Chapter 10
GAbrIEL
“Whiskey?”
I wait until Kolya is seated before I close the office door.
He’s already made himself comfortable. He’s sprawled in the leather chair across from my desk like he owns it, one leg crossed over the other, arms draped over the rests. He’s the picture of relaxed confidence.
Or so he wants me to think. I know it’s an act.
I’ve known Kolya Sokolov for twenty years—long enough to be able to read the tells, like the way his jaw tightens when he’s cornered, and the slight tremor he gets in his left hand that he thinks no one notices.
But he’s developed a new one—a sheen of sweat that develops at his temples despite the temperature.
This tell is the most important one of all.
It means he’s dying.
Not today. Not tomorrow. But soon enough.
And he knows I know.
He shifts in his seat.
“Vodka. Cold.”
“Certainly.”
I pour myself a bit of whiskey before fishing out the bottle of Beluga Noble I keep specifically for Kolya, for these rare meetings of ours. I hand him his glass before settling into my chair with my own.
The desk is between us, a calculated distance.
He sips his vodka, a warm, pleased smile spreading across his face.
“You know,” he says, “whenever I drink this, I find myself wondering if this is the time you’ve poisoned it to be done with me forever.”
I allow myself a chuckle.
“And whenever you’re sprawled in that chair like that, I wonder if this is the time that you’ll pull out a hidden weapon and do what you’ve been fantasizing about for years.”
He laughs, and so do I. But the sound is mirthless, dry.
It’s the truth. Both of us would love to see the other out of the picture.
“So. You wanted to talk. Talk.”
He takes another sip. This time, I can’t quite tell if he’s savoring or stalling.
“The auction,” he says finally. “That was unexpected.”
“Was it?”
He nods slowly. “Indeed, it was. First of all, there’s the fact that you rarely grace us with your presence at the auctions. In fact, that’s the first one I remember you ever attending.”
“And second?”
He leans forward. “One. Million. Dollars.” Kolya shakes his head in disbelief. “One million goddamn dollars. And for what? A little toy to play with for a while until you get bored? That’s what these women are for, Gabriel. And that’s what I wanted with her.”
“Why do you care? You walked out of there with a prize that night. Or, at least, Sasha did. Why didn’t you attend, I wonder? Here you are meeting with me about an auction that you didn’t even bother going to.”
I already know the answer for the most part. He’s sick. And he was likely too sick that night to leave the house. My sources tell me that such nights are becoming more and more common for Kolya.
“I had other affairs,” he says, his tone sharp. “But make no mistake, I wanted the one you bought.”
But he didn’t seem to recognize her just now when he saw her. Interesting.
“Well, I’m the one who has her.”
“And why is that?” he asks. “What makes her so special?”
“That’s my business. Maybe I just liked the way she looked in her dress.”
Not a lie. But there’s so much more to it than that.
“Perhaps.” He sets his glass down, leaning forward. “But when you outbid my lieutenant in front of half the city’s Bratva, you made it our business. People are talking, friend. Wondering why the hell the head of the Camorra would humiliate Kolya Sokolov over a girl.”
I don’t react. I just watch him and wait for him to finish.
“So I’ll ask directly,” he continues, “what is she to you?”
“Mine.”
“Yes, you’ve made that clear. But there are many women in this city, Gabriel. Many beautiful girls that you could have for far less than a million. Why her?”
Because I owe her father my life.
Because I’ve been keeping her alive for twenty years.
Because when I saw her on that stage, terrified, furious, and so fucking beautiful, it made my chest ache. I would’ve paid ten million. Twenty. Whatever it took.
But I don’t tell him any of that.
“Does it matter?”
He shrugs. “It might.” Kolya picks up his glass again, studying me over the rim. “If, for example, there were extenuating circumstances. Perhaps a connection to certain families, certain names.”
My expression doesn’t change, but my pulse kicks up a bit.
He’s fishing.
He doesn’t know, but he suspects.
Thea’s something of an Anastasia figure in our circles—a woman who some believe is real, while others believe she is just a myth.
But I know just how real she is, especially after last night.
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” I reply.
He laughs. “Of course. Of course, you don’t.” He slowly sips before speaking again. “But let’s speak plainly, if we can. The past has a way of resurfacing, no? Old debts, old grudges. Sometimes even old bloodlines.”
I lean back in my chair, perfectly relaxed. “Are we talking about someone specific? Or are you just waxing philosophical, as you’re wont to do?”
“The Fetisov massacre. Twenty years ago. Tragic business.”
“Indeed.”
“Lev Fetisov had a family. Wife. Two children—no, three. There was, let me see if I remember.” He counts off on his fingers. “A daughter. A son. And a five-year-old, a girl, if my recollections are correct.”
“Your point?”
“No point. Just memories.” His smile is cold. “You knew Lev, didn’t you?”
“We did business together. Briefly.”
“And after he died, you made certain arrangements. Protected certain people.”
I don’t blink. “I protect a lot of people, Kolya. It’s part of the job.”
“Of course, protection of various individuals is a common favor to extend in our world. But let’s say—hypothetically, of course—that someone from that family survived. Someone who might complicate things for the current leadership of the Bratva. That would be problematic.”
