Vitaly (Las Vegas Petrov Bratva #3)

15. Vitaly

15

VITALY

T he Catholic church looks familiar.

I let my Jeep idle in the lot for a minute while I stare at the building, trying to place where I know it from. All I can think of is Abram and how much he’d appreciate the impressive glass windows. He’s never actually been inside a church. He wasn’t religious until a few years into the life sentence he was delivered at thirty-one years old. Prison has a funny way of making a man want to believe in something.

I shut off the Jeep and climb out before walking around the back of the church to the park Maksim told me about. In the dark, it reminds me of the eerie calm of a cemetery, with no lights to illuminate the grounds and palm trees planted to block out the neighboring buildings. It’s a little safe haven in an otherwise busy city.

I head for the one building that must be a bathroom and spot a person sitting on a bench as I approach. The closer I get, the less the person resembles Maksim.

My steps slow as hairs rise on the back of my neck.

Is this a set up?

“Vitaly?” a feminine voice calls in the dark. I vaguely recognize the smooth cadence but can’t put a name to its owner until I creep forward, my eyes squinted, trying to make out the woman.

“ Alex ?”

The long-haired blonde I went to school with years ago hops off a picnic table and strides my way. Quickly . Excitedly . I back up a step and search her hands like she’s coming to attack me, and in a way, she does.

She crashes into me, smashing her hardened lips to mine in what can only be dubbed a passionless, awkward kiss. My whole body tenses. I want to throw her off, but I have no idea what this is.

She wraps her arms around my neck and puts her mouth to my ear. “You’ve been followed.”

She takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom with the urgency of distant lovers being reunited at last. For anyone watching, maybe it looks believable. For anyone who knows Alexa Volcov, not so much. The girl is a nun.

Or was , at least. Maybe things have changed.

When Alex flips on the light, she reveals an older version of the girl I knew. A richer version.

I eye the giant diamonds in her ears before taking in her designer pantsuit. Her lips are shiny, and her makeup looks professionally applied, which is strange on her. I can’t remember seeing her like this.

“Did you get all dressed up for me , Volcov?”

Her eyes narrow like she’s offended, but then they relax. A grin plays on her lips. “Good to see you too, Petrov.”

I look around the dirty bathroom. “So… You wanna tell me what we’re doing here? I thought I was meeting Maksim.”

“It was too dangerous for him to come. He knew you’d be followed, and it was too risky to send a man from my organization, so…” She raises her hands. “I volunteered.”

“From your organization?” I raise a brow. “Did you start yourself a gang?”

Her mouth stays open for a moment. “Oh, you don’t know.” Her eyes dip as she clears her throat. “I, uh… I married Settimo Gruco.”

Settimo Gruco.

“The don’s son?”

She lets out a nervous chuckle. “Actually, he, uh, isn’t the son anymore. His father died a while ago.”

Settimo Gruco is the don of the Italian mafia. Nikita’s worst enemy.

“Wow… I’ve missed so much,” I say, mystified.

Pity shines in her eyes as she gives me a kind smile.

“Alexa Volcov lost her virginity.” I shake my head like I can’t believe it.

Her jaw drops, and she slaps my chest, a laugh bellowing out of her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“That you were prude as hell.”

“ That is the Bratva way. Or did you forget?”

“Not the Italian way, obviously.”

“ Actually , I waited until my wedding day.”

“Did you really?” I grin, thinking of Settimo Gruco waiting to get laid.

Biting her lower lip, she hums like she’s considering lying then shakes her head. “No, actually, I lost it right outside this bathroom.”

“Seriously?” I laugh. “Gross.”

She laughs with me, her face flushing red. As her laugh trails, she looks away, several seconds passing between us while we allow the friendly banter to come to an end.

“Right, so anyway,” Alexa goes on, obviously uncomfortable. “Whatever you have planned, I wanted you to know, the Italians are behind you one hundred percent. We’ve been to war once since Nikita took over and have flirted with a second every day since. With the understanding that there will be peace between our organizations when you take over, we’ll help you take him out.”

My arms cross over my chest as I lean against the white, cinder block wall. “And what will you do to his followers who may not be so open to his assassination? I imagine there would be quite a few if I use the help of our rivals to kill him.”

“Every single person you tell us to take out, we will take out. Plain and simple. We just need to know who, where, and when.”

I run my tongue along my teeth. “Convenient for your hubby to weaken the Bratva at the Bratva’s command. What an opportunity for him.”

Her round cheeks pinch as she glares. “Did you miss the part where I said we wanted peace ? This would be us helping you.”

“Why?”

“ Because Nikita?—”

“Could’ve been assassinated by your husband at any time, and yet he’s chosen to let him live. Because we both know killing Nikita isn’t worth the war it would bring the Italians. You want me to stop that war from happening. It’s clever, Alex. Really, it is, but?—”

“Vitaly, listen to me.” Alex closes the distance between us to place her hands on my arms. The way she looks at me makes the smug playfulness I feel evaporate. She looks serious… Emotional . Like this isn’t a business venture. Like this is personal.

“Whoever you think Nikita is, scratch it from memory. He is vile beyond belief, and right now, I promise you, he has a plan to kill you in the most wretched, sadistic way. He isn’t sitting back waiting for you to make a move, I promise you. He is more fucked up than your grandfather could’ve tried to be. I get that you think tearing down the Bratva would be in the Italians’ best interest, but Nikita is tearing down the Bratva. He kills more of his own people than the Italians have ever touched. No one with Russian blood in this city is safe as long as he’s alive, especially not you.”

No one with Russian blood in this city is safe.

No one.

Not even Alexa. Or more likely, her family. Her friends.

That’s what this is about. It isn’t about her husband or even the Italians. It’s about her.

I sigh. “Settimo has no idea you’re here, does he?”

Her face twists with guilt as she lets her hands fall from my arms and takes a step back. She doesn’t answer, which says enough.

Of course he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know me . He’d never send his wife to a park at one in the morning to meet a hardened criminal known for getting his father and friends killed.

Staring down at my shoe a moment, I kick at the concrete floor. When I look back up at her, she’s scratching her arm and peering at me like she’s counting on this. Like she’s been counting on this.

“I’m sorry.” I lift a shoulder before sliding my hands into my pockets. “I only came back for Mila.”

Her forehead wrinkles as she blinks at me. “Mila Alekseev?”

I nod.

She stares a few moments, searching my face like she’s thinking. I know she remembers Mila. Everyone would remember Mila. It isn’t often that someone spits on their father’s decision like I did.

Finally, Alexa’s eyes steady, and she seems to have made up her mind about something.

“Good.”

I tilt my head. “Good?”

She gives a single nod, her spine straightening. “The best leaders are chosen by their people. If you were here just to kill your uncle and take control, you’d be a dictator. It’s good that you didn’t come here to be Pakhan…” She sucks in a lungful of air, her eyes shining with hope I wish would dim. “But your people need you , Vitaly. Don’t abandon them again.”

Again .

I’m getting real tired of hearing that.

I wait a few seconds, letting her words linger in the air before pointing my feet toward the door. “It was good to see you, Alexa.”

Her shoulders slump, and she says nothing as I leave, carrying her disappointment with me.