Chapter 24 – Luka
“ Y our newest entertainment venture is being sued.” Weston Van Greene dropped a pile of papers on the dining room table, avoiding the dessert plates in various stages of empty.
Laurel snatched up the papers and quickly began to scan them. The other family members might have left us to talk shop, but she was just as much a player in our organization as any one of us. In fact, the entertainment empire—a grand plan to open hotels, eateries, clubs, and other venues—had all been her idea. They were a great way to funnel money, but they would also provide us with a solid, legitimate side to our operation.
“Well, this is unexpected,” Laurel huffed. “They could shut our S-Corp down before we’ve even broken ground.”
The captains, and chief players of our bratva, looked as one toward Dimitri. All except me. I reached for another helping of fresh fruit. I couldn’t get enough of it.
“We knew there would be red tape in opening this venture, but I didn’t think a lawsuit would be one.” Dimitri pinned Weston with a look.
A knock on the door put a pause on the conversation.
“Come in,” Dimitri clipped.
Chiara bustled in with a cup and saucer of espresso, along with cream and sugar on a tray lined with a linen cloth. No detail was left out with her. She cut me a look, and I smirked up at her, a spoon full of berries saluting the chef.
She bit her lip to keep back a smile. I was without a doubt her favorite.
“Here you go, Wes,” she clicked her tongue. “Now, is there anything else I can get for you gentlemen? Laurel, cara mia?”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Weston said with a slight bob of his head.
“We’re good.” Laurel’s tight grin said otherwise.
Chiara met Dimitri’s gaze, and when he also thanked her, she left. But not before a quick squeeze of my father’s fingers. Once the door snagged tight, we were alone once more.
“Engaging with this will be costly,” Laurel said simply as she tapped the edges of the papers to straighten them.
“Time and money, yes.” Weston didn’t sugarcoat it.
“They just want us to pick a fight on this front.” Laurel turned to Dimitri. “So we choose the battleground where we fight best.”
Weston choked on his coffee. “You can’t go intimidating the opposition. They’ll expect that if they have even the smallest idea of who you are.”
Dimitri took it all into consideration. He nodded slowly. “What do the rest of you think?”
“You know we’re with you,” Igor said, flicking a crumb off his belly. “Whatever you say, boss.”
Weston swiped his hand over his face. “And this is why I hate having criminals as clients.”
Laurel narrowed her eyes. “You were only too eager to represent us when we proposed using the legitimate businesses.”
“And I am.” Weston leveled her with a stare, ignoring the volatile energy rolling off the man sitting at her side.
“So we don’t let him know it’s us ruffing him up,” Igor insisted. Out of all the captains, he was the one most eager to prove himself, since his loyalty had been called into question at the end of last winter when we thought the late pakhan wanted to claim him as the successor, bypassing his own son.
“Use the lawsuit as a smoke screen.” Boris rarely spoke; to hear the deep rumble of his voice was jarring. Especially when what he said was strategic. He was a meathead, through and through.
“Who is behind the lawsuit?” I asked, bouncing off Boris’s observation.
“It’s a subsidiary of Broad Waves Spectrum—” Weston started to say.
“You know damn well who it is, Luka,” Dimitri snapped.
I gave my cousin a saccharine smile. “Then you know it’s not about the money or the building code.”
“What am I missing?” Weston growled. “I don’t like secrets, Vlasov. I’ve offered you my services before, but if this is going to work, if I’m going to represent your organization, I need full disclosure.”
“We may have pissed off Markem Regis,” I drawled. “Failure to make delivery.”
Weston blinked. It was like surprising a wolf. His angular features froze, torn between a snarl and a feral grin. Humor won out. “You want to take down Regis? One of the biggest, albeit corrupt, lawyers in the Midwest? His client list alone has untold zeroes behind it.”
“I do,” I insisted. It’s personal. “Think what message it would send that we did this.”
Dimitri flicked a glance to Laurel, who shrugged. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall. I like Vivian and want to keep her.”
That made two of us—but my keeping her was hopefully very different from Laurel’s statement. While a little threesome action could be fun, there was no way in hell Dimitri would share. What would that be like, though? In bed with my older cousin? His wife was hot, and she wore confidence like a second skin. But a naked, aroused Dimi? Now that was scary.
And there was no way he was touching Vivian.
So I guess that wouldn’t work.
I shook those twisted, random, and utterly stupid thoughts from my mind.
“Vivian Hayworth ?” Weston pulled his papers together.
I narrowed my eyes at the lawyer. “What’s she to you?”
