Chapter 9
Kirill
The jet’s wheels hit the tarmac with a shudder I feel in my bones.
Snow whips across the runway, stinging my face, but I don’t move.
My men stand behind me, a quiet wall of muscle and guns, watching as the plane rolls to a slow, heavy stop.
The staircase clanks into position, and a moment later the door swings open.
And of course, the first thing I see is my idiot little brother, arms thrown wide, head tipped back, and tongue out, trying to catch snowflakes as if he were five.
Kostya then bounds down the steps like a kid on Christmas morning, his luggage carried by one of the various babysitters Misha assigned to watch over him in San Francisco.
“I fucking missed this shit!” He laughs. “Leave it to the Windy City to give me a taste of home.”
I shake my head as he barrels into me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders.
“You hate home,” I remind him, hugging him just as tightly.
Kostya pulls away, grinning that carefree smile of his. “Take it from me, after a few years in Cali, you start getting homesick for a real winter.”
I rest my hands on his shoulders, taking him in properly.
“You look good,” I say, noticing all the little changes in him.
His face still carries that softness of youth, which is the only thing that really separates us since we’re nearly clones, right down to the black hair and black eyes.
That, and the black eyeliner he’s prone to wear just to stand out from the mold.
But there’s something harder in him now, too.
Something darker. A change that comes for all of us once we’re fully integrated into Bratva business. An innocence lost.
“So do you,” he shoots back, unaware of my thoughts. “But then again, we were always the good-looking ones in the family.”
“Don’t let Sasha hear you say that.” I chuckle.
And just like that, the humorous light in his eyes dims. “Fuck Sasha.”
“You two are still fighting, I see.”
“I don’t remember a time when we weren’t, do you?” he mutters. “But I don’t want to talk about his ugly mug. Tell me about you. What have you been up to?” he asks, while slinging an arm over my shoulders and steering us toward the waiting SUVs.
“Nothing. Just following orders,” I reply flatly. “Like you should have.”
“Jesus, don’t start, Kill.” He groans. “I was following orders. Down to the fucking T. Not my fault the feds sniffed us out.”
I stop at the passenger door, fixing him with a look. “The better question is how they got a whiff of our plans to begin with. The feds have been trying to tie us to something for years and never managed a damn thing. So what made this job different?”
Kostya sucks in his teeth, annoyance flickering across his face.
“They played dirty, that’s what. Sent an undercover agent in to do the dirty work for them.
She was so far down the totem pole I didn’t even bother sparing her a second glance until it was too late.
I honestly thought she was just another junkie paying off her habit by dealing for us.
” His jaw flexes. “She fucked us over good. But I never forget a face. If I ever see her again, she won’t walk away breathing. ”
I shouldn’t feel pride at hearing my brother talk about killing a federal agent, but I do.
Not because I want blood spilled, but because it means he’s finally stopped pretending he’s separate from who we are.
What we are. It wasn’t always that way with him.
Kostya fought his fate for as long as he could.
Or perhaps this isn’t about finally accepting his role in our family at all, and more about his wounded pride.
Being the only Petrov to get taken down by the FBI has to sting.
But he’s wrong if he thinks there’s shame in it.
Sooner or later, someone always slips. A soldier opens his mouth to impress a pretty girl.
Someone gets caught with their pants down and cuts a deal.
There are a million ways things fall apart and plans go south.
It was just Kostya’s shitty luck that it happened on his watch. The Pakhan will forgive his lapse and give him some grace. Especially since Misha has always held a soft spot for our younger brother.
Sasha, on the other hand, not so much. He’ll give Kostya hell for sure. Just another reason why the two are always butting heads. But that’s their beef to overcome. Not mine.
“It’s done now,” I tell him. “No use dwelling on it. We’ll regroup, and before long, you’ll be back in San Francisco in no time.”
“Actually, I was thinking… Maybe I could stay here with you in Chicago for a while.”
“You were, were you?” I laugh because we both know that’s not happening. “And what does Misha think about you staying with me instead of going back to work?”
“Don’t know.” He shrugs. “I haven’t asked him yet. I thought maybe I might spring the idea on him over the holidays. He’s usually in a better disposition this time of year anyway. We all know how Elena gets around Christmas.”
Yes. Yes, I do. My sister-in-law loves the holidays.
Not for the festivities, but because it’s the only time in the year that the house is full of people.
For years, she dreamed of a home bursting with kids and boisterous laughter, but cancer made that dream impossible.
We’re as close as she’ll ever get to a full household, and she clings to it.
That’s why we make an effort to be on our best behavior.
That illusion doesn’t last when she’s not around, though.
Sasha and Kostya fighting all the time is proof of that.
“Fuck! Let’s get inside. I’m freezing my balls off out here,” he blurts, rubbing his arms.
“I thought you were homesick for the cold weather.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Pussy.”
Kostya barks out a laugh, and I join him as we slide into the back seat of the SUV. The driver pulls away from the runway, heat finally filling the cabin. Once we’re warm, I turn my full attention to my baby brother.
“I notice you haven’t said a word about the Triad coming to your rescue. Anything I should know there?”
