Chapter 18
Kazimir
There was indeed something quite unique about being dead.
Not only did I not need to look over my shoulder nearly as much as when I was the Pakhan’s firstborn son, but since I’d changed in the three brutal years, I’d yet to be recognized.
Part of the reason of course was that Kirill had procured me a fake passport and other identification. That would allow me to roam freely throughout Europe for a couple of weeks if I so wanted.
Not that I’d need that much time to settle scores.
At least I’d have the freedom to capture the essence of the players that could be of threat to the Chertov Empire.
With Kirill’s ‘vacation’ perfectly timed, he would be by my side until we both returned to Moscow where I would regain my position as Pakhan.
The leadership position was something Mikhail had never wanted, although from what I’d learned in the three days since being freed he was doing well, fully recovered from the anxiousness during the initial stages of my untimely death.
Where he’d been nothing but a reluctant soldier in my father’s army, he’d earned himself the position of Sovietnik or my councilor, which would suit his personality and his strengths perfectly. As my advisor, he could remain active while pursuing other avenues in his life.
With Stash taking the role of handling finances, he was perfectly placed as the Kassir, our Treasurer.
In my mind, Kirill’s place as the Brigadier, with all soldiers reporting under him, was the most important position.
As security advisor, he was worth every penny of the raise he’d receive once I was back in power.
From what little we’d heard about the attack on the prison, and the powers that be inside Russia had full control over all news sources, Kirill’s advance planning had paid off.
Dozens of guards and prisoners had been killed both during and in the aftermath of my prison break.
Several buildings had burned to the ground, at least two hundred other prisoners having escaped.
That would keep anyone from realizing the true intentions of the explosive event.
It hadn’t taken long after getting washed and donning a suit that my mind had returned to the necessity of running a billion-dollar empire. That would still take decent planning and my reintroduction into society. It wasn’t often a dead man regained control of such a large empire.
Kirill had spent hours filling me in on what he knew, including everything he’d heard on the streets of both Moscow and Italy.
What I’d learned had done little more than amuse the hell out of me.
As expected, several factions had taken credit for eliminating the devil.
The heavy boasting always meant the same thing—a struggle for territory using whatever method available.
Of course my death meant the Chertov regime had been weakened, even with the decent job Mikhail had been doing.
He’d never been destined to take the helm. Neither had Stash.
The fact my father’s empire was still standing without significant damage was a miracle in itself.
And had already presented another full list of questions.
Even smaller Bratva organizations that initially would never have dared cross us were itching to do so now.
That’s what weakness did, birthing a new crop of men with bloated testicles and limited intelligence.
While I’d love to talk with Dimitri and learn what he knew regarding the various factions in Europe, I’d decided to wait until I had a better handle on what we were dealing with.
Not that I didn’t trust Dimitri, but someone had betrayed me. He had a lot to gain himself if the regime began to spiral. He could swoop in as a savior.
However, to eliminate them as a threat would require my reappearance. But in a way I determined. As soon as the shit hit the fan, we’d need to watch more than just our backs.
Tick. Tock.
It felt as if I was going up against a ticking timebomb.
Thankfully, Kirill had been instrumental in keeping the family regime together, Mikhail relying on his expertise and connections built over the years.
In doing so, he’d also kept his ear to the ground, which was the reason once the rumor about the man with the eight-pointed star had surfaced, he’d investigated without raising any red flags.
I was on my way to talk with the very man who’d gone out of his way to discover the truth.
Igor Rasputin was vory v zakone, his position within the old establishment considered elite.
He came from a time when skirmishes between different Bratva organizations were handled by a council of men and a bloody single battle until the death.
My father had taken me to one in my life, the seedy club providing any type of proclivity money could buy. The fights were legendary, often called the Bitva Volkov. The Fight of the Wolves.
What happened inside the ring was never interfered with and anything could be used to get the job done. Pipes. Brass knuckles. Sticks. Blades.
I’d been sixteen years old, my father considering taking in an event at the one of several underground clubs a rite of passage.
I’d even rooted for the man who’d lost. He’d been younger, more virulent, and in excellent physical shape.
