Chapter 9 #2
Tonight’s lack of a welcoming party at the airport was a message, as was the extravagant black-tie event being held at the Petrov Estate. Women in fancy dresses and men in black tuxedos fill almost every window on the ground and first floors.
My soon to be husband must think I’m stupid, which is fine, but treating me like this is only going to bite him, and my father, in the ass. Until the time is right, I’m more than happy to act the part of being a passive piece of eye candy.
The driver makes a turn, his headlights illuminating the dozens of guards hiding in the shadows. Which only provides further proof it was a calculated move by Petrov to leave me to my own devices.
Perhaps my fiancé thought I’d make a scene in the middle of his party, but I never would.
The less time we have to spend together, the better.
Although, that does make killing him harder, but not impossible.
That thought keeps me entertained as I check in, dial for room service, luxuriate in a deep bath, then drift off to sleep.
ALEKSEI
My head is fucking killing me, and I still need to speak with Sergey.
Rubbing fingers over my jagged facial scar doesn’t alleviate the building pressure behind my eye. Swallowing more pain tablets doesn’t help dull the pain either. I know what would help, but the fallout of murdering my brother would only cause more problems for me to solve.
One day, that won’t stop me, but tonight it’s fucking exhausting to even think it.
“Clear these rooms,” I bark at Sergey’s men, my hand pointing at the people lingering dangerously close to my side of the house.
Sergey’s men are, by default, mine too. It goes hand in hand with being his brother and his Avtoritet. The position of his second-in-command was not handed to me on a silver platter. I earned it, paying for my loyalty with blood.
Being his second-in-command isn’t something I aspired to, but it was necessary.
Especially after I blindly stumbled onto where Sergey was looking to take our family empire—human trafficking—and who was helping him cover his tracks.
As Bratva, he can run the Petrov businesses however he chooses, but some day, his perverted tastes are going to be his downfall.
I’ll make sure of it. I’ll also deal with every person involved, along with those who have purposely turned a blind eye.
Taking a long drag of my cigarette, I let the smoke waft in my face, which does nothing to dull my headache, but at least it cuts through the plume of desperation stinking up my house.
After getting back from the warehouse, I had planned to see Sergey, then lock myself away to get some much-needed rest. But, like always, his bullshit means my plans for a peaceful night get railroaded.
The inside of our formal dining room would have my mother quietly weeping. We’ve fallen a long way from the time when the Tsar and his family were guests. Tonight, my brother's disregard for his mother’s hard work is as obvious as Sergey’s latest offerings.
Human trafficking is disgusting, involving children is disgraceful, and I absolutely loathe the practice. Which is how I know that the display in our home was done very intentionally. Sergey has set it all up, even using the antique chairs my mother used to adore to display his “wares.”
Accepting a crystal glass of vodka, I swirl the alcohol inside my mouth, trying to fry my senses, so I don’t have to remember the scent of their fear.
There are three tonight, another three to add to my list. Similarly, I take note of the people who are bidding, adding their names to a different list.
Catalina, one of Olga’s assistants, stands near a young, newly designated Omega.
Her stance should be protective, considering it is her role to look after the people Sergey sells, but her expression is one of badly concealed challenge.
I stare into her eyes, and she drops her shields for a fraction of a second, but I see it—she hates and she loathes.
Time will tell at who it’s directed at, because I’m always fucking blown away by the number of people willing to overlook shit like this if there’s money to be made.
Still, she’s in my fucking house. I stare her down coldly until she’s submitting, subliminally reminding her who she’s fucking glaring at. Once Catalina knows her place, I shift my focus to the young Omega she’s next to before I speak to Catalina. “How long has the bidding been open?”
Thankfully when she answers, she keeps her eyes averted from mine. “Two hours, sir. Another two to go.”
“The buyers have had sufficient time to examine our stock. Shut the room. Get the product back to the warehouse.” I flick my hand dismissively, handing her my empty glass as I walk off, leaving her to face the mess alone.
I’d like to shut the whole night down. Instead, I walk from one room to the next, shaking hands with our guests and listening to anything and everything they share.
It’s the usual—shipment issues, stupid junkies trying to rip us off, a new malware that needs breaking.
The problems never stop mounting. I make my way to Sergey’s office hours later than I wanted.
My earlier headache is morphing into a migraine that rips holes in the shitty vision I have in my eye.
Passing the guards without comment, I use the hand scanner and let myself in past the doors into the corridor down to his office. After I knock once on his door, he calls me inside. He would have seen me approaching via the security feed displaying on the monitor on his desk.
“Sit.” He points at a chair opposite his desk.
