Chapter 30
GIO
We drive up a private double road, both sides lined up by tall trees, obscuring the view beyond them. Konstantin lives on acres of empty land, the entire complex like a fortress.
Can’t say I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting Konstantin in his home. It’s usually at one of their strip clubs or one of their underground mixed martial arts fights, both of which help launder their money.
But the Bratva also have their hands in narcotics, and that has made them filthy rich. They have a solid system. They supply arms and ammunition to drug traffickers in places like Colombia, who then give them cocaine to sell across many parts of Europe.
The Russians are fucking ruthless. It’s kinda why I’ve always liked them, yet hated them at the same time.
Raph turns on a curved road that leads to a tall iron fence, with two men on each side, their rifles across their black hoodies.
“What is your business here?” one asks in a thick Russian accent.
“Giovanni and Raphael Marino,” my brother offers. “Konstantin is expecting us.”
The other takes out a phone and presses a few keys, his almost black eyes narrowed as he puts the phone to his ear.
“Oni zdes.” He pauses, staring at us with a cold demeanor. “Khorosho.”
Seconds later, the gate slowly parts on a squeak, and then we’re driving through it, past another long road that ends with a monstrosity for a house, spread across acres of green.
Tall white columns sculpted into angels wait for us on each end of the entrance door. Another armed soldier is there too, but there are definitely more around; we just can’t see them.
Raph parks his car next to the three sports coupes, and we get out. As we shuffle toward the cobblestone steps, Raph clasps my shoulder, halting me.
“Let me do the talking,” he says.
And with one look into my unwavering expression, he shakes his head. Because of course that isn’t going to happen.
She’s mine. They hurt her. So I’m the one who’ll talk. And being the Pakhan now, Konstantin is the one I have to speak to.
The double brown doors open and two men appear, dressed similarly to the ones at the gate. They approach us and start patting us down. When one tries to take the gun at my waist, I push him off.
“The guns stay.”
“If you keep guns, you can go.” He glares while I clench my teeth.
“Fucking bastards,” I grit, letting him take all three weapons, while the other asshole takes my brother’s.
“Let’s go,” they tell us.
We follow them into the foyer with its white marble flooring. My eyes land on the spiral staircases while a gaudy crystal chandelier hangs above a cathedral ceiling.
“This way.”
The men lead us left to a large sitting room with a fireplace at the far end wall and two ivory sofas with a gold glass table in the center of it. Konstantin is already there, sitting back, a glass of clear liquid in his right hand.
“Gentlemen, welcome to my home.” He places his drink down on an end table. “Have a seat. May I offer you some beverages? Tea? Coffee? Vodka or cognac perhaps?”
“None for me,” Raph says, taking a seat opposite him. “Thanks.”
“And for you, Giovanni?” His mouth twists into a smile, while his dark dirt-colored eyes glare, and I instantly want to kill him.
“I’ll take a whiskey neat.”
He turns toward one of the men and lifts a single thick brow. “Bring us the Macallan 1926.”
The guy goes off behind Konstantin and opens the cabinet behind the bar. He brings over the most expensive fucking whiskey bottle ever sold. Almost two million. And I know he’s doing this on purpose.
His eyes go to mine as he’s handed the opened bottle, two glasses placed before him.
“Since we are friends, I’d like to offer you my finest bottle. I won it at an auction, and what better way to open it than with friends?”
He leans forward, pouring some for me and for himself, then picks up my glass and extends his hand toward me.
I take it from him, needing to get this bullshit over with so we can talk. But before I can bring the liquor to my mouth, he reaches his glass for mine.
“Boodym zdarovy,” he says, lightly clanking my glass to his, then drains his drink.
I tip the liquid down my throat and, fuck, does it taste like the best whiskey I’ve ever had in my life.
“Good, yes?” He slams it on the table and leans back. “So, what can I do for you, gentlemen? Your brother said it was important.”
“I need to know where your father is.” I cock my head, my tone seething.
