Chapter 17 #3
“You do know Misha is also our brother, right? Not just the Pakhan?” Kostya chirps, but Sasha walks past him without so much as a glance, dismissing him as if he were already an afterthought.
“I swear that guy needs to get laid,” Kostya accuses with an ingrained scowl on his face. “Maybe then he wouldn’t be such a fucking asshole.”
“Hard to get laid when your heart belongs to a woman who doesn’t want you.”
“Shit, right. I forgot he’s still pining over that Irish chick.” Kostya rolls his eyes. “If she’s that into Remus, the least our brother could do is accept defeat like a man.”
“Unless she says those precise words to our brother’s face or until Remus puts a ring on her finger, she’s fair game in Sasha’s mind,” I say, feeling hollow and empty talking about my brother’s pitiful excuse of a love life, when mine isn’t any better.
“It’s so fucking archaic. Borderline medieval, the way he refuses to leave the poor girl alone.”
“That’s our brother for you. What do you want me to say?” I shrug, dragging my feet as if they were made of lead, as we walk back into the house and toward the library.
Misha made it sound like he’d be right back to talk to us in a few minutes, but two long hours pass before he finally shows his face.
“Apologies,” he says as he steps into the room.
“Not accepted,” Kostya grumbles, his ankles propped on the small table in front of him. “I could’ve taken a nap with how long you took to talk to Elena.” He adds air quotes to the word talk.
Misha slaps his feet off the table before taking the lone sofa across from the three of us. One look at his face, drained and tense with worry, and every one of us goes rigid with attention.
“What’s wrong?” I ask immediately, recognizing the kind of fear that can only come from something involving his wife. “What did Elena’s doctor say?”
Misha takes a slow, painful breath and then drops the last thing any of us expect. “Elena’s pregnant.” My eyes go wide.
“Mazel tov, Misha! That’s amazing!” Kostya shoots to his feet, ready to hug our big brother, only to slowly sit his ass back down when he notices there’s no joy on Misha’s face. Only fear.
And that’s when reality hits us. If she’s pregnant, that means no stem cell transplant. No stem cell transplant means the cancer can grow. And if the cancer grows… I shudder, unable to finish the thought.
“I’ll search for the best abortion clinics in London,” Sasha says, already thumbing through his phone.
“The fuck are you talking about?” Kostya snaps, snatching the phone out of Sasha’s hand.
“Am I the only one happy that this child is coming into the world? Elena has wanted to be a mother since she was a kid herself. It’s all she’s ever dreamed about.
It’s all she ever used to fucking talk about before she got sick! ”
“I know this is something that peabrain of yours might not accept,” Sasha snarls, yanking his phone back, “but we don’t always get what we want. Sometimes we have to do what’s necessary. And Elena needs that transplant.”
Misha hunches over, fingers buried in his hair, visibly shaken by everything crashing down on him.
“Let’s… let’s move to another topic,” he mutters. “Elena… I can’t think about this right now.”
We all hear the strain in his voice. The fear that is occupying his every thought.
Misha needs a distraction, even if that means burying himself in work so he doesn’t lose his damn mind right now.
I can’t even begin to imagine what he’s going through, the pain he must be in. On one hand, he finally gets to give Elena what she’s prayed for her entire life, a family with him. On the other, he risks losing the only woman he’s ever loved. The only woman who could ever love him just as he is.
Yeah. I don’t envy my brother’s circumstances at all. And here I thought my love life was in shambles.
Quick to pick up on what Misha needs, Sasha starts talking business, spurting out updates on what he’s been up to in London. After a while, it seems to do the trick of pulling Misha out of his spiral a bit, especially when Sasha mentions he might be able to take Whitechapel away from the Cranes.
“That motherfucker, Felix, is also being more of a nuisance of late. I might need to handle him differently. Or is he hands-off too now?” Sasha adds, cutting his eyes toward me as if I were the reason he can’t kill as many Cranes as he wants.
“Deal with Felix accordingly. If he becomes too much of an issue, then yes. Do what you have to.”
In other words, if Felix crosses Sasha’s path one more time, he’s as good as dead.
“Now, onto Chicago,” Misha says, turning his attention fully to me. “How is the construction on the club going?”
“Well. I should be opening the second week of January. That is… if you don’t need me here any longer. I can stay in Russia after New Year’s. My staff can handle the reopening if they have to.”
Instead of sadness crossing his face—at the reminder of why I wouldn’t mind staying home for longer than was previously planned—all I see in his eyes is pride.
“It brings me great joy that you’re that confident in the people who work for you. That means they respect you. That you’ve earned their trust and loyalty. All the trademarks of a strong underboss.”
I wish his pride didn’t feel like a knife twisting in my chest. The only reason the people working for me actually like my ass now is because I took the time to get to know each one of them, listened to their concerns and ambitions, and followed through on my promises.
And none of that would’ve been possible if Stella hadn’t lit a fire under my ass by insinuating I was a bad boss to begin with.
Even without knowing it, she’s made me a better leader.
A better underboss. Fuck—a better man. Not that she cares.
“I must admit, when you first told me your plans for the club, I was reluctant,” Misha adds, pulling me out of my tumultuous thoughts.
“After all, that isn’t the business we’re in.
But it was a smart move to have one legal establishment in Chicago.
A great camouflage for everything else we get up to. ”
“Thank you,” is all I manage to say.
“I just wish we didn’t have another problem on our hands when it comes to Chicago,” he adds, pressing his lips together.