Seeing him lose had shocked me given his opponent had been at least thirty years older.
The lesson learned had been extremely valuable. Up until then, I’d been a cocky son of a bitch. Afterwards? Let’s just say less cocky, understanding that my elders deserved respect if not admiration.
Which was why I didn’t go into a similar Parisian bar without paying homage to the man who’d saved my life.
Kirill noticed me as soon as I climbed from the SUV, giving me a hard look. “I was worried you’d decided not to come.”
“I had business to take care of.”
“And how is she?” His grin had yet to annoy me. It would soon enough.
“Older. I need you to take some time finding out everything you can about Rafaela Marichetti. She had no guards.”
He chuckled in a way that allowed me to know he was concerned about my itinerary. “Are you taking her home with us?”
The question had certainly been on my mind. “I don’t know yet.”
“I don’t think I need to remind you that you should be very careful how you handle your return. She might not be who you remember.”
He’d been thoughtful in his attempt at sharing his concern, fearful I would blame Mikhail or even Stash. “Neither one of us are, Kirill.”
“You care about her.”
“I care about no one.”
“I know you too well, Kaz.”
Right now, I didn’t need to be reminded of my foibles by anyone. “I plan on being very careful, which is why we’re here. That ruthless man saved me for a reason.” And not just because of his friendship with my grandfather.
“I keep going back to the thought that someone wanted you to suffer while keeping you alive.”
“Of that I have no doubt. Death is much easier. And cleaner.”
“Yes, you’re right. Yet death would mean your demise wasn’t personal.” He scanned the street. “There are lots of rumblings on the streets of Moscow.”
“There always are. I’m more concerned about what’s being said in Italy.”
“When are we leaving for Sicily?” Kirill asked while keeping his voice low.
“In a couple days when I’ve finished business here.”
My second in command huffed in a way that allowed me to know he had something on his mind.
I waited until we’d made our way to the exterior of the location we were visiting. “Is there something you feel the need to tell me?”
We might be friends and I was extremely grateful for him risking his life to extract me, but that didn’t mean he could dishonor my family.
He took a deep breath, glancing in the opposite direction. “What you’ve endured the last three years was very personal. That’s all I’m saying. I would hate for you to be misled by anyone.”
Misled. He was right to tiptoe around the words he used. I was a ticking timebomb, but mostly in my need for a taste of revenge.
“Understood. Trust is earned, my friend.”
“And I mean no disrespect, but the woman could be of use. Plus, you already have a connection.”
Now I gritted my teeth. “Remember your place, Kirill. At this point, I’m not the same man I was. I’d keep that in mind if I were you.”
“Yes, Pakhan.” He noticed the box of Cuban cigars and bottle of Beluga Epicure Russian Vodka. “Wow. Do I need to ask how you managed to achieve making such purchases?”
“I still have connections.”
“You need to be careful, Kaz. That’s the last thing I’ll say.”
No, it wouldn’t be, but in truth, I didn’t pay him to be careful.
“I’m always careful. Where is he?”
Kirill took a deep breath. “Officiating a fight.”
He’d yet to be indoctrinated into the world. “You’ll enjoy this.” In the time I’d been imprisoned, several additional Bratva syndicates had sprung up through Europe and even in the United States.
Any of them could be considered a danger to our regime.
We moved to the club’s actual entrance where two bouncers were successfully preventing anyone from walking in without an invitation.
“Here to see Igor,” I told them while looking past both to where the state-of-the-art boxing ring had been set up.
“And you are?”
“Kazimir Chertov.” Here I had no issue using my real name.
While both men were staring at us, I was already enjoying the fight. However, given the asshole twitched and made the mistake of reaching for a weapon, I responded by almost snapping his wrist. His howl of pain drew some attention from others, but not enough to interrupt Igor’s evening.
“I suggest you let your boss know I’m here. I’m not leaving.” I glared him in the eye, waiting a few additional seconds before releasing my hold.
He gasped for air, snarling as he did, but jerked around and headed directly for the powerful older man.
I’d met him once at the fight, his words of wisdom competing with my father’s and very simple and logical. Watch your back. And I’d taken his advice.