35
W ith Roman driving well over the speed limit, they made it to the hospital in record time. Holding Alessandra's hand, he pulled her along through the busy corridors, until they reached the waiting room on the third floor, as per the receptionist's instructions.
Stepan was already there, sitting down with Oleg and two other Brigadiers.
“How is he?” Roman asked. At the sound of his voice, the men stood.
Oleg stayed where he was, one ankle casually crossed over the opposite knee.
“Still in surgery,” Stepan said with a grim expression. “One of the bullets went through the back of his head. Honestly, it’s a miracle he didn't die on the spot. They were quick to get him here, too.”
Roman nodded, having expected as much. He’d tried to prepare himself mentally on the way there, knowing people would look at him for answers .
“Alek?”
“He wasn't feeling well. I sent him downstairs to the cafeteria to grab something to drink.”
Roman's eyes moved to Oleg who hadn't even acknowledged him yet. The man just sat there, listening to their conversation and looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
He was wearing one of his darker suits, the white shirt underneath freshly ironed and his blood-red tie twisted in a perfect Windsor knot.
A strange feeling of foreboding whispered along Roman’s nape. He didn’t need to guess the reason for the man’s behavior.
Pushing that concern to the side for the time being, he turned to his wife. “Go find my brother.”
Alessandra gave a small nod, looking almost relieved that he’d asked her to leave. He didn’t think she was too comfortable being around a bunch of sour-faced Bratva men.
She disappeared from sight, and Roman pulled Stepan aside. “What the fuck happened?”
His friend dragged a hand across his jaw. “Hard to say. The only people who witnessed the attack were your father and his driver. Since the driver is dead, let's hope your father survives surgery to tell the story.”
“Where was he?”
“He was leavingBeluga1. They shot at him in the parking lot.”
Roman's brain was working overtime as he considered who had an incentive to come into their territory and attack their Pakhan so boldly.
One thing he knew for sure. The Bratva had many enemies, but only two other organizations were powerful enough to even try such a thing: Nero Rossetti's Outfit and Davit Kasparov's Clan.
Either version spelled trouble for Vitaly's Bratva that was still trying to regain its footing following the Armenians' betrayal after decades of working closely together.
“And nobody saw anything?”
“The club was closed tonight because of that plumbing issue. Only a few people were there, and everyone was inside.”
“Someone must’ve witnessedsomething—people on the street or living close by. Do me a favor and start asking around. We need answers.”
“Yeah, I'll take care of it.”
As they wrapped up their brief conversation, Alessandra returned with Alek. His brother looked pale and a little dazed as he trudged behind Alessandra with a cup of coffee in hand.
Roman walked up to meet them halfway and grabbed Alek's shoulder. “Hey, you good?”
“What if he dies?” he said quietly.
“He won't.”
“Fuck, Roman.” His voice cracked as his face twisted with a pitiful expression. “What are we going to do?”
“Look at me,” Roman demanded when Alek lowered his eyes to the floor. “You need to get a grip, alright? He won't die.”
Alek nodded, though he didn’t look convinced.
Roman had to admit that his brother’s reaction surprised him.
Alek usually kept his distance from Vitaly, unless some sort of family function forced them to be in the same room for hours on end.
But now Roman wondered if maybe his own behavior toward their father had influenced Alek in the past few years.
He’d never intended for that to happen. He’d never wanted to shape his brother’s view on their family in any way.
Unfortunately, it seemed that even without meaning to, his constant head-butting with Vitaly had affected Alek a great deal.
Torn between an older brother he loved and respected and the unmovable force of their father’s Pavlovian authority, Alek found himself in a difficult position.
And now that everything was going to shit, he was the first one to suffer from it.
As for himself, Roman felt a little numb. After the initial adrenaline had worn off, a sense of calm was slowly setting in. And he needed as much calm as he could force upon himself to solve two very pressing issues: Vitaly’s attack and the threat Oleg represented at the moment.
“I brought you coffee.” Alessandra said, drawing his attention to her.
“Thank you, milaya .” He accepted the paper cup and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Let's sit down for now.”
???
