Chapter 7
EVGENY
“Fuck you, Vasya.”
Dmitri’s growl doesn’t deter Vasya, it only spurs him on.
“Aren’t you ready for hibernation yet?” Vasya shoots back, reaching for a hunk of Dmitri’s dark bread. He takes a bite before the big man can swat it away.
“Enough,” I snap.
Both men settle at my one-word warning, and the withered old man beside them chuckles. The truce doesn’t last and soon they’re back at each other’s throats. Their usual bickering blends into the restaurant’s hum as I sink back into my thoughts.
Another Kucherov man was found dead this morning, killed execution-style. My computer at the Kucher Enterprises office paid the ultimate price for my rage when I found out. Now my anger has dulled to a pulsing ember, still glowing and ready to explode when I need it.
I’m all but certain the culprit is Tsepov and his crew. The killings are a clear message to us. To me. I’m furious that someone is challenging us.
More than that, I’m angry for my men. They are mine, and their deaths are personal to the Bratva and to me.
And yet one woman has taken over my thoughts.
I can’t get the sway of her hips out of my mind, or the way her tongue slides over her bottom lip when she’s thinking or anxious, or how she stares at me with equal parts fear and defiance.
Even now I have to shift in my seat, the bulge in my pants turning uncomfortable at the mere thought of her.
“You are a troublemaker, Dmitri.”
The old man’s grumble pulls me out of my thoughts. His voice is sandpaper rough, and he wheezes when he finishes. I remember when his voice was as strong as his accent, his body stronger. But age has taken both, and his health with them.
“Shouldn’t you be home resting, Ivan?” I ask, concern tightening my voice. “You’re just back from the hospital.”
“Bah,” Ivan says, then holds his hand out to Dmitri. “Put yourself to good use. Help me to the kitchen. I wish to speak with Maria.”
Dmitri swallows his mouthful and does as the elder asks, helping the old man to his feet. Vasya scoots into Dmitri’s seat as the two make their slow way to the kitchen.
“So,” Vasya says, picking up one of the unused spoons on the table to dig into the rest of Dmitri’s borscht. “Eva is enchanting. Tell me more about her. Where did you find her?”
It’s an odd subject, even for Vasya, and for some bizarre reason it annoys me.
“Why?”
“As I said, she’s enchanting.” He shrugs as he slathers a thick slice of brown bread with butter. “Are you threatening her family to keep her with a beast like you?”
That repeated word, enchanting, ruffles me further.
“Stay away from her, Vasya,” I warn, the growl back in my voice. “She’s working for me and nothing more.”
“And how long will that be? What happens when you’re done with her?”
I can’t tell if Vasya’s interest is harmless curiosity or if there is something more to his questions. The odd brightness, the earnestness in his eyes, puzzles me.
Either way, Eva is not his for the taking.
She’s mine.
The thought forces its way into my head, and for a moment it’s all I can think about. I have to shake my head to banish it and the unwelcome feelings that come with it.
“Stay away from her, Vasya.” Another warning, my growl punctuated with a glare. “She is here to do one job and one job only. After that, she’s dispensable, a security risk we cannot afford.”
I say the words, but I realize the threat behind them isn’t there. And the implications of my reluctance to do what has to be done bother me.
Something flashes in the blue eyes locked on mine, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. Instead, Vasya shakes his head. “Do you think she knows she’ll never make it home? One way or the other?”
“It’s not my job to care,” I snap, done with this line of questioning. “My job is to keep the Bratva safe, which means taking care of threats when I must. You know that. You know what happens to her once she has lived out her usefulness.”
Vasya knows. He’s often the one who ties up loose ends for me. I may be the Kucherov Demon, but the man across the table from me can be the devil incarnate when he puts his mind to it.
“Why this woman? Why now?” His blue eyes drop to the bread for a moment, and he picks at the crust before his gaze flicks back up to me. “We know what it is to lose a parent, you and I, do we not?”
“We are far from the only ones,” I scoff.
“She has kids relying on her, brother.” Vasya drops his voice and leans further across the table, his eyes oddly intent again.
“We are like brothers, are we not, Ev? Your father took me in after my parents were killed. We grew up together. You taught me English when all I knew was Russian. We saved each other from boyhood scuffles and got into trouble together, and your dad beat our asses together. Even before you became pakhan, I was doing your dirty work so you could hide your scars in the shadows. Can you do this one favor for me? Go easy on the girl, she’s scared out of her mind. ”
I watch Vasya for a long moment, wondering what the hell brought this on. Is he bargaining for Eva? Does he have feelings for her?
“She made her bed.” The practiced answer leaves my lips as I lean back again and close my eyes, dismissing the subject.
But Vasya won’t let it go. “I’m pretty sure that’s what she’s doing, yeah?” he says. “She’s locked up in your palace, surrounded by armed guards, and separated from her family who don’t even know if she’s safe…”
“I had the tech team call them with her voice telling them she’s safe and she’ll get in touch when she can.” I cut him off. We didn’t want her family to call the police and cause problems. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for her sob story, Vasya. Don’t fall for her tricks.”
