14. Kirill
Kirill
Isit in a line of cars in front of Violet’s school, my phone pressed to my ear. Voices murmur in clipped, efficient Russian, detailing shipments.
“Move the delivery to Thursday.” My mind can’t focus on much else right now. “If there’s a problem, you fix it before it becomes my problem.”
I barely register the quick, obedient agreement on the other end. My attention drifts to the double doors at the top of six cement steps. Moments later, children pour out of the expensive private school in a rush of color and sounds. Their bright coats punctuate the muted gray day.
Their high-pitched laughter breaks through my cold heart and reminds me what’s important.
When I see my daughter, I get out of the car.
Violet saunters out and down the steps with a confidence she carries everywhere. Her dark hair is tied back with her favorite ribbon, put there by either Ksenia or Nadia this morning. Not me. I tried once and got the Violet Look of Death for not doing it correctly.
She scans the line of cars with a restrained expression of excitement. When her gaze finds mine, her entire face lights up in a way that hits me square in the chest. I don’t deserve how this child loves me. Worships me. Trusts me.
By the time she reaches the car, I’m holding the door open for her like a chauffeur. “Your chariot, fair princess.”
“Hi, Daddy,” she says with glee, as if seeing me is a small celebration.
She doesn’t wait for assistance, just climbs in with practiced ease.
I slide in beside her and put my arm around her. “How was school, solnyshko?”
“We painted today.” She loves painting days. “They weren’t dry. I can show you tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait to see them.” I breathe her in, pressing a kiss to her temple.
I wonder how long I can keep her this happy over the littlest things. One day she might be in charge of my Bratva and men will want to kill her. I shiver that thought away.
“Can I see Mommy today?” Her tiny fingers curl into the fabric of my coat.
The question builds an ache in my chest. Crap, why did I say something? Now she’ll ask me every day, and I’ll have to tell her no. That will break my heart, but Sandrine isn’t ready.
I smooth a hand over my daughter’s hair, buying myself a few seconds to steady my voice and keep from choking up. “Not yet, solnyshko. She needs a little more time.”
Her lips purse in not quite a pout. She’s calculating and weighing whether to accept that answer or challenge it. My throat tightens at the idea of being forceful with her.
Even for her age, Violet understands who I am.
That I’m powerful. She’s seen more than I ever wanted her to see, since I often conduct Bratva business in my home, just as my father did.
Our house is symbolic of our power. What she’s seen will make her strong when she understands who she is.
Right now, her world revolves around lollipops and cartoons.
Finally, she exhales and snuggles closer. “Okay, Daddy.” And she knows when I say no, it’s for a reason.
I tap her nose lightly. “Tell me more about your day.”
And just like that, she launches into a story about a boy who wouldn’t share his paints, but she made him give her the purple paint because he was being ridiculous, about how her teacher said her painting was very advanced.
It figures that she loves to paint and has talent like her mother.
Her words tumble over each other in a rhythm that makes me smile.
I just listen and enjoy being pulled into her simple, innocent world for the length of the drive home. My peace shatters, however, the moment we turn onto my street.
Three black SUVs are double-parked in front of my house, their presence an unmistakable warning. Another form of power has descended upon Gold Coast.
My arm tightens instinctively around Violet, pulling her closer against my side. My gaze sharpens at the formation of seven men standing next to one SUV in the middle. It reeks of arrogance to bring all this protection.
Greek arrogance.
“Ares Zervas,” I grumble under my breath, and realize he’s also my brother-in-law.
Fuck…
The timing is almost admirable. Was he airlifted from his fucking yacht? But this is not an attack. It’s a statement. To show up with all seven of his guards. Linebackers code-named with the seven deadly sins.
I lean forward slightly and whisper to the driver, “No matter what, you ignore those men. Pull in behind the house, then you take my daughter inside,” I further instruct, my voice low and absolute. “Straight to her bedroom. No detours.”
Violet looks up at me immediately. “What’s happening, Daddy?”
I cup her cheek, forcing my voice to be calm and reassuring. “Someone has come to see me. Someone I wasn’t expecting. Nadia will bring your snack to your bedroom.”
That earns me a small frown. “She doesn’t pick the good snacks.”
I huff a short laugh, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “Sometimes we must eat the bad snacks. Now, go with Leo.”
She hesitates for half a second, but then nods. “Okay, Daddy.”
Violet climbs out when the door opens. Taking Leo’s hand, she disappears into the house with my driver, escorted by the guards who’d gathered in the rear courtyard.
Drago strides from the door to my business office and meets me by the car.
My fury about to go nuclear, I utter, “A warning that the Greek Mafia was at my doorstep would have been nice.”
“They just pulled up, Pakhan. I had to verify the plates.”
“Follow me.” Head held high and a hand in my coat around a 9mm, I strut down the driveway to the street.
I straighten as the door to the guarded SUV opens.
Ares Zervas steps out first, composed as always, his presence a controlled violence wrapped in an expensive suit.
Then he turns and helps his wife from the SUV.
Lourdes sees me and lunges toward me with a fractured expression, dangerously close to panic.
My men close in immediately, weapons drawn, the air tightening with tension.
“Where is she?” Lourdes demands, her voice breaking as she struggles against the arms trying to restrain her. “Where is my sister?”
“Remove your hands from my wife if you want to keep them,” Ares barks and restrains her himself.
It’s like he had no idea she’d lunge for me.