Roman spent the next hour on the phone, trying to get more information on the shooting. As the minutes passed, more men started to pour into the waiting room, until the hospital staff took notice and began to throw unhappy looks their way.
Security was called, and Roman had to pull the two guards aside and slip each a hundred-dollar bill. After a bit of negotiating with the head of the emergency ward, they settled on allowing six of them into the room. The rest had to wait outside for news.
“Roman!” The wretched cry brought his gaze up from his phone. Tatyana barreled into the waiting room with Yana on her heels.
“It's going to be alright,” he told his sister as she came straight for him. Eyes red and tears streaming down her cheeks, she buried her face into his sweater as she clung to him. “He's still in surgery, but I'm sure he'll be fine, Anya.”
“Oh, God,” she cried quietly. “I don't want him to die.”
“He won't.”
A few feet away, Yana stood, sniffling into a silk handkerchief. She was wearing stilettos and a skin-tight dress, and Roman fought the urge to demand that she take her fake-crying elsewhere.
Alek stood and got closer to them. Noticing him, Tatyana let go of Roman to grab her baby brother into a hug. “Are you okay?”
“I'm fine,” he said gruffly, although something vulnerable broke through his voice.
Stepan and the other Brigadier got up to leave. Stepan squeezed Roman's shoulder on his way out. “We'll give you some space. Call me when you get any news.”
Roman nodded, once again feeling grateful for his friend's unwavering support. After they were gone, he sat back down beside his wife.
Alessandra gave him a weak smile. She looked tired, her brown eyes glassy from the lack of sleep. “Do you want another coffee?”
“No, baby, I'm good.” He kissed the top of her head, his fingers tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You want to go home and lie down? Vladik is downstairs in the parking lot with the other men.”
She shook her head. “I want to stay here with you.”
“Alright,” he said, pulling her a little closer. She smelled and felt so good, and he took a moment to bask in the comfort she brought him whenever she was near. When he glanced up, he noticed that Oleg was watching their interaction with disapproving eyes.
Roman kept his gaze, his irritation with the old man returning tenfold.
He had half a mind to get up and ask him what his problem was when a surgeon dressed in dark-blue scrubs entered the room. The air changed instantly. Everyone stood, and when the doctor's tired gaze landed on him, Roman knew the news weren't good.
“Mr. Leskov's family?”
“Yes,” Roman answered with a sense of trepidation, getting to his feet. “I'm his son.”
The man got straight to the point. “Your father survived surgery, but his condition isn't ideal.
He's had severe internal trauma induced by the gunshot wound to his head.” He paused and let out a soft sigh.
“It's a rare occurrence that a person with this type of brain injury even makes it to the hospital, and the post-op statistics aren't very optimistic either. If he makes it through the next twelve hours, there is a fifty percent chance he will recover. Even so, the recovery could take years, and he might never be the same.”
“I understand,” Roman said, trying to keep his heartbeats level despite the cry of despair coming from Tatyana. “Is my sister allowed to see him? She's having a hard time with all of this.”
The doctor seemed to hesitate as he threw a glance at Tatyana. “Just her, and only for a few minutes. She will be supervised by a nurse.”
“Thank you; for everything.”
The doctor left, and Roman turned to his sister who trembled like a leaf in Alek’s arms. “You heard him. A nurse will come for you.”
She shook her head, hot tears running down her cheeks. “I don't know if I can.”
“You can. We'll be right here when you come back.”
“God, Roman. Why? First Mom and now him?”
Roman had no answer to that. It was the way life worked, he supposed. He'd been devastated when he'd lost his mother, but now... now he just felt tired.
It was only the beginning, he realized. Their lives were about to take a very different turn. His more so than his siblings' because everything rested on his shoulders. Willing or not, with Vitaly incapacitated, he had officially become the head of the family.
His family was one thing, but the Bratva was a much more delicate matter.
As soon as Tatyana left with a nurse, Roman took the opportunity to head outside to the men waiting in the parking lot. Oleg followed him quietly. The moment the elevator doors closed behind them, his father's right-hand turned to him with an icy look.
“Unfortunate event, Roman. We will find out who was behind the attack and get our revenge.”