“A man who doesn’t bullshit. I like you.” Konstantin’s mouth tips up at one corner. “But I’m afraid I don’t know where my father is.”
“Cut the shit. I know you know where that piece of shit is.”
His eyes narrow and a hand balls at his side before the smile returns to his face, a cunning smile.
“I welcome you into my home, give you my finest bottle, and you disrespect me by speaking to me like that?” His nostrils flare. “I may like your brother, Michael, and I respect him and our mutually beneficial friendship, but don’t for one second think you can speak to me like that in my own house.”
“Your father…” I inhale a shallow breath, feeling Raph’s eyes burning a hole into my temple, but I don’t give a fuck. “Your father hurt someone I care about. You may know her name. Iseult, Patrick Quinn’s daughter.”
“Ahhh…” He inclines his chin and nods slowly. “It is most unfortunate what happened to her.”
“You mean what your father did to her and her mother.”
“Yes.” He pauses, leaning back into the leather sofa with outstretched arms. “And I will tell you right now I did not approve of what he did. That was squarely on his shoulders.”
“And that somehow absolves you?”
“Perhaps not.” He flips a hand in the air. “But I do not know where he is. Last we heard, he ran to Russia after what happened with the girl. That was, what? Almost eleven years ago?” He considers cooly. “He’s probably dead.”
“Well, I’d like a confirmation.”
“Would you like me to take you to Russia on one of my jets?” His shoulders rock with a laugh.
“We have our own jets,” I counter, grinding my molars.
Fucking wish I could kill him.
“Yes. Maybe.” He smirks. “But yours won’t get you into the country. Mine will.”
“Just tell me where in Russia he was last seen.”
“You’ll never find him, my friend, because even I cannot. And believe me, we have looked. If I had found him, he’d already be dead.” A line creases between his brows. “What he did to that girl is—”
“What he did to my woman,” I clarify, dropping my elbows onto my knees and leaning in.
Raph places a palm on my back to steady the rage that zaps through me like lava, splintering through my bones.
“I can see you’re upset, and in your predicament, I would be as well,” he goes on. “But I can assure you, if he’s alive, he’s somewhere no one can find.” He shrugs. “Probably in some small village, hiding out like a rat. Just imagine he’s dead. It’s what I do.”
“Unlike you, I can’t do that,” I strain through a tense jaw. “If there’s a chance he’s still out there breathing the same air she does, then I will kill him.”
“On kak sobaka,” one of the men behind him laughs. “Ruff, ruff.”
I jump to my feet, my nostrils flaring, marching around the sofa toward the prick. “What did he just say?”
Raph follows suit.
“Relax,” he whispers in my ear.
“Now, now.” Konstantin lifts a hand, while my eyes zero in on the asshole who definitely just insulted me.
“Our friend is just very loyal to those he loves,” he tells his men, tilting his head backward with a stern look that gets the guy to instantly stop grinning.
“Sit, please.” He gestures to me with a quick jerk of his fingers.
“I can see this is a very difficult subject for you. You care deeply for this woman, and I sympathize. I do. But I cannot help you, I’m afraid. Though I wish I could.”
Fuck! How the hell will I find Sergey without this bastard’s help?
“I understand why you want to locate him, but he isn’t someone you’ll find. It’s as simple as that. When he wants to lie low, he knows how to.” His expression sobers as he sighs heavily. “My father still has many loyal connections back in Russia who’d do anything for him.”
He rises to his feet and starts toward the exit, indicating we’re not welcome anymore.
“Even the police there haven’t been able to find him for me. Believe me, I want his blood just as badly as you do.”
We shuffle out toward the foyer after him.
“He has burned too many bridges for the family,” he goes on. “And my brothers and I have no loyalty to extend to him anymore.”
One of Konstantin’s men opens the front door.
“It was a pleasure to see you both. Please come back anytime.”
Then he closes the door in our faces.
Asshole.