“Let her go,” I snap at my men. “But we are not doing this outside. Get these SUVs off my street.”
Ares’s eyes narrow, adjusting to my apparent rage. This is my city, and he knows I deserve respect. After a beat, he nods and motions for his men to leave.
“We need answers, Volkov.”
“You shall get what I am willing to give you, Zervas.” I spin around and give him my back, so he must follow me.
He guides his wife up my driveway, past the tall gate, an arm firmly around her waist. It takes effort to contain Lourdes from scratching my eyes out.
Drago opens the door to the visitor’s corridor.
“My office is on the left,” I say and motion for Drago to take up the rear so Lourdes doesn’t break away from her husband and start screaming for Sandrine.
It’s a quiet march down the hall, and when we reach my office, I point to the chairs. “Sit down, please.”
After a look between Ares and Lourdes, they sit in the heavily upholstered wing chairs that face my desk.
Ksenia comes in and stands behind me. “Violet is in her room,” she whispers. “I posted an extra guard in the residential hallway.”
Nodding, I face Ares. “I don’t think you’ve met my sister, Zervas. This is Ksenia.”
She reaches out to shake his hand. “Pleased to meet the God of War.”
Face even, Ares stands. “Pleasure is mine. Drago, your wife is as beautiful as I’ve heard. This is my wife, Lourdes. Sandrine is her sister. She deserves—’
“You will see her, Lourdes,” I say, holding up my hand and inwardly smirking because the Greek God hates to be interrupted. “As soon as I tell you my side of this story.”
“You think you have a story that gives you permission to take a woman under my protection?” Ares barks, waving a finger at me.
“I now know what I didn’t know months ago in New York, Zervas. What I didn’t know twenty-four hours ago. Details you failed to tell me about Sandrine’s condition. You knew…” My jaw tightens, each word strained through clenched teeth. “You knew what happened to her, and you said nothing.”
Ares leans back, calculating his deceit and how to play his next move.
“I saw the video. Saw the ring. But that was five years ago. I was protecting a fragile woman who’d been through an ordeal.
We both know this world, Kirill. She is not up to becoming your wife.
To being the queen of your brotherhood.”
I smile at the detail he missed. “You’re too late. You saw my proposal. You didn’t see that we were already married.”
Lourdes clutches her chest. “No. No, no. Please, I need to see her.”
I look at the woman who stood between me and Sandrine for years with disdain. Then I see someone else. The sister who sat at Sandrine’s bedside after a terrible accident while she rebuilt a life. Because I wasn’t there.
I also see Violet’s aunt. My daughter has my hair, but she has her mother’s eyes. Lourdes’s eyes.
“You will see your sister,” I tell her again, my tone firm but not unkind. “Today. But you are in my house. You follow my rules. I need to speak to your husband. Alone.”
“Wait outside, my love,” he tells her gently, murmuring something else low, something not meant for my ears.
“Come with me, Mrs. Zervas.” Ksenia walks to the door.
After a long, strained moment, Lourdes nods and leaves with my sister, closing the office door behind her. The tension in the room breaks a little the moment she’s gone.
“Their cousin,” I say to Ares before he can start yelling at me. “Elodie.”
His expression sharpens instantly. “What about her?”
“Nico Scava has her.” I twist my pen. “She was with Sandrine when I grabbed her. I let Elodie go, but Scava stormed my car. He took Elodie. Carried her off.”
The curse that escapes Ares’s mouth is low and vicious before he reins in his temper. “We haven’t heard from her,” he admits.
“Sandrine’s been asking about her,” I reply flatly. “I put a call into Scava. But he hasn’t responded.”
“I’ll do the same. He can’t fight us both.”
Both. Jesus fucking Christ, I’m aligned with the goddamn Greek Mafia.
After the moment I give him to get under control, I lean forward at my desk.
“I saw Sandrine’s medical records,” I say, my voice steadier now. “I know about the amnesia.”
“She thinks her name is Jessica,” Ares says, fury kicking back to the surface. “She’s been on a therapy plan for months to reintroduce—”
“Too late.” I stir.
“You told her she’s not Jessica Parker?”
“Again, had I been briefed, had I been fucking warned, I would have considered all of this. I saw my wife who’d been missing. I took what was mine. When she started saying she didn’t know me and that her name was Jessica, I thought it was a trick.”
“How did she take it?” Ares grouses and runs a hand through his hair.
“She didn’t take it well at all, you fucker,” I bark, the ancient need to protect Sandrine rising in me. “She also knows you and your wife knew she belonged to me and didn’t tell her.”
Ares grips his chair. He and Lourdes rolled the dice and lost. “It doesn’t change that she is not up to being your wife. Let her go. I will see to her safety and her care. She won’t demand any kind of settlement.”
“I don’t want a divorce,” I scoff. “And I will take care of her. Because she’s my wife.”
“If that’s where this conversation is going, her sister needs to be part of this.” Ares stands up. “Lourdes has been in charge of her care for months.” He leaves and brings her back into the office, whispering the updates.
Lourdes leans on my desk and sniffs, “Please, Mr. Volkov. Let me take her back to Arizona. Maybe in a few months—”
“No. I can’t let you take her away from me.”
“Why?” she chokes out.
I should flat-out tell these two about Violet. Drop the bomb. Honestly, I’m not sure the woman can handle the blow. But I’ll give her the peace she needs. The peace I was denied.
And once they meet the real reason why I can’t let Sandrine go, everything will change forever.