Roman was done putting up with his hypocritical act. “Just say whatever it is that you want to say to me, Oleg.”
The man’s eyes darkened dangerously as all pretense of civility vanished from his face. “I know you are a very capable young man, but the position is mine. It always has been. Everyone knows this.”
“If everyone knows it, why are you telling me this?”
“You seem to believe otherwise.”
“I believe what I've been told my whole life. I am the successor to my father's Bratva. Whatever you might think of that is irrelevant to me.”
Oleg’s thin lips twisted into a sneer. “Careful, boy. Your temper will do you no good this time.”
Roman stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor, and Oleg did the same.
“My temper should be the least of your concerns right now.
If I were you, I'd choose my words more carefully. The moment I take over asPakhan, you will be removed from your position. How everything else goes after that is up to you.”
Oleg's face turned red. “Are you threatening me?”
Roman kept the man's gaze, his blue eyes hard as steel. “Yes, Oleg; I fucking am.”
With those parting words, he turned around and headed for the exit. Oleg didn’t follow this time.
Roman knew that taking on Vitaly's right-hand came with its own set of perils.
There were men within the Bratva who considered him too young and inexperienced to step into his father's shoes.
Those men were undoubtedly loyal to Oleg and would remain so until Roman managed to cement his new position inside the organization.
But he also knew that letting go of what was rightfully his was not an option.
Vitaly, for as much as he lacked as a parent, had compensated by being a strong influence on his eldest son's growth within the Bratva ranks. Everything Roman knew, Vitaly had taught him. And his father was an excellent teacher when he had a vested interest. Never, in a million years, would Vitaly Leskov risk his organization ending up under the rule of a man who didn’t come from his own family, no matter how greatly appreciated that man was.
Outside, Roman found a dozen men standing in the parking lot, some smoking and others just conversing quietly. He stopped beside them, bumming a cigarette from the closest guy. He lit it up and held the smoke in his lungs for a long second.
He told them what he knew, which wasn’t that much to begin with. The shooters’ identity was still a mystery, and Vitaly’s recovery was uncertain since the doctors couldn’t even guarantee he would make it through the night.
The men wore somber expressions, but there was something else permeating the night air—a deep sense of uncertainty for what was to come.
Everyone knew that the right to rule the Bratva wasn’t gained by democratic vote. A Vor had to prove his worth, and only then, with the support of the right people, the strongest man in the brotherhood could claim his right.
Roman had had years to prove himself. He didn't care to have his life changed in such a dramatic turn of events when he hadn't even hit his twenty-ninth birthday yet, but there was no other way for him. It was either this, or a worse fate at the hand of Vitaly's ambitious lackey.
The men started talking among themselves again, and Stepan took the opportunity to get Roman alone. They moved away until they were out of earshot.
“I was able to get some new information. One of our guys saw a suspicious car speeding south on Ashland Avenue a few minutes after the shooting. He said the car was a black Lincoln, very similar to the ones the Italians are driving. ”
Roman took another drag from his cigarette, the thick smoke forming an invisible knot in his throat. “Are we sure about this? Is the man trustworthy?”
“From what Sergey told me, he's always been a loyal soldier. Why would Sergey or his man lie?”
For many reasons, Roman thought,money being only one of them.
Then again, Nero Rossetti's fleet of cars was all black Lincolns. The Don and his family had been using the same type of car for years.
A conversation he'd had with his father-in-law emerged in his mind. Was it just a coincidence that Rossetti had declared his support for Roman taking over asPakhanbefore this happened? Or had it been his plan all along?
Maybe Matteo had run off to his father with what he'd seen, and this was revenge for Vitaly crossing the Italians. If that was the case, the entire situation was about to take an even uglier turn.
Blood turned to ice in Roman’s veins. If he had to declare war on Rossetti, Alessandra would suffer the most. She’d never again see her mother or her brother. Hell… Roman was liable to kill Matteo if the situation ever called for it.
“I need another man,” he told Stepan. “Someone I can trust with my wife's security.”
“Sure,” his friend said, not questioning his motives. “I’ll investigate further on the Lincoln.”
Roman gave a nod as a silent thank you. For now, he had to return to his family.