Chapter 47 Stan #2
“Even if,” he repeated. “We have the rest of the world plus our infrastructure and ties are stronger. We can make deals to work together. My uncle does not make deals. He seeks to dominate but he lacks the presence.”
“He’s held the Bratva together for decades,” I pointed out.
“The world is different to what it once was. The men are unhappy. The risks are higher. Honor lacks under his watch. When Veles rose through the ranks, I saw the difference in him.
“On the outside, he represented little more than the worst of Muscovian society. But his ability to gather the young around him was incredible. Mostly because he did it out of a desire to protect. Not to abuse. Young boys came to him for safety and he gave it to them. For free.
“That was what killed Dmitri’s father. Fyodor never understood the power Veles had.
Our men came out of the woodwork to bring Maxim Lyanov home when he was trapped in a Russian hospital, an execution notice on his head.
Even knowing that that notice could and would fall on them if they were caught in the trap. Only because of Nikolai Veles.
“In thanks, what did Veles do? He invited them to the US. He called them back home. He was their home. I don’t think he understands his power, but it fascinates me, nonetheless.
For a brutal sadist to possess such a gift is something to be coveted.
My uncle didn’t realize what he had until he lost it, and he lost it when Veles was a mere street rat. ”
“What does this have to do with anything?”
“Revolution isn’t always a sharp firecracker. It can be the slipping of a drug into a cup of coffee.” An unholy light appeared in those wicked eyes. “As Sofia has so often proved.”
“She drugged him?”
“She has not admitted to it, but his current instability leads me to believe so, yes.”
Processing that, I pursed my lips. “Why was your mother trusted to turn Graham Brackton?”
“He denied her access to me unless she behaved.”
I winced. “What a bastard.”
“Indeed.”
“You know she worked on the streets in the early days?”
“I do know that and I hate him all the more for it. One has to eat and as an illegal immigrant with no means of protecting herself unless she obeyed, she rebelled. Until that broke her.”
“I’m surprised he trusts you.”
“Because I always obey him,” he told me, his tone facile.
“Always. When he ordered me to drag Sofia to his office to be disciplined, I did. I hated him for it, but I complied because to comply is to gain trust, even if for the longest time, Sofia didn’t trust me.
” He leveled me a look. “When he orders me to sack a town, I comply. I don’t agree, but I comply.
“He asks me to poison a politician who seeks an increase of policing on Moscow’s streets, I do it.
So, why wouldn’t I kill my wife when he asked?
” He wafted a hand at my exclaimed, ‘Figghiu ri buttana.’ “Uncle took it as the ultimate sign of trust. The idiot. Now, I have more freedoms than ever before.”
“You killed your wife?”
“I didn’t want her. Didn’t pick her. Didn’t like her. Didn’t even fuck her—” When I choked on my own coffee, he raised a brow. “This comes as a surprise to you? Why would I risk her getting pregnant?”
I thought about his zealousness when he talked of Yseult and wondered if she’d had more to do with this than he let on.
“Why should I trust you if, using your own words against you now, you comply with everything your uncle says?”
“Because it’s all been building to this moment.” Those ice-blue eyes glowed with a fire that I’d experienced a time or two in my life. “His eradication will be upon his own request and I cannot wait to deliver him to his maker.”
“How long have you been planning this… coup?”
“Since the first time I met my mother and I saw a broken heart in the flesh. Choices come with consequences. In this instance, that’s revolution.”
“Why are you being so open with me? Just because you want my drugs?”
“Because you possess a unique mind, Custanzu. I, too, am often overlooked. They see us as weapons. Tools to kill.” He tapped his temple. “But we know otherwise. Your drugs will shape the future.”
“And you’ll rule the Bratva like a benevolent dictator?” I mocked.
“Benevolence is a gift. Democracy is overrated. Look at this country. You believe it to be democratically run, yet the president is on my uncle’s speed dial—”
“How did that happen?”
“You’ve heard of the Rho Epsilon Beta?”
“Yes.” He didn’t have to know it was only recently that we’d come across the fraternity. “What do they have to do with anything?”
“My uncle attended grad school at Oakwood College. The school my cousin currently attends. He joined Rho Epsilon Beta then. Same class as Brackton, your president, and a handful of others who’ve shaped this country’s destiny for far too long.”
Intrigued, I shifted gears. “Why is your stepsister in rehab?”
His top lip curled but a cold, hard gleam flared to life in his eyes. Discomfort? Surely not. “For reasons that, shall we say, are fabricated.”
“How very Victorian.”
He replaced his cup on the saucer with a precision that didn’t allow for the bone china to clink. My grandmother would have wept if I’d been capable of the same grace. “Indeed.”
“What is her role in this?” I queried, sensing that this Yseult played a larger part in the current situation than anyone said out loud.
“It is not as large as it could be, but it will flourish. Soon.”
I read between the lines. “You don’t sound as if your feelings for her are fraternal.”
He chuckled. It was like pitch-black silk. As messed-up as that smile. The humor snuffed out with jarring abruptness. “Oh, they’re not.”
A thought occurred to me. “I refuse to give you drugs if you’ll use them to harm women.”
“A conscience?” Ilya hummed. “Interesting. I want to annihilate my uncle. Nothing I’ve shared with you has been contrived. I want my stepsister and mother freed from their prisons in time to attend his funeral. The only person I intend on harming is him. Satisfied?”
I contemplated Ilya’s answer but, ultimately, tested, “Tell me—there was an operation in Nolita. A child brothel and a fighting ring. Was your uncle involved? The Bratva?”
Expression glacial, Ilya retorted, “It was a personal investment.”
“Not Bratva?”
“No. A lot of the brothers, ones my age, grew up on the streets during the USSR breakdown. They did things to survive that they’d never wish on children. There’d be an uprising among that generation if he used the Bratva to traffic children.”
“Not the older gens?”
“What do you think?” he scoffed. “Did you ever meet Fyodor Turgenev? If the devil hasn’t made that bastard his plaything, then hell doesn’t exist.”
Surprised by the condemnation as well as the richness of his response, I stated, “I’ll provide you with enough C-L-O to kill him.”
“Good.” Glee flashed across his expression until he banked it. It disappeared so quickly that I almost thought I’d imagined it. “This little meeting of the minds, as Taube would call it, I deemed necessary.”
“Why?”
“Because the Irish are fading into irrelevance by their own actions.
Their future dictated by the White House.
The Triads are too conservative, too insular, for deeper alliances outside of Beijing, and as much as I consider The Forgotten Boys family, in public I can only show so much deference when they seceded from the Bratva.
“Your faction, however, is the future. Your ties on the West Coast are as extensive as those on the East. Unlike the Irish, your relevance grows with each passing day as your drugs tear through the country—” He half-smiled when I winced. “Ah, shame. It’s been a long time since I felt that.”
“I cherish women and created a drug that destroys them.”
“You created a drug that destroys men weak enough to take it. Those men eradicate themselves. Darwin would be proud. You should be too.” He pointed a finger at me. “Evolution isn’t pretty. People die along the way, but that’s what people do. That’s why legacies are important.”
“And that’s what you’re building? A legacy?” I shot him a knowing look. “Let me guess, your legacy is entwined with your stepsister’s?”
“She’s wasted years in that goddamn place. I want her out of there.”
“Why?”
“I already told you. Men are fools when they have no heir. She, and no other, will bear me a son.” Those chillingly cold eyes caught mine. “As for why she matters in this game we play… what do you know of a blogger called I Told You So?”