24. Roman
CHAPTER 24
Roman
“Take Katerina to the fabrika? * .”
I don’t wait for any input as I open the car door and step onto the street.
The flames wreak havoc, burning far beyond human control, destroying the building second by second.
“Roman!” Katerina calls out, but it’s too late.
My driver obeys my wishes. He pulls a U-turn in the street and heads in the opposite direction. I stride toward the flaming chaos of emergency responders and the tall building crumbling before my eyes.
Someone set it on fire in the few short hours Katerina and I were at dinner.
They had to have known several things.
It was my place of residence. I was not home at the time, and they had to have known what would happen if they did pull off such a brazen move.
Setting someone’s home on fire is no small gesture.
It’s the biggest fucking gesture you can make if you’re trying to intimidate or assert dominance over someone. The person behind this fire wanted me to know they had access to my home; they are ready for the potential retribution I will bring, because they feel they can handle it. They feel they’re more powerful than I am.
My face darkens the closer I make it to the flames. They must reflect in my eyes as I glare up at the crumbling infrastructure.
“Sir, stand back,” orders a police officer, holding his arms out at his sides to block me. “This is a live fire that is in progress. Firefighters are currently—SIR!”
He yells some more as my body slams into his and he goes stumbling backward. Several others rush at me, throwing their arms out to subdue me with no luck. I’m twice their size, and even stronger than that.
I bulldoze through the makeshift crowd until a shaky female police officer draws her weapon and points it at me, cocking the hammer.
“Stay where you are!” she shouts, trying to make her voice more booming than it is. “Move another inch and you will be arrested!”
I stop where I am, fuming no less. Intimidating enough that she and the other officers share uncertain looks. They’re unsure if they should be apprehending me or if they should be backing off.
Reaching into my pocket, I grab my phone and dial Kazan.
“Da?” he says when he answers.
“I need you to meet me at the sovietnik’s base,” I say. “We have an important matter to discuss with him.”
“Such as?”
“Turn on the local news. I’m sure the choppers circling the area are capturing good footage.”
I hang up on him, still looking up at the skyscraper that had become my focal point of operations in the past few months.
The person responsible for this knew I wasn’t home. They must’ve known I’d taken Katerina out for dinner.
Which poses the question: how would they know? How would they have access to that type of information?
Only a select few people would. My crew and staff. Possibly known enemies like Leonid or one of the Five Families.
The sovietnik.
I’d essentially waged war during our last visit.
Would my father be so dramatic as to set my home on fire?
He’s usually more cut-and-dry than this; usually more upfront in his intentions to kill. He’s not one for the dramatics of firing warning shots. He just outright shoots.
But Leonid would do something like this. He would be so foolish and egotistical to think he could burn my home down and handle the retribution I’d have for him. After all, he’d fired his first warning shot by telling my father about the pakhan ’s visit.
He knows about Katerina.
He would find it amusing to threaten me with the possibility he could bring her harm. What if this were one of the evenings where I was out late and she was home waiting for me to return?
I pivot from the crowded street of police, firefighters, and nosy onlookers.
There’s only one way to find out what’s going on, and that’s head on.
I’m met with armed guards when I turn up to my father’s residence. Mere weeks ago, I could turn up any time of day or night with no problem. I was welcomed as the sovietnik’s son, his protégé.
With the tensions going on, it’s different now.
I’m treated as an outsider. His enemy.
Me and the small group of men I have with me are stripped of our weapons. We’re pushed through like an assembly line with assault rifles trained on us every step of the way.
My father’s in his private office, swathed by a thick robe. He must’ve already been in bed by the time I decided to turn up.
“Zver,” he grunts, his weathered face lined with hostility. “Chto ty khochesh’? * ?”
“You’ve heard,” I say, jutting my chin. “If not, then turn on the fucking television.”
“Respect, Zver. Have some or you will find yourself regretting it.”
Still, my father does as I demand—he motions at one of his men to turn on the flat screen television mounted to the far wall.
The channel happens to be on the local station currently broadcasting the breaking news story. One of the Northam Towers going down in flames.
My father glances to me, then back toward the TV. “Your penthouse?”
“I wasn’t home, otets. Convenient, da?”
“I know what you are thinking and you are wrong.”
“Then who? The piece of shit you are protecting? Where is he? I would like to chop his other fucking hand off!”
“You are letting emotion drive you, Zver. No wonder you come barging in here so late in the night. You are not thinking clearly.”
“More like the person foolish enough to burn down my building was not thinking. I’ll crush them!”
“It was not Leonid,” he says. “You must have made an enemy elsewhere, my son. You never have played well with others.”
I cut the space between us down until I’m towering over him and his gold cane. “If I find out you are covering for him, I will slit your throat too. Tvoy titul tebya ne zashchitit.? * ”
The threat looms in the air as I storm out, leaving my father in stony silence.
