ll make a few calls.”
Vitaly and I don’t say a word about what took place in the barbershop, and he lets me take the lead on the rest of the pickups. Everyone looks resentful. But no one gives us any trouble.
When we’re driving to the bar my papa is perched at to drop off the cash with him, I keep finding myself peeking at Vitaly. Trying to understand him. What he wants. What he’s thinking. It would be easy to ask, in theory, but I’d never trust the answer, so I don’t voice the question.
There’s a part of me, a small but significant part, that’s impressed by him and his ability to manipulate people into doing what he wants. And a larger part of me that’s terrified he’s somehow manipulating me without my knowledge, even though I can’t think of a single thing I’ve done that he’s suggested I do. Especially leave the Bratva, as if I’d ever.
Vitaly parks the SUV in front of the bar then starts to get out, making my eyebrows raise.
“You’re coming in?” I ask with surprise that seems to confuse him.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“My father’s in there.”
His eyes narrow. “Yeah, I put that together. He’s the one we’re bringing the money to, right?”
I open my mouth, ready to warn him about my father’s hatred toward Vitaly, but then I close it. He doesn’t deserve the warning, and if he’s too stupid not to already know, then … not my problem.
I climb out and follow Vitaly inside the low-lit bar, my father’s loud, Russian accent immediately reaching my ears from a booth to the right.
But he isn’t the first person I see. The first person I see is the very last person Vitaly should be around. Far more dangerous than my father. Maybe even more dangerous than Nikita.
Olive… Alik’s wife, sitting alone at the bar.
“You must be Vitaly,” my brother, Leo, says, coming up to us with a smile that shouldn’t be there for his enemy. “I’m Leo. Mila’s brother.”
Vitaly lifts his chin in greeting. “Pleasure.”
“Come on, let’s get a drink.” Leo slaps an arm around Vitaly’s shoulder and ushers him to the bar, one stool away from Olive.
When I look at my father, he has an evil smile on his face, telling me he planned this. He’s setting Vitaly up for something.
I almost open my mouth. Almost ruin whatever it is they have planned.
Then I remember Vitaly is my enemy. I keep my mouth shut, but the strangest thing happens... My stomach turns. My heart quickens.
And I don’t feel the least bit happy.