“Vincent was anything but pleased with his children being taken from him. It’ll take many long, thoughtful hours to come up with a plan that will enable us to restore his trust in us. ”
“Why do we even want it? That’s the better question,” Sasha adds his two cents with a flat, irritated look.
“Because in a world full of enemies, it’s good to have a few friends you can rely on,” Misha replies. “Vincent is an honorable man. He keeps his word. And that is a man I don’t mind doing business with.”
“Right. Business,” Sasha scoffs, as if the notion itself was offensive.
And that’s exactly when an idea sparks. “Why don’t we do business with him?” I ask. “For real, I mean.”
Misha eyes me intently. “What are you thinking?”
“Hear me out,” I say, trying to hold onto the thought before it slips away.
“The Romanos work with the Irish to keep eyes on the Cosa Nostra in New York, right? They let them use their ports to ship guns overseas. They also use the Firm for the same kinds of transactions. They even managed to sweet-talk the Canadians to launder their money on their own turf. So, why don’t we make a similar arrangement? ”
“I think the Outfit is satisfied with their gun suppliers,” Misha says, thinking he found a hole in my scheme.
“But how satisfied are they with their cash flow? What if we presented them with a new way to clean their money, one that can’t be traced back to them? They take none of the risk and get all the reward. And we get a percentage for our trouble. A healthy percentage.”
“You sound like you already have an idea.”
“I think I do,” I say, before walking him through the plan forming in my head.
A plan that just might get me closer to getting what I really want.
Who I really want.
“That might do it,” Misha says after weighing the pros and cons. “Start the process. And only reach out to Vincent once you have the full deal in place.”
I nod, feeling lighter now that I have direction—a purpose. And if that purpose leads me back to Stella, then so be it.
“Now that Chicago is in good hands,” he continues, turning his gaze on Kostya, “that leaves San Francisco.”
“Actually… about that,” I cut in. “I was hoping you’d let me keep Kostya with me a few more months. Just until my plan is sorted and everything’s in place. I’ll need all the support I can get, and who better to help me than family?” I wink at a relieved-looking Kostya.
“That might take months,” Sasha blurts, clearly irritated with the idea.
“And what if it does,” I counter. “Are we really in a hurry to run back to California, where we’re not even a real threat to the Triad? I mean, is San Francisco even worth our time when we could be, I don’t know, anywhere else?”
“I need San Francisco,” Misha deadpans, shutting down my whole argument instantly.
“Can I ask why?”
Misha leans back in his seat, eyes fixed on me. “Did you know that Sun Wei, the current boss of the Triad, will be turning seventy years old in a few months?”
“No.” I shake my head, since remembering birthdays from rival bosses isn’t exactly in my job description. “What does that matter to us?”
“It matters a great deal,” Misha says, almost too calmly.
“Since you haven’t been keeping up with what’s happening in Northern California, let me give you some context.
Up until last year, Sun Wei had three sons.
Three adult sons with large families of their own.
That is, until they all died suddenly when someone decided it would be a good idea to plant a charge in the engine room of their yacht, as they were sailing to Napa Valley for a long-weekend celebration.
” Misha takes a beat to let that sink in before he continues with his tale.
“The only survivors were two of Sun Wei’s younger brothers, Tao and Lei, who by sheer luck didn’t attend the celebration that weekend, and also kept their families from attending. ”
In other words, one of those assholes is responsible for their own kin’s deaths.
“Some people might think that Tao and Lei now have a good chance at becoming their older brother’s successor. But those people would be wrong. Aside from them, Sun Wei has one remaining, living, breathing heir left—his granddaughter, Lily Sun. She’s the last of his bloodline.”
“How come she didn’t die with the rest? What’s her excuse?” Sasha asks, thinking she must be the culprit behind the murders.
“Actually, the answer to that is fairly simple. She was attending college on the other side of the country at Harvard. Not exactly ideal for quick family weekend benders.”
“Lucky girl,” I say, not understanding what any of this has to do with us.
“Is she, though?” Misha raises an eyebrow.
“Her luck is questionable, but one thing is for sure—Sun Wei refuses to leave the Triad in his brothers’ hands.
He wants his most direct descendant to take his place when the time comes.
He wants to ensure that his bloodline is the only one that sits on his throne.
” My throat dries at the intensity in Misha’s stare.
“The Triad are weaker than they’ve been in decades.
Succession is tearing them apart, and the Albanians are carving up their D.C.
empire piece by piece. If San Francisco falls, they fall with it.
Sun Wei knows this. He also knows his granddaughter is far too young to take her rightful seat without someone, let’s say, more experienced in these sorts of things, guiding her.
Protecting her. She needs muscle and cunning to be able to always be two steps ahead of her uncles and any other enemy that comes her way. And that’s where we come in.”
“How exactly?” I ask, already fearing his answer.
“I’ve offered Sun Wei a deal. The Bratva will make sure that nothing happens to his granddaughter and ensure she is crowned queen when the time comes.
In return, Lily Sun must marry one of my brothers.
” Misha pauses for dramatic effect, just as I feel the ground shift beneath my feet.
“I think I just found the perfect brother to be her husband in waiting. After all the progress you’ve done in Chicago and will do in the future, I can’t think of anyone better suited for this mission than you. ”
I’m too stunned to say anything. Not only because Misha suggested an arranged marriage—as if ordering an Uber—but also that he actually believes I’d agree to it. Although it’s not Misha making such a suggestion. It’s my Pakhan giving me a full-out order.
“What did I tell you about Misha and his grand plans?” Kostya whispers in my ear beside me. “How’s that shoe drop tasting right about now?”
Blyad.