Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
Dimitri
“Was it an attack?” I ask, knowing the answer ahead of time.
My father nods grimly. “Mikhail had a lengthy discussion with the caterer, who wasn’t sure how the tray of cookies got there, but it seems to have been designed especially for Ian.”
Rage and frustration brim over as I slam my hand on the table, making all our drinks shake. “We’re not safe anywhere.” I’ve been on edge since yesterday. Ian got hurt, which was fucking terrifying, and my brother and fiancée didn’t even try to hide their affair. But what has me most on edge is how my father so casually passed Katya off like she was a toy.
I couldn’t sleep. Between checking on Ian, ignoring all of Svetlana’s apology texts—which turned into ‘fuck you’ texts around 3 a.m.—and running through various scenarios involving Uri and Katya, my mind wouldn’t shut off. Logically, I know nothing happened. Katya isn’t Uri’s type. That’s why he’s here to begin with.
“Where are Ian and Nadia now?”
My brother pipes up. “In the forest safe house.”
At least he was smart enough to send them away. “Who’s with them?”
“One of my guys is on babysitting duty,” Mikhail adds.
I glance over at Uri, who frowns. Mikhail’s men are competent, but more loyal to him than to the organization. I’m not sure if any of them fully understand my sister-in-law’s situation.
Ian called me this morning to show off the bandage on his arm and ask, “Do you think I’ll have a cool scar, like everyone else?”
There’s no way Ian could grow up in this family without a scar, but that doesn’t mean I wanted him to get one when he was six.
Uri lifts his shirt sleeve and sighs. “Have any of you seen my watch?” He’s still on that. I guess he was too busy not fucking my Katya to look for it.
“Did you look in your car, or in the back alley?” I offer.
“The car, the trunk, I even went back to the dumping ground to see if I dropped it there. Nothing.” He shuffles around in his seat and whines, “I don’t want to look for it in the alley. It’s cold and dirty and smells like shit, blood, and rotten food.”
I raise my shoulder, my hackles up. “Calm the fuck down.”
He crosses his arms and pouts, pressing his back against the booth. “Doesn’t seem fair. I shot him, dragged his ass to my car, dumped the body, and now I’m the one out of a Rolex.”
Mikhail laughs and slaps Uri’s shoulder. “But at least you fucked the bartender.”
It’s like every time this motherfucker talks, I want to knock out all his teeth and make him eat them.
I feel her before I see her. How is that possible? Katya’s close—very close. Maybe it’s the way the other men’s moods shift when she enters. Did she hear Mikhail talking about her?
She places our drinks on the table and flashes me a smile. “I have your shirt. I can leave it in the office.”
Mikhail laughs. “Keep it. You wore it better than he ever could.”
Nope. Don’t like that.
She glares at him, her eyes drifting to the glass in front of him. He stops laughing and places both hands in his lap.
“Ian says hi.” I want her eyes back on me, and the mention of my nephew doesn’t let me down.
She smiles, and the whole bar lights up. “Is he feeling better?”
“He’s excited to have a cool scar.” I want to reach out to her, touch her arm, and tell her how much it meant to me that she could protect the one person who matters most in my life.
But Uri hums, wearing a shit-eating grin. My stomach drops and a nauseous wave crashes into my body.
“Hi, Katya,” he purrs. Like a fucking cat.
She tucks her hair behind her ear and— No…her cheeks. They’re pink. Fuck, is she blushing?
“Good afternoon,” she says.
He reaches for her wrist, and she willingly hands it over. His hand snakes up her arm, pulling her closer to him. “Thank you for last night.”
Her lips curl. “Thank you for breakfast.”
No. No. No.
They didn’t sleep together. They didn’t fuck. It’s impossible.
He leans forward and pulls her close. I blink a few times to confirm what I’m seeing. He’s kissing her. Actually kissing her.
Uri—my cousin, my best friend—is kissing my... bartender.
It should be noted that she is a willing participant. My fingers grip something, but I’m not sure what. How could they both betray me? Svetlana and my brother are bad enough, but them? It doesn’t make sense.
Fuck him. Fuck her. Fuck both of them.
When he finally ends the kiss, loud enough for the whole table to hear, he says, “Thanks for the best night I’ve had since coming to Russia.”
She winks at him and says, “Any time,” then walks away like she didn’t just shatter my whole world with one giant atom bomb.
What the fuck? My brain can’t move past it. What. The. Fuck? Was she really his type all along? Was he just trying it out, and he liked it? I don’t understand.
“Dimitri?” I’m not sure who’s calling my name. I know the sound of the voice, I’m just not sure who it is. All I see is red, and the drumbeat in my head drowns out anything else trying to get in.
Someone repeats my name and punches my arm. I blink at my brother for a few seconds. “What?” I growl. Jesus, I actually growl.
“Got some big feelings you’d like to share with the group?” Damien seems more concerned than smug.
“What makes you say that?” Again, there’s a darkness to my voice I’m not ready for.
My father says, “Because you’re pointing your gun at Uri.”