“Hard pass.” I keep my eyes locked on his forehead. There’s no way I’m sitting down to watch my brother get his dick sucked.
I don’t get paid enough, even doing what I do. And he could never pay me enough to sit and watch. He has other people around him to feed his ego.
And because he knows I won’t put up with his shit, he tries to make it impossible for me not to look. His movements, as he uses her throat, are more jarring, and the noises he makes are fucking disgusting.
He does it because he wants me to say something. But fuck that. And fuck him.
I put my back to him and help myself to his vodka without asking because he hates when I take anything without asking. And then I open one of the doors to the balcony, taking my drink outside. I haven’t even finished my cigarette before he’s joining me, running a hand through his hair.
If I was as petty as he is, I’d make some offensive comment about how he blew so quick, or say something about his receding hairline, but I’m bone tired tonight. Sick of him, of the fucking games he loves playing, and the shit life I endure.
“Your friend called,” I say, not hiding how pissed off I am to be dragged into his dirty business.
His hand drops onto my shoulder, his fingers digging into the top of my shoulder until he finds the spot that sends shooting agony down my limbs.
Since the day I was born, he’s gone out of his way to remind me of my place—under him.
His fingers press against the screws I needed to keep my bones in place, after he purposely and cruelly broke my collarbone.
My muscles lock, but I control myself, keeping a bland expression on my face, despite the pain and humiliation coursing through my system.
When I lean into the pain, he stops being antagonistic. He turns and rests against the edge of the balcony, turning to face me.
“Soon, the ambassador will be family, Aleksei. You should be more hospitable when you speak of him, he opens many doors we didn’t even know existed.” He smiles like a hungry wolf, his real feelings regarding Victor evident in his unconcealed sarcasm.
Taking another sip of vodka, I swallow it, savoring the slow burn before answering him. “He is sending two guards for her and wants the wedding date pushed out.”
“Ahh, so you are telling me how things will be?”
I shake my head, disagreeing, while adding a false smile that he looks past. “You are Bratva for a reason, brother. Older, smarter, better-looking, according to some. He only called me after you didn’t answer any of his calls.”
Sergey’s grin suggests he’s aware of how many calls he has missed. Instead of calling Victor, he interrogates me like I’m the one challenging him.
“Was I supposed to leave the party? If her flight arrived when it was meant to, it could have been arranged, but I can’t be in two places at once. I was needed here, welcoming our associates and friends.”
“That’s true,” I murmur, spinning to rest against the balustrade next to him, dropping the volume I use. “It makes no sense he is blaming us because she was late. I meant no disrespect, but I called him out on being so distrustful of us. He’s a zhopas ruchkoy.”
He hums, plucking my drink from my hand and swallowing the rest of it while he waits for me to argue. I find it more than amusing he doesn’t have an issue with me telling Victor he is an ass with a handle.
“I reiterated how disappointed you would be in his lack of faith. I explained in detail that what he did was disrespectful. And then I went on and spoke at length that perhaps he is the one without honor. He didn’t argue, perhaps he is having a hard time grasping our language.
Regardless, he is sending guards to watch her. ”
“And the wedding?”
“Delayed again. Now, instead of her age, he wants proof he can trust us. I told him we do not renegotiate once we have given our word. He told me to fuck a goat, with all that cultured eloquence of his.”
He’s quiet for a moment, letting the sounds of the entertainment float up to us, before he starts walking off. “An associate in Ireland has new product for us. I have a way to remind Victor how we work with or against our friends. And you get to do a favor for me.”
“Of course. What do you need me to do?”
“The head of the Irish, you know him?”
Of course I know who Paddy O’Connor is. Anyone in our business is aware of who their competition is.
I have a thick dossier on almost every outfit operating in each country, along with known sympathizers in the greater community.
I have a good handle on who is in power, who is about to lose power, what they export or specialize in.
Some we do business with, others not. Most see us as the enemy, though.
“While Olga arranges our next shipment, you deal with the O’Connors. Only you, Aleksei. You are my Avtoritet for a reason. Take whoever else you need, but it is your personal duty to fulfill my request. I can trust you with the job, or maybe not?”
His slight is intentionally inciteful. He knows it, and I’ve come to expect it. Much like when he dug his fingers into my shoulder, I don’t rise to his provocation.
I stare through the open doors, at the portrait of my parents from before Sergey and I were born. Sergey got his flare for cruelty from my father.
“We will talk more in the morning, brother.” He starts to walk off, his phone already in his hand. “One more thing—you use the next shlyukha I send to your room, or I’ll make you fuck someone at our next business meeting for everyone to see. Da?”