25. Kirill
“I have to admit,I didn’t think you’d have made quite so much money,” my father says. He’s laughing again. All jolly now he knows my actions haven’t hit him in the pocket.
“Well, they did say I had a talent,” I reply.
All I can think, like the chorus to a song stuck on repeat, is thank fuck the watches made him money.
I hate this man, and yet here I am being so friendly and happy because he threw a couple of smiles my way. My mother always reacted to him like this.
Most people do.
I hate myself even more. It makes me sick that I let myself be so needy around him. When he’s like this, giving you his full attention and approval, it can feel like the sun on your face after a long winter.
He changes so quickly, though. I’ve seen him go from laughing to a violent rage within seconds. It’s so hard to predict what will set him off. It means I spent most of my childhood walking on eggshells around him.
If he came home from a day of murder and mayhem with bags of candies tucked under his arm, I knew it was going to be a good night. If he returned home from work smoking a cigarette, with that divot between his brows more pronounced than usual, I knew I was in for a tough time.
I would mostly try to escape to my room on those nights, but I couldn’t always get away before the torment began. It’s as if anytime my father gets remotely upset about things, he has to find someone to take it out on. That was either me or Mama.
He also used to take it out on his underlings. He went through so many staff. Quite a few of them ended up being laid to rest in unmarked graves. I suppose I ought to be grateful that so far my father has controlled himself enough not to do the same to me. Perhaps I mean something to him after all.
My gaze slides to the man at his side, and his pinched little eyes, and too wide lips. I shudder.
Igor has lasted a long time. I think it’s because Igor is a complete sociopath. Nothing seems to bother him. He is calculated and cold. He likes to make people suffer, but he’s in control of where and when he does so. I don’t get the feeling that Igor takes out his rages on other people; he just likes to play with them like a cat does with a mouse.
My father is nowhere near as controlled. He thinks he’s this cold, strong person, but I know that’s not true. My father is a boiling volcano of conflicting emotions, and at any time, he can erupt. When he does, anyone in the path of the flow is going to get burned.
Right now, though, he’s looking at me with a jovial expression. His eyes sparkle, and his smile seems genuine.
“You did well,” he says.
Then he narrows his eyes, the happiness fading as he zones in on my neck.
Oh, no, I think. What now?
He reaches out and brushes his index finger over the side of my neck. “Who gave you this?”
I frown. “What?”
“Someone has been sucking on your neck like a vampire.”
Beside him, Igor laughs, and I grit my teeth at the sound.
I’ve always hated his deep, false-sounding chortle.
“Oh, must be Mack,” I say without thinking. I’m too impressed with the fact she got passionate enough to give me a love bite to mind my words.
Dom and Kirill will be envious when they see it.
“Who is Mack? A boy?” Igor sneers.
Fuck him. What’s with Igor’s obsession with me being gay? I wonder if perhaps he protests too much. Maybe Igor is projecting—not that I have an issue with it—and his obsession with my father isn’t as much a father-son relationship as I’d first thought.
“No. She’s a girl. A gorgeous one. You saw her the other day.”
“The blonde?” My father’s eyes glitter with something close to greed.
My heart sinks. Does he want her? He’d do it … he’d take her from me if he did, and I don’t know if even Nataniele could stop him.
“Yes,” I say warily.
My father’s face lights up as he beams at me. He fucking grins all wide and Cheshire Cat as if I’ve done something he can finally be proud of.
“She’s exquisite,” he says. “You should make her yours.”
“She is mine.” It’s not a total lie. She is. I just share her with two others. “She’s been in danger. It’s why she’s at Verona Falls. She likes me, and I help keep her safe.”
I let that bit of information drop to give me further kudos in his eyes, but also in case my father can offer her any further protection.
“What sort of danger?” he asks.
I twist my coffee cup in my hands. “Threats from an ex. He seems dangerous, though.”