Kostya lifts a shoulder. “Didn’t say anything because you didn’t ask.”
“Well, I’m asking now.”
“It’s nothing. Just Misha being overprotective. I didn’t need their help.”
“That’s not true,” I counter. “If Misha was sure you wouldn’t get picked up by the feds, he wouldn’t have asked the Triad to hide you.”
“Or maybe he used me as an excuse to get closer to them. Ever think of that?” He arches a brow.
Hmm. That is a definite possibility. In fact, it was the first thing I thought of when Misha told me about the arrangement. Even if all our safe houses were blown, there were a hundred other solutions before resorting to the Triad.
“What do you think Misha’s intentions are?”
Kostya gives me a look that says I should already know. And then it hits me why our brother would bother with getting into bed with such a rival. “Their poppy fields.”
“Ding, ding, ding!” Kostya sings.
“But why? We have our own supply.”
“Not like theirs,” he says. “Trust me, I saw it up close. Our little operation can’t compete. They didn’t put up a fuss about letting us into their territory because they know we’ll never match their product.”
I take that in, my jaw tightening. If Kostya’s right and we’ll always be small players in California, then what’s Misha really planning?
“The Pakhan always has a plan,” I say quietly, even if I don’t see what it could possibly be. “He doesn’t make alliances without an endgame.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Kostya mutters, disgruntled. “His endgame.”
Unlike me, Kostya doesn’t trust our brother’s ulterior motives. Misha would never put us in harm’s way, but he would do just about anything to prove to the world that, as Pakhan, he’ll outshine his predecessor. Vasily is the ghost that never quits, always haunting Misha’s every move.
As if sensing where my head is at, Kostya places a hand on my shoulder to bring my attention back to him.
“Heard Sergei Antanov was taken out last week. It was all over the news how the fucker died in his hotel room along with his swarm of bodyguards. I’m assuming that was your handiwork.” I nod. “Did the fucker suffer?” he asks, and I don’t miss how my brother’s free hand fists into a ball.
Kostya was only five years old when Katya was taken from us.
He and Misha were the ones who found her, hanging naked and bloody from a lamppost in front of Saint Basil’s Cathedral on a Sunday morning as they were walking to mass.
No matter what you do, some memories will forever haunt us, and I fear that seeing our beloved sister like that had a visceral impact that changed Kostya forever. One that he struggles with admitting.
“Not enough.”
“That’s a shame.” Kostya frowns. “I wish I could have been there with you instead of locked away in some fucking safehouse across the country. I wouldn’t have been so merciful.”
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t. Besides, I had more than enough backup to get the job done properly.”
“Really?” His eyes widen in surprise. “I would have thought you’d have preferred to do the task alone.”
Shit. Shit. I really slipped on that one.
“Who did you take?” Kostya presses, eyeing my driver and Lev in the front of the car and twisting his nose. “Not those two fuckers, that’s for sure. So who?”
“I got one of the Outfit’s best enforcers to lend a hand,” I offer in reply, as if it were no big deal.
Technically, it’s not even that far-fetched a lie. After watching Stella in action, I have no doubt that once she’s inducted into the syndicate, she’ll be a force of nature as an enforcer.
“You mean Marcello Romano?! Holy shit! Is it true what they say? Is he really touched in the head?” Kostya blurts out, looking way too excited to learn more about Stella’s older brother.
“Rumor has it that he killed a guy with his bare teeth. Just bit into his neck and pulled out his vocal cords. Man, to see him in action.”
“It wasn’t Marcello.” I clear my throat. “It was… um… his sister. Stella.”
A crease cuts across Kostya’s brow, confusion marred in his expression. “Since when does the Outfit induct women to their ranks?”
I press my lips together and pretend it was a rhetorical question, and not one he actually expects me to answer. I’ve said too much as it is.
“So…” Kostya muses, “looks like our big brother’s been keeping himself busy, if he’s deepening his alliance with the Outfit too. Doesn’t that worry you at all?”
“No. It’s none of our concern. He’s the Pakhan, not me,” I state evenly.
“Well, the fucking Pakhan is making friends in all the wrong places. You think it’s none of our business, but I say it is.
Don’t think for a second we’re not going to end up in the crosshairs of whatever plan he’s cooking up.
If he reaches out to Romano for help in taking out Sergei, sooner or later, you’re the one who’s going to have to pick up the tab for that favor. ”
Again, I keep silent, refusing to tell Kostya that Misha has no idea I brought Stella along for the ride.
“Look… I’m sorry, okay?” Kostya sighs, mistaking my discomfort for irritation.
“I haven’t seen you in months, and since I’m here now, I’d much rather enjoy my time with you than think about whatever Machiavellian plan Misha is putting together.
In a few days, we’ll be back in Moscow and won’t be able to unwind the way we want,” he adds, a mischievous grin now playing on his lips.
“So take me to that fancy apartment of yours so I can shower and change. We can then go out and have some actual fun. Grab some food, get drunk, get laid… I’m not even picky about the order. How’s that sound, brother?”
“I know just the place.”