He looked me up and down. “A piece of the past.”
It took every ounce of control not to explode. Talking about war, ending other people, or even kidnapping wasn’t taboo at our meetings. But bringing my personal life into the mix was messy.
“He’s too still,” Kazimir grumbled, nudging Dimitri’s forearm.
Ilya, who hadn’t said a damn word all night, kicked me under the table. “Not here,” he hissed.
“Let me walk you out, Weston,” I said, rising. “I want to pick your brain.”
The lawyer gave me a lazy look. “Alright.”
Weston wasn’t to be underestimated. Rumor had it, he had personal trainers and was proficient in several forms of fighting. I had no qualms about testing how skilled those sessions made him. But if I wanted his help, punching him shouldn’t be my first course of action. As we stepped through the door, Dimitri clipped something to Kazimir. But it was Ilya who followed us, keeping a watchful, albeit healthy, distance.
“Regis disbarred Vivian. How do I go about….” I paused to think up the right word.
“Reinstating her?” Weston's voice was bored.
“What do I do to fix this?” I insisted.
Weston looked me over again. “She chose you, hmm.”
I chose her . “There has to be a way.”
“I can look into it. The easiest way is to overturn the original issue.”
“I’ll pay.”
Weston scoffed. “You know how much my family is worth. I don’t need your money, Vlasov.”
“Your services aren’t free,” I countered. “Not where she’s concerned.”
“I want dinner with her.”
Over my dead body.
“Don’t explode!” The warning came from the back of my mind.
Ilya stepped between us, sensing the impending brawl. “We’ll talk.”
The door opened and closed. Ilya turned, plucking the knife from between my fingers. “He wasn’t worth the spilled blood, comrade.”
“I hope someday you’re cursed with a wife that someone else wants,” I grumbled, spinning on my heels to jog upstairs. Needing to unleash the beasts inside, I reached for one of my blades. The metal whistled through the air. Ahead of me, gauging the polished wood of the banister, my blade vibrated where it was stuck. A perfect throw.
I did it again, down the hall, just because I could.
***
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I pawed through the chests. Contents from years of illicit adventures were spread around me. The precious gemstones set in a variety of jewelry pieces twinkled in the glow of the single overhead bulb. Even if the light had been perfect, none of them sparkled as they should.
“She needs something that’s hers,” I growled in frustration.
The sea shells, sailor’s rope twisted into a noose, and authenticated coins from my most recent adventure joined the mix of stolen treasure. Some of the coins were from a pirate’s hoard, others were collectibles, but the vast majority were from a Spanish galleon. It wasn’t my fault the museum had the worst security system known to man.
Digging through the mess of wealth from one chest, a ruby tennis bracelet flashed like drops of blood against the rough floorboards. My heart squeezed tight.
“I should feel bad, Sasha,” I choked out. The crimson stones slid between my fingers. “I don’t.”
“I’ve been telling you for years to quit existing in the past, Cool Hand. It took kidnapping some poor woman for you to come back to life,” my muse said gently. “It’s only natural to be scared. You’ve loved and lost, beloved.”
Was I tempting fate by repeating this madness? I fisted the rubies between my fingers. I would not survive another such tragedy. Vivian was mine, even if I could never love her.
“No one is taking her from me,” I vowed, wetting the edge of my knife. The words of my oath whispered over the droplets of bright crimson coating the stones. I clenched my fist, but a drop still fell from the tip of my knife.
Out in the sitting room, the door opened and shut. Blinking off the light, I watched through the space between two books. This hideaway was something I built as a teen. I needed somewhere for my treasures, and a false wall behind my bookshelf was just the thing. Not a soul living knew.
Vivian’s black Converse carried her to the bedroom but stopped short as she saw something across the room. When she moved toward the writing table, I smiled.
Standing there in her charcoal shorts and Metallica tee, Vivian reached for the box with her name on it. The sleeve of her orange flannel slid down her arm, the smooth skin looking delicious. My mouth watered to take a taste. Her wardrobe choices were eclectic. She bought clothing to fit into the most prestigious boardrooms, but the everyday attire was of the same sort I found in her Florida rental. A mixture of grunge, comfort, and a wild defiance that was her true fashion statement.
Vivian opened the box and jumped. Her hand slapped over her mouth. The carefully stored records and 8-tracks stared back at her. My little rock and roll princess. Saints! She’d tried so hard to hide the fact that she knew every song from my playlists when I finally changed from the country music to my phone.
You can’t hide from me, darlin. Not now that I’ve found you.