Chapter 28
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
DARE
Pulling up to the Russian’s estate, I kill my engine and look over to Cake. He lifts his brows at the sight of the gaudy-as-fuck mansion. I wonder what he thinks about seeing it all in its extravagance.
I know it’s beautiful, and I have to admit, I’m a bit jealous of it all. I’m not sure what I would do walking around a place like that, but I’m sure I could figure it out.
“Wild, yeah?” I ask.
Cake chuckles. “No fucking kidding.”
Climbing off our bikes, we walk up to the front door together. To my surprise, when the door opens, it’s Rustik on the other side, not one of his men. I open my mouth to ask him where his entourage is when his lips twitch into a smirk, and he beats me to it.
“It’s just us today,” he announces. “Your text seemed as if you needed this to be a private matter?”
“I don’t know how you got that from a text, but it’s appreciated,” I murmur. He takes a step back, his gaze flicking from me to Cake, who stands beside me, so I decide I should introduce them. “This is my father-in-law, Cake. Also, the president of the original chapter of our club.”
“Oh, the real boss,” he chuckles. “The father-in-law.”
Cake and I both laugh at his joke. As much as I’d like to say that’s bullshit, I know it’s not.
Cake being the president of the original chapter is much bigger than him being Chassis’s father.
I have to admit, though, that him being Chassis’s father is now higher to me than being president ever could be.
Cake walks into the mansion first, and I close the door behind us before following them as they make their way toward the dining room. There are several dishes set out, no doubt something absolutely fucking amazing. The few times I’ve eaten here, I have not walked away disappointed.
“Go ahead, sit. No soup today. Olivier salad to start. I had it catered.”
“Yeah?” I ask.
He hums. “Pelmeni, lamb shashlik, and then medovik for something sweet. Kuban-Vino red wine to drink—though don’t tell anyone, yeah? It’s illegal.”
“Holy shit,” Cake hisses.
Holy shit is right. There is a moment of silence, and then we begin to eat. I don’t think I’ve ever walked away hungry from Rustik’s table. If nothing else, he sure as fuck knows how to host a party.
He pours a glass of wine for each of us and then asks what exactly is happening and how he can help. I decide to stay out of the conversation until I’m needed.
This is something Cake wanted to set up, and I made it very clear that I didn’t want to be in the middle of it, but I will insert myself if I think Cake is going to fuck up the relationship we built.
Cake begins by telling him that Chassis is his daughter, then what Rustik’s man did to her. When he’s finished, he leans back, then gets to the point of this whole thing. I watch as he lifts his hands and places his palms on the table. He brushes the tablecloth, then clears his throat.
“You want me to do something with him?” Rustik asks.
“I’m not sure what I want. I’ve never been in this position before,” Cake states.
I don’t know what I want out of this myself. Honest to fuck, I want Samuil’s head. I want to put him in a barrel of hydrochloric acid. I’d make sure it was in view of my bedroom window so I could look out at it every day and imagine his body melting away.
Rustik leans back, lifting his hands and placing his elbows on the arms of his chair as he steeples his fingers together in front of his mouth. His gaze shifts from Cake to me, then moves back to meet Cake’s.
“I don’t agree with the way Samuil went about things. It’s not the way I would have played it, and I don’t know what his agenda is. He hasn’t told me anything… and I’ve asked.”
I watch Rustik as he speaks, and fuck me, but I believe the Russian. Cake must, too, because he doesn’t call him out. Instead, he reaches for the plate of pasta-looking shit. I watch as he stabs his fork into the pile, then brings it to his lips and takes a bite, likely to buy himself some time.
“The baby is a boy,” I announce.
Cake didn’t tell him that part, but I think it needs to be said. Rustik’s brows rise. He shifts in his seat, then reaches for his wineglass and lifts it to his lips. He takes a sip, setting the glass back down on the table before he lets out a heavy sigh.
“Does this change things?” I ask.
Rustik nods once, then he shakes his head once. “I want to say it doesn’t. This was a manipulation thing in an effort to weasel his way into your club,” he murmurs. “It was not sanctioned by me. By the Bratva.”
Cake hums, no doubt wondering what is going to come next, because Rustik is obviously not finished with his thought. Rustik presses his lips together, and I can tell he’s thinking, likely going through several different outcomes to this scenario.
“I see why you’ve come to me. A son, we covet having sons,” he murmurs. “As much as I want to say that Samuil is trusted, there is the simple fact that this whole thing happened because he went behind my back, though supposedly under the guise that it was to help the Bratva.”
“But you don’t believe him,” I say, reading between the lines.
“I indeed do not,” he mutters. “I think whatever he was doing, it was for personal gain. I think he was going to keep it from me, from the Bratva.”
My lips twitch into a smirk. “What happens if you find out that’s what he was doing? If you can prove it?” I ask.
I’m pretty fucking sure I know what happens when one of his men betrays him, because I’m pretty sure it’s the same thing that would happen if one of my men betrayed the club. Death. In one of my fucking barrels.
“I’m sure you know,” Rustik murmurs.
“Can I watch?” I blurt out.
Rustik chuckles, but Cake isn’t laughing yet. Instead, he pats his hand on the table, causing both of us to shift our attention back to him. He clears his throat, leaning back in his chair slightly again.
“I just want to know if my daughter and grandson are safe. I imagined her being married to Dare would be all that was needed to ensure their safety. But with this whole”—he lifts his hand and waves it around—“partnership of sorts, it causes me to pause because he likely already knows exactly where they are.”
Rustik dips his chin in a single nod, then he clears his throat. “They will be safe, you have my word, and if Samuil attempts to step out of line, he will be yours to do with as you please.”
“No hard feelings on that?” Cake asks.
“Not a single one. Now, let’s eat and drink.”