“Okay, so maybe they think she’s safe, but she’s still locked up tight.”
My annoyance gets the best of me, and I glare at my oldest friend. “I gave her the run of the house. What more does she need?”
“Maybe you can stop growling at her? Stop trying to scare her?”
“She should be scared,” Dmitri mutters from my other side as he returns to the table. I answer with a tight nod of agreement.
“Why are you defending her? I’ve never seen you take interest in anyone like this.”
Vasya shrugs as if waving off the implications of my question.
“I know you were lurking in the shadows listening to us. You heard her. She did it to save her family, not because she was trying to take you down. Maybe that deserves a little bit of leniency, if not respect. You and I both know what it’s like to lose a parent and have all those expectations on your shoulders, people who are relying on you.
You do what you have to. We go after bad guys, Ev. She’s not one of them.”
Vasya’s blue eyes are as intense as I’ve ever seen them, and my hackles rise again in response to something in their depths.
I don’t have a moment to figure it out. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the door open, letting light into the restaurant’s dim interior. Vasya’s gaze flicks to the door, and he hisses. He and I are both on our feet the next moment.
The sound in the room, every clatter and whisper, grinds to a halt, and all eyes are on the men who have entered.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to warn you, Evgeny Kucherov, you and your Bratva. We are coming for you.”
“What makes you think you can take us down? You and your Bratva are smaller and weaker.”
“Unlike you, Evgeny, I am a true vor. I made myself who I am in prison in Russia. I earned the three cathedral steeples tattooed on my chest. I fought and killed my way through the ranks, always keeping to the code. You don’t know what it is to be a true vor.”
“Evgeny was born with the stars on his shoulders, unlike you,” Vasya spits. “He’s the one who’s expanded the Kucherov Bratva, while all you do is petty theft and trafficking. You don’t know who you’re dealing with, Tsepov.”
“You came with your warning, and now I’m giving you one of my own. Do not take on the Kucherov Bratva, or you will be in for a world of hurt. I won’t stop with you, either. I’ll take the entire Sokolinaya Bratva down before I’m done.”
I expect fear, or at least false bravado, since this man and his Bratva have never taken on the likes of us before. Instead, a slow grin spreads across his face.
“That’s what you think, Evgeny. But I’d watch your back because you never know who’s coming for it.” Tsepov turns on his heel, snapping the order to leave before the surrounding men can make good on my threat.
“Do we just let them leave?” Dmitri murmurs. His hand is on the gun hidden beneath his leather jacket.
“Yes.”
I sit, and after a moment’s pause, so do Dmitri and Vasya. The big man doesn’t even mention that Vasya finished his meal.
I sound calm and collected, but inside my blood runs molten. Tsepov knew what he was doing coming here, and his message was pointed.
“Since when does Tsepov have the fucking balls to do something like this? To come in here and threaten you?”
“Let him do what he thinks he can. We will show him soon enough that he can’t.”
Ivan returns to the table with the restaurant owner’s help, and the dining room slowly returns to life as we finish our food.
I signal Dmitri to bring the car around when Ivan lays a gnarled hand on mine. His skin is dry and paper-thin, and his veins show through it.
“Your father would not have allowed Tsepov to leave like that,” Ivan tells me, his voice low. “You could have ended it.”
“There are too many people in the restaurant. Today is not the day for a bloodbath. It will be handled, Ivan,” I promise, downing the last of my espresso before I stand. “I will not let our Bratva fall, just as I promised. Just as my father promised.”
“You’ll keep that in mind, I hope.” The old man narrows his eyes up at me as though even my height offends him at this moment.
“Always, Ivan.”
Ivan huffs again, and Dmitri takes a last bite of pastry, dabbing at his mouth as he rises to follow me.
“The old man was in a fine mood this morning.” My second-in-command grins as we step into the bright light, eyes adjusting after the restaurant’s gloom. “He must be feeling better now that he’s out of the hospital.”
“I’m convinced he’ll outlive us all,” I reply, climbing into the black SUV as my driver holds the door open.
Dmitri follows me in. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”
I wait until the car is moving before I talk again. “I want a full assault on Tsepov.”
Dmitri chokes as he swallows. “A full assault on Tsepov?” he asks between coughs.
“On his operations, on himself, whatever he’s into, I want to know. A turf war is one thing, but killing our men is another.”
“Is this where that woman comes in? The hacker?”
“I want everything on him, and I want a way to take him down. She will help me find it.”
Dmitri eyes me for another moment before returning his attention forward. “Okay, boss.”
“Tsepov started this, and I’m going to end it.”
From the way his shoulders tense, Dmitri knows that’s a promise, not just a threat. But if Andrei Tsepov and his Sokolinaya Bratva are trying to provoke the Kucherov Demon, they’re going to regret ever being born.