30. Rashid
RASHID
The hospital hallway's quiet when I step off the elevator.
I haven't stopped by to see Oleg yet, but when Emory came home so excited that he had awakened and was feeling much better, I knew I had to.
I'm here to make sure he understands the situation and agrees to it.
I can't have him going behind my back like I did before. Not when he almost cost me my life.
My guard waits near the nurses' station while I walk toward the room at the end of the hall.
I've got round-the-clock security for him, though I'm not sure he needs it.
Gusev's men are more worried about avenging his death by coming after me than they are recovering the petty cash a dying old man stole from them.
But the guard I placed outside Oleg's door still honors my wishes.
He straightens when he sees me coming and steps aside to let me in.
I push the door open and Oleg's sitting up in bed, propped against a stack of pillows with a tray of untouched food on the table beside him.
He's lost weight in the face and his skin has a yellowish tint the fluorescent lights make worse, but his eyes are clear and tracking, which is an improvement over the last time I saw him when he was bleeding out on my living room carpet.
He watches me walk in and pull the chair closer to his bed. I can see him trying to decide whether this visit is a courtesy or a threat. I let him wonder for a moment while I unbutton my coat and settle into the chair.
"You look better than the last time I saw you," I tell him, lifting both eyebrows.
Emory is right; the man looks very sick.
They've given him a terminal prognosis, but I'm not sure if they've told him yet.
Life expectancy for someone with advanced cirrhosis is two years, if he quits drinking.
But a man that addicted, with a body that frail, I doubt he makes it that long.
"The last time you saw me I had a bullet in my stomach," he says dryly.
"So that's not saying much." I saved his life by sending him here, paying his bills for him so he doesn't have to worry, and he still sounds bitter.
He's lived a hard life for the most part, and he's used to the way Gusev ran his businesses.
I have to give him a bit to adjust to me and the way I run things. He'll come around hopefully.
"Well you're alive, aren't you? A lot of men in your position wouldn't be.
" I'm not sure he understands just how close he came to dying. He put himself in harm’s way to save his daughter, so in my book we're even.
But if he thinks of pulling shit like that again, risking my child and my soon-to-be wife, I'll put the bullet in him myself and I won't miss.
His hand moves to the bandage on his stomach and rests there, fidgeting with it. It bunches his hospital gown and he scowls, yanking it into place. "I want to thank you for what you did in that room. I know you didn't have to come back for us."
I did have to come back, because there was no way in hell I was losing my son and the woman I love. And it's a brave thing making that statement. I almost died in that warehouse fire because of him.
"I came back for Emory and the boy. You happened to be in the room."
"I know that," he says, "but you could've let me bleed out on that floor and nobody would've blamed you for it. You're not as horrible as I thought."
I lean back in the chair and cross one leg over the other, taking my time before I respond. The old man's being genuine. I can see that. But genuine and trustworthy are two different qualities, and I've learned the hard way that Oleg Rostov can possess one without the other.
"I'm going to tell you something and I want you to listen carefully," I say. "Emory and I are getting married this summer. That makes you my father-in-law, which means you'll be under my protection for the rest of your life whether either of us enjoys that arrangement or not."
Oleg's expression shifts. His eyebrows draw together, probing for the catch or condition, the price of this particular mercy. "What does that mean for me, exactly?" I'm not sure if he's upset by my announcement, but he doesn’t comment on it.
"It means you'll have a room in my house when you're well enough to leave this hospital.
You'll see your daughter and your grandson every day, and nobody touches you—not Gusev's people, not the men at the port—nobody.
" I pause and watch the lines on his face lighten before I continue.
"It also means that my business will be entirely outside your reach.
You won't know what I move, where I move it, who I sell to, or what any of its worth.
Nor will you have access to my office, my communications, my men, or any part of my operation.
You're Emory's father and Aleksandr's grandfather, and that's where your role in my house begins and ends. "
"I understand," he says quietly, but there's a quality to it that tells me he understands exactly what I'm saying. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.
"I'm not finished." I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees.
"If you ever sell information about me or my family to anyone, if you even think about making a move behind my back, I promise you that you'll fall asleep one night and not wake up.
Emory will believe you died peacefully in your sleep and she'll grieve you and move on.
Your grandson will grow up hearing nice things about his grandfather because I'll make sure of it.
But you will be gone, Oleg, and nobody will ever suspect that I had anything to do with it.
Do you believe me when I tell you that?"
His face goes pale but he doesn't look away from me. "I believe you," he says. It's the statement of a man who's had his share of threats dealt to him.
"Good." I lean back in the chair. "Then we understand each other."
Oleg turns his head and looks at the window for a long moment.