I blink for a second. The rage blanket lifts, and I see it. My gun is aimed at my best friend. To my horror, my finger is on the trigger. “Fuuuuck.”
Uri reaches for my gun and moves it toward Mikhail. “We need to unpack your feelings here.”
“There’s nothing to unpack. You fucked the bartender. I have zero feelings about that.”
My cousin sits back in the booth and crosses his arms. “I didn’t fuck the bartender.”
The tightness in my chest loosens, and I take a deep breath. They didn’t betray me. He didn’t touch her... well, he might’ve touched her, but he didn’t fuck her. My lips curl. “I didn’t think you did.”
“Yes, you did. You wanted to shoot me at point-blank range.”
My father tilts his head. “Dimitri, is there a problem?”
I’m about to speak when my stupid brother says, “He wants to fuck the bartender.”
“No, I don’t.”
Uri leans in and grins. “No, he doesn’t just want to fuck her,” he sings. “He liiiikes her.”
Mikhail makes kissy sounds, and my brother punches me in the arm. Fuck, why is this worse than being a kid.
I glance at the ceiling. Hmm, there’s a lot of spiderwebs there. What are the spiders doing, starting a war or a silk factory? How many are nested in my ceiling? Maybe Katya should burn the whole place to the foundation.
Katya.
“That would be highly unprofessional. I’m her boss, and there’s a power dynamic.”
They all laugh at me. “We’re in the Russian mafia... there’s always going to be a power dynamic.” Uri slams me in the shoulder.
“Fuck all of you,” I grumble, gulping my drink. It burns my throat and I fight against my body’s urge to cough.
My father laughs. “This isn’t a problem. You marry Svetlana, and you fuck your little girlfriend.”
“That’s not what I want,” I admit, and the other men stare at me. “It’s not fair to any of us.”
“Maybe if you’re lucky, you can have both,” Mikhail says. Fucking pig.
“That’s also not what I want.”
Mikhail and my brother give me a hard time about not wanting two women at once.
“None of us would be happy,” I say, cutting through the insults.
My father gives a slow disapproving shake of his head. “Our lives aren’t about happiness. Our world will always be about power and fear.”
I know. It’s been drilled into my brain since birth. But still, I want more. It’s greedy and selfish, but isn’t greed the core tenet of our lives too? My brother was able to fall in love, marry the woman he wanted. And now, as her cells wage war on her body—each passing minute ticking toward her last—he buries his sorrow in my fiancée’s pussy. Honestly, all three of them are probably happy about it.
I can’t do this anymore.
My father sighs. “Forty-eight hours. Figure out your life. Fuck the bartender, get it out of your system.”
“I said that’s not what I want.”
Mikhail laughs again. “You assume that’s not what she wants either. Maybe all she wants is a one-time fuck. Talk to her.” He gestures to his bandaged hand on the table. “Be careful. Look what happens when you assume things.”
I don’t know what’s worse, that Mikhail is being uncharacteristically compassionate, or that he’s right.
“Can we change the subject to anything else?” I groan. I have zero desire to do this right now.
“Let’s talk about my birthday party.” My father claps his hands and lights up. The man does love his parties.
“We’re under attack, and you still want it?” I ask. “Look what happened at the family party. And now you want to parade in front of associates and the fucking rich elite?” This meeting is one bad idea after another.
“I am not afraid of these cowards. Fear and power. Let’s relish in our good fortune.” My father is a sad, delusional old man. He prattles on about the food and music and double checks to make sure we have the proper attire.
Forty-eight hours to get my life in order... Then what?
My head swirls with thoughts, feelings, and mental fantasies, imagining a future where I get everything I want.
Glass jingles across the empty bar. “Katya!” my father calls out. She’s carrying four bottles of our finest vodka, and he’s calling her over like she’s a puppy. She struggles with the box and lays it on the table between Uri and me. My father claps his hands. “Come to my birthday gala.”
“To work?” she asks.
“No, as a guest.”
What?
She flusters and glances between Uri and me. “Sir, I’m honored, but I don’t have anything to wear, and I don’t think Dimitri’s shirt is going to cut it for another event.”
She laughs, but my father does not. Instead, he digs through his pockets for his phone and grabs a napkin from the table. “You call this number and get yourself a dress. She does all the dresses for our women.”
Our women.
“One night with Uri, and it changes your life forever,” my dumbass brother sings in a melodramatic way.
She shifts, visibly uncomfortable.
“You don’t need to come,” I say. But her smile fades, like I hurt her. She doesn’t look at me.
“Nonsense. You won’t deny an old man the chance to witness a stunning woman such as yourself at his birthday, would you?” My father sighs wistfully. “Who knows how many of them I have left?”
“Well, then I’d be a monster if I didn’t attend,” she says with a lighthearted laugh. “When is it?”
My father checks his watch. “In forty hours.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“That’s oddly specific,” she says as she walks away to get back to work.
My father smirks. “Yes, it is.” My asshole family members all wear shark-like smiles as they wave her goodbye.
“I hate you guys,” I grumble.
“Don’t waste this chance,” my father says as he pushes himself off the chair and leaves the table.