Kazan falls into step with me outside. “Do you realize what you have done? You threatened the sovietnik!”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
“And if it wasn’t him? If it wasn’t even Leonid?”
“Who else could it be?” I growl at him. “We have to be on high alert. Someone in my company is a traitor. When I find out who it is, they will know what true fear is.”
“The place is secured,” says Oleg, one of my soldiers. He trails behind Kazan and me as we enter the old factory we’ve transformed into an operational headquarters. “No one will be able to bypass our protections.”
“That should’ve been the case for the penthouse, da?” I snap.
“We have begun interrogations of the staff,” he goes on somewhat nervously. “So far, no one has confessed… or given any indication they were involved.”
“Because traitors always tell you who they are.”
“Perhaps it was Polina,” offers Kazan from my side. We turn down another long corridor, our boots thudding against the cement floor.
“Polina is no longer under my employ. She would not have the access.”
“She has since disappeared. We will search for her.”
“If you find her, bring her to me.”
“Your pet has been misbehaving,” says Oleg. We’ve started up a flight of stairs, then a second flight directly after that. “She has been refusing to calm down and making demands to know where you are. She has been insufferable?—”
“Finish that sentence, Oleg, and I will rip your fucking tongue out of your mouth,” I growl, spinning around to face him. I jam a finger into his chest and force him a couple steps back. “You are to respect her every fucking second you are breathing. Do you fucking understand, or will I have to fucking teach you what respect is?”
A ghostly cast washes over Oleg’s face. He shakes his head side to side. “No, Zver, of… of course not.”
“Of course not what ? Spit it out!”
“She is respected!” he sputters. “She is very, very respected!”
“Good. Now get the fuck out of my sight and get some fucking work done.”
I watch Oleg scramble like a roach that’s been caught sneaking around for crumbs of food. Kazan waits until he’s gone before he glances sideways at me.
“You are wound tight, Zver. Perhaps your father was correct—you are too hotheaded to see clearly.”
“I don’t need your opinion, Shram. I need you to fucking find me the traitor. Find me who the hell gave the order for the building to burn. Don’t disturb me the rest of the night unless you do.”
It’s my final set of orders as I stride forth and leave Kazan in the corridor.
I head for the door that’s designated as my private chambers. It slams shut behind me as I walk through and survey the space for one thing and one thing only.
My kitty cat.
I had her delivered to my chambers earlier when we saw the tower burning down. It’s no wonder Oleg says she’s been moody—she likely has no clue what the hell’s going on beyond the fire she witnessed.
I’m correct in my speculation.
As soon as I’m through the door, she’s leaping up from the bed and dashing toward me. She throws herself into my arms like a feline, curling her soft body around mine. I hold her close and smooth my palm along the curve of her cheek, capturing her gaze.
“Kiss me, kitty cat,” I demand.
We meet for a full kiss on the mouth. The passion between us is immediately hot and deep. The longer we’re together, the more we can’t restrain ourselves; the more intensely things burn between us.
“Roman, where were you?” she gasps once we part. She blinks, revealing tears in her big brown eyes. She pushes at my chest, suddenly frustrated. “You didn’t tell me where I was being taken. You just got out of the car and ordered me away!”
I hadn’t considered how it would be perceived from her point of view.
In the moment, I made a snap decision. I was trying to protect her, arriving at the scene where the place we called home was up in flames. But from Katerina’s perspective, she must have been confused and worried.
Maybe even scared.
By Oleg’s complaints, it seems she received little consideration from my men.
I pull her toward me again for another kiss. My lips press against hers even harder, more insistent in the way I convey what I want.
That she is a priority. She has become… one of my top priorities.
“It will be different next time, devochka,” I promise. “Next time I will make sure you understand what is happening.”
“But… but the building… how… what… who did it?”
“We still don’t know, but I have my theories.”
“Was it…” she pauses to gulp, blinking up at me, dripping with worry. “Was it Leonid?”
“Maybe. It could be. But he does not have long to live,” I say, stroking her cheek. “He will never come anywhere near you again.”
It angers me even more to see the subtle doubt flicker on my kitty cat’s face, as if deep down it’s a worry she’ll never be rid of.
“Come, it’s been a long night,” I say, grabbing her hand and leading her toward the bed. She’s still in the cocktail dress from our date. I ease her around and tug down the zipper to the dress and then slip it off her. My shirt’s next, and then my pants.
We take a long hot shower together like we’ve become accustomed to, though we’re too exhausted for any messing around.
Katerina rests her head on my shoulder once we slide under the bed covers. The silence that surrounds us speaks volumes. No words are necessary.
Her worry is palpable. So is my fury.
We rest in silence until she’s drifting off to sleep and I’m not far behind her…
* ? fabrika - factory
* ? Chto ty khochesh’ - what do you want?
* ? Tvoy titul tebya ne zashchitit - your title won’t protect you