The blinds are half open and pale light shines across the blanket on his bed in thin stripes.
I can see his jaw working as he processes everything I've just told him.
"I won't make the same mistakes again, Krasnov," he says, still looking at the window.
"I know what I am and I know what I've done and I have no illusions about what I deserve.
But my daughter loves you, and my grandson is your son.
It's enough reason for me to keep my mouth shut and my hands where you can see them for the rest of my life. "
"That's exactly what I needed to hear."
"Can I ask you one thing?" he says, turning back to me.
"You can ask."
"The Gusev organization. What happens to it now that he's dead?" I can see the fear in his eyes. Those men came to kill him, and they almost succeeded.
"I'm absorbing it," I tell him. "Gusev's lieutenants have already been given a choice.
They fold into my operation under my terms, or they leave the city and don't come back.
Most of them have chosen to stay because they're businessmen before they're loyalists, and a dead boss doesn't inspire much loyalty. "
Oleg nods. "So the men who came after my family are either working for you now or they're gone."
"That's correct. The Gusev name is finished and anyone who was connected to the order against you and Emory and the boy has been dealt with. You're safe, Oleg."
He closes his eyes and sighs and when he opens them again they're wet. "Thank you," he says.
"Don't thank me. Just keep your word." I'm about to stand when the door opens behind me and Emory walks in carrying a paper bag from the bakery down the street. She stops short when she sees me in the chair beside her father's bed, and her expression shifts to surprise.
"I didn't know you were coming today," she says, setting the bag on the side table.
"I had business with your father," I tell her, standing and buttoning my coat.
"Business?" she asks, looking at Oleg, who gives her a small nod.
"He's very persuasive," Oleg tells her with a wink and then he chuckles.
She crosses to me and wraps her arms around my waist, pressing her cheek against my chest. I hold her there for a moment, and over her shoulder I see Oleg watching us.
He looks at peace knowing his daughter is in good hands.
Almost like his entire life has been lived with one purpose, to make sure she grows up and starts her life safe.
"Batya, look," Emory says, pulling back from me and holding up her left hand toward the bed. The diamond catches the light from the window as she grins. "He gave it to me last night."
Oleg reaches for her hand and takes it gently, turning it so the stone catches the light. His thumb runs across the band and looks at it for a long time. I watch his eyes well up and him blink them back. He knows his daughter is in good hands now, marrying the most powerful man in this city.
"It's beautiful, Em," he mumbles. "It's really beautiful."
"It belonged to his grandmother," Emory tells him, glancing back at me.
"Anna gave it to him and he had it resized.
She told me the story of how his grandfather proposed to her in a railyard in Moscow during a snowstorm, and that she wore this ring every day for forty-seven years until the day he died. "
"Your mother would've loved that story," Oleg says, still holding her hand. "She always said you deserved a man who would give you the world, and I think this one might actually be able to do it."
"Don't get sentimental on me, Batya. You'll pull your stitches."
He laughs a short, raspy laugh that makes him wince, pressing his free hand against his stomach.
Emory leans down and kisses his forehead, smoothing his hair back.
"I need to ask you something," she says, sitting on the edge of his bed and keeping hold of his hand.
"And you can say no if you're not up for it, but I really hope you won't."
"What is it?"
"Will you walk me down the aisle?"
Oleg's chin trembles and he clenches his lips together, trying to control his emotions. He looks at Emory and then at me standing behind her, and whatever hatred he's had for me seems to dissolve.
"You try and stop me," he says, squeezing her hand and smiling. But even the warm expression can't chase away the sickly yellow tint of his skin. I hope he lives long enough to fulfill that promise.
Emory leans forward and puts her arms around his neck carefully, mindful of the tubes and the bandages, and Oleg wraps one arm around her back and holds her as tightly as his broken body will let him.
I stand by the window and give them the moment.
It might be one of very few that he has left, and I know from personal experience how important they are.
If I could get one moment back with my father, I'd take it. I'd trade my millions for it.
When Emory pulls back she wipes her eyes and laughs at herself, and Oleg wipes his eyes. Then she unpacks the pastries from the bag and arranges them on his tray while he watches her carefully. I step into the hallway to call Devid.
There are shipping routes to rebuild and security to beef up along every stretch between here and Moscow, and with the Gusev operation folding into mine I have twice the territory to manage and half the infrastructure to do it with.
The work ahead of us is enormous, but for the first time in months the guns have stopped and nobody's trying to kill anyone I care about.
"Boss?"
"Yeah, Devid, bring the car around. We have work to do." I move toward the elevators, confident that life is finally moving in the right direction. And I sure hope Emory is up for doing the wedding planning, because I will be too busy.
Maybe my mother will help her.