Chapter 32 #2
"Thank you." His voice cracks on the words. "For everything. The apartment. The job. My mom's treatment. I know I don't deserve—"
"You don't owe me thanks."
"But I do." He takes a step forward. Stops. Like he's afraid to get too close. "You could have killed me. But you didn't. You gave me a chance."
I look at him.
Seventeen years old. Skinny. Scared. Working in my garden because the alternative was prison or a grave.
He thinks I'm merciful.
He thinks I saved him.
The truth is simpler. Uglier. I needed information, and he had it. I needed someone to watch, and he was convenient. I needed to feel like something other than a monster, and sparing one kid's life was easier than examining why I needed that feeling in the first place.
"Get back to work," I say.
He nods.
Drops back to his knees in the dirt.
I walk away before he can thank me again.
The house is quiet when I enter.
Too quiet.
My father's death left a vacuum that none of us know how to fill. The staff moves through the halls like ghosts, afraid to make noise. My siblings scatter to their corners, processing grief in their own ways.
Karolina threw herself into planning the foundation.
Vladimir disappeared to the stables.
Aleksander returned to his own estate, claiming business couldn't wait.
Oleg went back to training, punishing his body because he doesn't know how else to punish his heart.
And Natalia...
I find her in the media room.
She's curled on the massive sectional, buried under a mountain of blankets. The television casts blue light across her face. A pint of ice cream sits in her lap, spoon sticking straight up like a flag of surrender.
"Natalia."
She doesn't look away from the screen.
"Dmitri."
I check my watch.
"It's two in the afternoon."
"I'm aware."
"You're eating ice cream."
"Also aware."
I move into the room. Settle onto the arm of the sectional. The movie playing is something animated. Bright colors. Talking animals. Not the kind of thing I'd expect from my twenty-year-old sister.
"What is this?"
"My third movie of the day." She finally glances at me.
Her eyes are red-rimmed. Puffy. "I started with something French and depressing.
Then something British and depressing. Now I'm watching a cartoon about a fish because I ran out of tears and needed something that wouldn't make me feel anything. "
"A fish."
"His name is Nemo." She scoops ice cream into her mouth. "He gets lost. His dad finds him. Everyone lives happily ever after."
"Sounds riveting."
"It's not." She shrugs. "But it's better than thinking about how Papa is dead and I killed our mother and nothing will ever be okay again."
I want to sit beside her.
Pull her into my arms. Tell her she's wrong.
But the words stick in my throat.
I can't do it.
Can't offer comfort I don't know how to give. So I stand.
"Mrs. Pavlov will bring you dinner," I say.
Natalia's laugh is bitter.
"Of course she will." She waves the spoon at me. "Because that's what we do. We feed people. We take care of them. We pretend everything is fine while the world burns around us."
I leave her there.
Buried in blankets. Drowning in ice cream. Watching a cartoon about a fish because reality is too heavy to carry.
The hallway swallows me.
My phone buzzes before I reach my office.
Igor.
I answer.
"Talk."
"We found something." His voice is tight. Controlled. The tone he uses when the news is bad. "On Rogers."
I push open my office door. Close it behind me. Move to the bar cart and pour three fingers of vodka.
"What kind of something?"
"The financial kind." Papers rustle on his end. "His father's company. Rogers Luxury Automotive. They've been cooking the books."
I drink.
The vodka burns down my throat. Settles in my stomach like liquid fire.
"How dirty?"
"Tax evasion. Money laundering. Fraud." Igor pauses. "They've been using their dealerships to wash money for the Corellis."
The glass stops halfway to my mouth.
"The Corellis."
"For the past eighteen months." More rustling. "Small amounts. Nothing that would trigger federal attention. But consistent. Regular. Like clockwork."
I set the glass down.
Move to the window.
The gardens stretch out below. Drake is still there, working the rose bushes. Mrs. Pavlov has joined him, gesturing at something with her hands.
"How certain are we?"
"Very." Igor's confidence is absolute. "I have bank statements. Wire transfers. Invoices that don't match inventory. The whole operation is sloppy. Amateur hour. Like they thought no one would bother looking."
"And James?"
"He knows." A beat. "His signature is on half the documents."
Of course it is.
The entitled little shit who thought he could marry Vittoria.
He's dirty.
His whole family is dirty.
And they're working with the Corellis.
The same family whose name keeps appearing in my investigation. The same family someone is using as misdirection. The same family who might or might not be involved in flooding my territory with counterfeit drugs.
"How deep does this go?" I ask.
"Still digging." Keys click on Igor's end. "But if I had to guess? The father started it. Needed cash flow. The luxury car market took a hit during the pandemic. Sales dropped. Overhead stayed the same. He got desperate."
"And the Corellis offered a solution."
"They always do." Igor's tone is dry. "Wash our money. We'll pay you a percentage. Everyone wins."
Except they don't.
Because now Rogers Senior has tied his legitimate business to organized crime. Now he's vulnerable. Exposed. One audit away from federal prison.
And his son knows.
James knows his father is dirty. Knows the family business is built on fraud. Knows they need an alliance with a powerful family to protect them if everything falls apart.
That's why he wanted Vittoria.
"He's becoming a problem," I say.
"Agreed." Igor doesn't hesitate. "What do you want to do?"
I turn from the window.
Walk back to the bar cart. Pour another drink.
"Keep watching them." I swirl the vodka.
"And then?"
"Then we deal with it." I drink. "After the gala tomorrow night."
"You're sure you want to wait?"
"The gala is important." I set the empty glass down. "We're announcing the engagement. Showing strength. Proving the Baganovs are stable despite my father's death. I won't let Rogers distract me from that."
"He might make a move."
"He won't." I'm certain. "He's too arrogant. Too convinced he still has a chance. He'll wait. Try to undermine me. Try to convince the Sartoris I'm not worthy of their princess."
"And if he does so?"
"Then we bury him." Simple. Clean. Final. "Him and his father both."