“You can’t protect her, huh?” Igor’s smirk is rage inducing. “He says he can, but he comes to his father, dropping hints that he needs help. Like a little mouse.”
Igor makes a squeaking, mouselike sound, and I resist the urge to punch him. The minute I take over from my father, my first act as Pakhan—the crime boss—will be executing Igor. I will make it slow. Perhaps he can be murdered by The Boats, a terrible execution method the Persians supposedly employed and one which I imagine using on Igor with relish.
“Yes, I can, of course.” I turn the cup around again. “Maybe knowing she has your protection too would help.”
I put the words out there, and as soon as I do, I regret it. My father isn’t a stable man, and he’s already noticed Mack. I don’t think she will thank me for putting her on his radar. Still, he can keep her safe. The organization Grigoriy runs can make almost anyone disappear. They say he has the presidents of nations afraid of him.
“If she was your bride, she’d have the protection of the entire Volga Bratva,” Grigoriy says with a smile.
It’s not a smirk, nor a sneer. It is calculating, but it seems sincere.
“You want me to marry her?” I stare at him, incredulous. “I’m not even twenty-two.”
“You will be in a couple of months. Marry young, have many healthy babies. Bring us lots of boys. Your mother was a disappointment in that sense.” He blows out a long breath. “She failed us, the Bratva. The girl looks fertile. Strong. She is beautiful too.”
I bite at my lower lip, hard enough to taste blood. “I haven’t thought about marriage.”
“You have made me a little proud today, with the money you earned from these watches.” My father takes something out of his pocket and places it on the table. “This is for you.”
I stare at it. It’s the Rolex.
“For me?”
“Da.” He smiles. “You said the other watch made you happy. So I give you this one. Also, I give you this.”
He slides an envelope over to me. I peer inside it and almost drop the damn thing. It’s stuffed with hundred-dollar bills.
“That is not a gift. That is money for you to buy and sell more watches. You got me a better return than any investment.” He gives a deep chuckle.
I pocket the money and hold the Rolex in my hands, examining it.
“This is from me to you.” My father clears his throat. “A recognition that you are becoming a man. You did something that could have gone very wrong for you, but you took initiative and a risk, and it worked out. It is those skills, and that bravery, one needs to run the Bratva. You also need a bride. What better than a stunning American girl? You would be admired with her on your arm, my son.”
I stare at him, and I can see real pride in his gaze. Igor’s sour milk expression alone is enough to tell me my father means this. He’s proud of me.
Whirling emotions consume me. I can’t remember the last time my father looked at me this way. Perhaps when I was a little boy before I became a disappointment to him. I would love for him to look at me this way more often.
Maybe there is a chance we can make a connection. Even as I’m thinking this, I know, deep down, it is an illusion. A false hope. My father doesn’t love, not properly. He only uses and hurts, but it’s so tempting to let myself fall into the trap of his regard. Maybe if he loved me, he wouldn’t lock me in the dark anymore.
Maybe, if I married Mackenzie, she’d soften him. Our Duchess can handle anyone. She can handle us three, can’t she? I bet she’d wrap my beast of a father around her pretty fingers, and I would finally have an easier life. Some respect. Some status in the organization I was born to lead one day.
“You will bring her to see me.” Grigoriy nods in satisfaction.
It’s an order, not a request.
“Put a ring on her finger and at least get engaged to her. The marriage doesn’t have to happen yet, but if you don’t claim her, someone else might.”
“He can’t marry a girl like that.” Igor snorts.
My father backhands him so hard, Igor’s head bounces off the glass. “Don’t fucking dismiss my son that way.”
Those words light a fire in me. He defended me. Over Igor. Other customers in the diner noticed, and there’s a new uneasiness to the atmosphere. It’s easy to tell that people are wondering if they should step in or mind their own business.
I’d suggest they do the latter.
Suddenly, a whole new possible future opens up for me. It all depends, though, on me marrying Mackenzie, and that will tear the Devils apart.