“For you, you mean.”
His jaw tightens. “For stability. For peace between our organizations.”
“Peace.” I let the word hang in the air. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“Why wouldn’t I? We have a treaty, Gabriel.”
“We have a ceasefire.”
“Semantics.”
“Strategy.” I lean forward, elbows on the desk. “You’ve been chipping away at our territories for years, Kolya, all while hiding behind that treaty like it’s ironclad. So forgive me if I’m not particularly interested in your concerns about stability.”
His smile fades.
“The girl,” he says. “I want her.”
“No.”
“I’ll pay double. Two million dollars.”
“No.”
“Three.”
“She’s not for sale.”
“Everything is for sale, Gabriel. You, of all people, should know that.”
I stand slowly.
“Let me be very clear,” I say. “The girl is mine. End of story. I paid for her, I bought her. She’s mine. And I’m not going to tolerate you pestering me about it.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment.
Then he laughs. It’s a brittle sound, an unpleasant one.
“I understand what it is,” he says. “You bought her for fun, had it, and now you’ve—as the kids say—caught feelings.”
“Careful.”
“Or what?” He stands, too, spreading his hands. “You’ll kill me? Here? In your own house? That would be very poor form, friend. The council would most certainly not approve.”
“The council,” I say, “is in twenty-seven days. And when it convenes, we’ll see how much they approve of the way you’ve been using the ceasefire to move in on territories that aren’t yours. I’m sure the rest of the Italians and the Irish won’t be too happy to know what you’ve been up to.”
His expression shifts for a second before the mask slips back into place.
“You think you can march into a Bratva council and use it to unseat me?”
“I don’t think, I know. I might not be Russian, but I know your rules. They are the same as ours.”
“On what grounds?” he asks. “Your accusations that I’m behind some effort to steal your precious territory are baseless. Perhaps you need to consider the possibility that you’re such a weak ruler that the various criminal upstarts in this town see you as an easy target.”
He’s trying to goad me. The truth is that he is behind the attacks, and the possibility of a deep and bloody war if I were to reprise clearly has him on edge.
“You were behind the Fetisov massacre. You killed an entire family, including women and children. Murdered them in their beds, Kolya. And you thought no one would remember or make you pay for those crimes.”
His jaw clenches. “The Fetisovs were traitors.”
“Rivals. There’s a difference.”
“They would’ve destroyed the Bratva.”
“Wrong. They would’ve challenged you, unseated you. So you had them all killed. And you spent twenty years covering it up. But people remember, Kolya. And at the council, I’ll make sure they remember everything.”
A beat of silence, then he waves his hand through the air dismissively.
“You have no proof. The Fetisov massacre was an awful business. But many had the motive to perform such a terrible deed. All of your evidence is circumstantial. And besides, there is nothing to find either way. The witnesses are dead and the records are gone. No security footage of the house exists. Whatever happened will remain a mystery, sad though it might be.”
I let his words hang in the air for a long moment.
“We’ll see about that, Kolya. At the council.”
He throws back the last of his vodka.
“I think we’re done here. Well, aside from the matter of your girl. I still want her. And I will have her.”
“You will do no such thing.”
He chuckles. “You can keep her in this house for as long as you like, Gabriel. You can fuck her and pretend she’s something more than a whore you bought at an auction.
But the second she steps outside of these walls?
She’s mine. You’ll be careless one day. And when that happens, I’ll take her, make sure you never see her again. ”
My hands curl into fists.
It would be so easy to kill him. Kolya is weak, soft. I could punch him once, right in the throat, then bury him in the garden where no one would find the body.
But he’s right. Killing him here would start a war that I’m not ready for. Not yet.
I smile.
“You’re dying, Kolya.”
He goes still.
“Something to do with your heart? Or is it your liver? With all the vodka you drink, I’m guessing it’s one or the other.
Not much time left for you, I’d wager. And the sharks are already circling.
Sasha, Viktor, all the rest of your lieutenants.
I bet they’re just waiting for the right moment to strike. ”
Kolya narrows his eyes.
“You know nothing, Gabriel.”
“I know everything. I know you’re desperate, and I know you’re scared. Now get out of my house.”
He’s shaking now.
“Get out of my house,” I repeat, “now!”
Kolya narrows his eyes, and I can sense that he’s making the same calculations about killing me.
Instead, he grabs his coat and walks to the door. Once there, he pauses with his hand on the knob.
“Twenty-seven days,” he says without turning around. “Enjoy them, Gabriel. Because after the council, one of us won’t be walking out alive.”
With that, he leaves, the door closing behind him.
I stand there once he’s gone, my pulse hammering.
Twenty-seven days. Twenty-seven days to find proof, to rally support, and to convince the council that Kolya was responsible for the massacre.
Twenty-seven days to protect Thea.
I move to the window and watch Kolya’s car pull away, disappearing through the gates.
He’s right about one thing—the moment she leaves the house, she’s vulnerable. But he’s wrong about the rest. Thea’s not a whore I bought at an auction. She’s the daughter of the man who saved my life.
She’s the last surviving Fetisov.
And she’s mine.
I’ll burn the whole fucking city down before I let Kolya so much as touch her.
That’s a goddamn promise.