18. Ilias
ILIAS
T he smell of tomato sauce, garlic, and scorched crust drifted in from the open pizza boxes I’d laid out on the counter. New York-style, greasy, hot—nothing fancy. It wasn’t celebratory food. It was comfort food.
Galena was curled in the corner of the couch, legs tucked under her, wearing a worn black t-shirt that hung off her shoulder.
She looked exhausted. Her dark hair fell around her face in soft waves, a few stubborn curls coiling along her jaw.
She held a slice of pizza in both hands like she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it.
I’d watched her identify the men in those photos with terrifying clarity earlier today.
No hesitation. No flinching. But I saw how her breath caught just after, how her throat worked as she swallowed the bile that must have risen.
And I’d hated the world for making her do it.
Then those tears. Those fucking tears spilling down her cheeks.
I would have given anything for her not to have to cry like that.
Now, we were trying to eat pizza as if we weren’t waiting to spill blood, but pizza always made me feel better.
She’d even laughed at me a little when I ordered it and told me I was eating my feelings.
Now we had it spread out in the sitting area with the cardboard boxes open on the coffee tables in all its greasy glory.
I figured my brothers would be showing up any second, so I ordered extra, which was a smart move since they were absolute animals for good pie.
“You okay?” I asked, my voice low as I passed her a napkin and a can of soda.
She nodded, then glanced up at me. “You’re hovering.”
“Not hovering,” I said, sitting beside her. “Observing.” It wasn’t a lie. I was watching her every chance I got. It was a new obsession, and feeding her was a part of it.
Her lips twitched. “Like I’m a specimen in a lab?”
“Like you’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met, and I’m trying to figure out how I got this lucky. ”
Her cheeks colored faintly, and she took a bite of pizza to avoid answering. Smart woman. There wasn’t much she could say that would dissuade me at this point.
The front door creaked open without ceremony, and the floorboards above us groaned under his boots. Vaso’s voice carried down the staircase before we even saw him. “I smell cheese and trauma bonding!”
He strode in a second later, wearing a hoodie, his hair still damp from the rain outside, shaking water off like a dog. His grin was instant when he saw the pizza boxes. “It’s freezing out there, and I’m starving. It’s like you were reading my mind.”
Kostas followed closely behind, in stark contrast—pressed shirt, dry coat, phone glued to his ear, mumbling about encrypted server locations and Manhattan Bridge cameras.
Maxim was the last to arrive, shoulders squared, coat soaked and dripping. He had that icy Russian composure about him. “Evening,” he said, scanning the room. His gaze landed on Galena first, his mouth softening into a smile. “Cora says hello. She’s going to come by soon.”
“That’d be nice.” Galena wiped her hands on a napkin.
Vaso flopped into the armchair across from us and opened a box. “Pepperoni. Thank Christ. If I had to sit through another dinner where someone served duck confit?—”
Everyone arranged themselves around the pizza after taking off their wet coats, Maxim watching his sister cautiously. He wasn’t sure how to talk to her yet, and I understood, but he’d have to jump in with both feet. She wasn’t going to break, and he was making things uncomfortable.
“So, you were going to check in with your people, your men, or whatever?” Galena waved her hand in the general direction of her brother, and I had to suppress a laugh. I doubted that the Volkov Bratva had ever been spoken of with such irreverence.
“Yeah, Maxim. The whatever you call it.” Vaso couldn’t help but rub it in even as Galena rolled her eyes at him. It was just such a cute glimpse of her personality, a peek at how she was getting comfortable here with me and my brothers, that she felt safe. It made me feel good.
“Yes, I checked in with my men. It’s called a bratva. We’ve got a sighting of Vairo. He’s been seen near Hoboken. I have a man on him.” He ground his teeth. “Ilias would like to grab them all at once so we don’t spook Scarpato. It’s not the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard of.”
“We’ve got traces on all three, then, but Scarpato is tricky,” Kostas said. “Bello’s hiding in South Brooklyn. Angelo was able to locate him. Scarpato is using proxies and going dark. All his known safe houses have been emptied, though, so they may be onto us.”
“But we’ll find him,” Maxim said. It wasn’t a question. It was a promise.
Galena set aside her slice of pizza and pinned us each with a stare. “I want to be there when it happens.”
Four pairs of eyes turned to her. The room went still. Immediately, I started shaking my head. “No.”
“That’s not safe,” Maxim growled.
I was glad he said it and not me. We weren’t trying to be assholes, but our instinct in this business was to keep the women out of it. Well, it was probably more that it was the status quo. Maybe that wasn’t fair. Galena’s mouth snapped shut, her lips thinning.
“You think anything about what I’ve lived through has been safe?” Her voice didn’t rise, but it cracked like lightning. “I deserve to be part of ending them if I want to.”
The room had gone quiet .
Maxim stood, his shoulders drawn tight, jaw clenched like he was biting down on something bitter and barely holding it back. Vaso had stopped eating, arms folded, that irreverent glint in his eye smothered by something far colder. Even Kostas had gone still.
Her hands curled into fists. “He said my mother was just a warning.”
When she had ID’d Scarpato, it was like a match igniting a slow-burning fuse.
That click of information fitting into place, the heaviness of it sinking into my blood.
I’d always hated the bastard— a greasy, territorial don who made too much noise and ignored the rules the Commission worked hard to enforce.
But to go as far as to orchestrate an attack on Maxim’s family? On the woman he knew was to be my wife?
He hadn’t just crossed a line.
He'd napalmed it, and I knew it was intentional. Just like him coming to the office for a supposed ‘deal.’ That had occurred after the attack. He was getting that extra hard-on by stopping by my office, knowing that I didn’t know yet.
The knowledge of what he’d done to Galena’s mother, and then the certainty that he’d done the same to her, made me want to tear apart the seams of the world and remake it so she’d never have had to experience that pain — that suffering.
I knew that wasn’t possible, but it made me so furious I wasn’t sure I could contain the rage.
My own heart hammered in my chest like it had teeth.
Her voice was rough and quiet. “I want to be there,” she repeated.
“I need to.” She crossed her arms, making her boobs rise under the black t-shirt.
Given the subject matter, I should not be thinking about boobs, I told myself sternly.
She fixed Maxim with the same relentless stare she’d given me when I told her to rest.
Maxim sighed. “ Sestra , death isn’t pretty.”
I almost closed my eyes at his placating tone, but Vaso’s laugh burst out. “Fuck, Maxim, you are coming across like an absolute asshole. Pretty sure she doesn’t need you mansplaining or being chauvinist and shit. She knows death isn’t pretty.”
“What Vaso said.” Her fists clenched at her sides as she stood up and poked her finger at him, and her eyes flashed. “I deserve to be there.” I loved it, seeing her fire. “You said you’d help me get my revenge.”
“We did agree.” I winked at her. “I’m with my wife. If she wants to see the fuckers die, then she can.” I would give her anything she wanted. I had promised her after all. Her cheeks flushed a little as her eyes darted to mine.
Maxim hung his head. “You’re right, of course. If you want to be there, you can. At the end,” he warned darkly. “They’re going to suffer first, and you won’t be seeing that.”
A glittering satisfaction swept through me. They would suffer. Then Galena could see them die.
“Fine. We can compromise,” she agreed.