Chapter 13
KAZIMIR
"You look like a corpse," Stepan says from the chair behind me. He sits smugly smirking at my being poked and prodded for this damn tuxedo I don't even want to wear. I'm not a part of the wedding party. I'll just be present to celebrate, but Mila insists we all match.
"I look fine," I tell him, holding still while the tailor works the chalk along my sleeve. Weddings are a big deal for the Kuzin crew, so I'm holding my tongue, but I'd much prefer a relaxed look.
"You don't. You look like a dead man somebody propped up in a suit.
" He tilts his head and studies me in the mirror.
"And your neck's too thick for that collar.
It looks like it's choking you." He's starting to get on my nerves, though I know he's just pushing my buttons on purpose. It's sort of the relationship we have.
"I think he looks fine," Timur offers from across the room, not looking up from his phone. He's already been fitted for his tux, and as Roman's best man, he is only trying to keep the peace.
"You think everyone looks great," Stepan says, waving him off. "You have no standards."
"I have excellent standards," Timur says, lifting his eyes. He scowls and then flicks a knowing glance at me before he says to Stepan, "I'm choosing not to waste them arguing with you."
Roman is at the mirror adjusting his jacket, turning from side to side, pulling at the lapels. He looks good and he knows it, which is probably why he hasn't weighed in on Stepan's complaints. Mila picked the color and Roman kowtows like a worshiper. He's whipped.
"So, Stepan," I say, holding still while the tailor puts some pins in the cuff of my sleeve, "are you bringing your future wife to this thing or is she still technically engaged to someone else?"
"I'm working on it," Stepan says, scowling. "Mind your business."
I chuckle at my jab back at him because it annoys him and pisses him off. Roman set me up with a task to keep an eye on things while he's gone and make sure they keep running. My cousin's job will be a lot harder—stopping a marriage alliance that might cripple us if we're not careful.
Timur chuckles darkly and looks up at Roman who's still admiring himself.
Then he turns to Stepan and asks, "In sincerity, what's the play there?
" His eyes narrow on Stepan, but I don't catch the return expression.
The tailor has me face the opposite way to check the fit on my shoulders. But I hear what Stepan says.
"I said, I'm working on it. The best way to stop the alliance is to stop the wedding.
I'm just formulating a plan." Then without skipping a beat, he turns it back on me like I'm his verbal punching bag.
"What about your hot date, Kaz?" Stepan asks, happy to redirect. "You bringing Zora to the wedding?"
"I am," I say, rolling my shoulder as the tailor adjusts the seam.
"Has she met Roman yet?" Stepan asks.
"She'll meet everyone at the wedding," I tell him. "That's the plan."
"Bold move," Timur says. "Introducing a woman to this family all at once. That's trial by fire. Will she survive?" Timur's question brings a round of laughter, even from Roman who walks over to where I'm standing to look at the tux I'm wearing.
"She can handle it," I tell them, refusing to let their annoying banter ruin my mood.
"Famous last words," Stepan mutters, and I'd throw something at him if the tailor didn't have so many needles sticking in every seam of this jacket.
When Roman slides his jacket off and drapes it over a chair, the banter dies a natural death. More serious than us all, we know when he's had enough and no one wants to piss him off on a day like today.
"The American lands on that Thursday," he says, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. "Kazimir, he's yours from the moment he steps off the plane."
"I've already started planning the welcome," I tell him, thankful that the tailor seems almost finished. Either I have the most unlikely body shape or we started a few sizes too large. This is taking forever.
"Good. Because this man has his name on every major card in the northeastern United States and he's coming here because I gave him my word that we'd match what he's used to.
Airport pickup, training facility tour, introduction to Rostik and the roster…
We have bettors staking their wagers already and we're more than two weeks out still.
" I can hear by the tone of his voice that he's reminding me how much he is depending on me.
"It'll run clean," I say, wanting to get him off my back. I have never failed to do my job well before. That fluke with the bad bet intel wasn't my doing. Someone was fucking with me. But my eyes are wide open now, and I'm more than capable of doing this on my own.
"This fighter's our door into the international market. If we land him, every promoter between here and London takes our calls… Miss a step and the door slams shut."
"I hear you, Ro." I lower my arms as the tailor steps back. "I'll get it right." I don't know how many times I have to tell these people they can trust me. One tiny slip that isn't even my fault and their confidence seems shaken. It's frustrating, and I need space.
I step off the platform and peel the pinned suit jacket off, handing it to the tailor, then say, "Give me a minute," and walk out into the hallway. My phone has rung several times and I've been ignoring it, so I take a moment to pull it out and see who's calling only to see it's Gregor.
"Do you know how furious I am?" the man says before I've finished saying hello. "I trusted your family for eight years, Kazimir—eight years. And you fed me garbage and cost me a fortune."
"I didn't send you that text, Gregor," I say, leaning against the wall. "I've told you this. My tech team went through my phone and there's no record of any outgoing message to you. Someone hacked me or something. I can't tell you what happened."
"Then explain this." My phone vibrates with an incoming message and I pull it away from my ear.
He's sent me the screenshot—a text conversation between his number and mine.
It's probably the one Roman was speaking about and since Roman brushed him off, he's coming at me now.
I saw it when Ro showed me. I don't need to see it again. It's a fake somehow.
"I'm looking at it," I say, bringing the phone back to my ear.
"You need to make this right. I lost a lot of money and your family will fix this or I'll tell every bettor I know to avoid your ring.
" I'm sure he's already threatened this to Roman too, who probably talked him down.
There really isn't any way to explain the unexplainable, but in order to keep our bettors happy, we have to go out of our way to make it right.
I just don't know what that looks like yet.
"Give me time to figure this out," I say. "I'll make this right." The promise isn't empty. I do want to make it right because I know that’s good business. What that looks like, however, is another story.
"You're running out of time. My partners want answers and if they don't get them from you, they'll get them from someone else, and you won't enjoy that conversation." He hangs up.
When the line goes dead, I find myself more annoyed than I was before I came out here to have my little break.
Between Roman's reminders, Stepan's joking, and the hostility Gregor threw at me, I'm ready to hit the mats and spar to blow off some steam.
I stomp back into the fitting room and Stepan is on the platform now, speaking to the tailor.
Roman is absent, maybe in the toilets or out making his own calls. But Timur still sits in the same spot scrolling his phone. I slump into the chair beside him and shove my phone into my pocket, dragging a hand over my face to clear my grumpy expression.
"Don't let him get to you, Kaz. He just wants to make sure you can do a good job. It's his baby, you know?" Timur bumps my shoulder with his and I know he's speaking of Roman, not Stepan's jests or Gregor's curses.
"Yeah, I get it. I'm sure he'll see all his worry is for no reason when he gets back and everything is fine.
" I sigh then continue, "Did you ever figure out how that text got spoofed or where it came from?
" I glance over at his screen which has the privacy mode on so I can't really see what he's doing.
Probably working, not the scrolling I assumed.
He locks it and the screen goes dark as he looks up at me.
"They used some sophisticated technology or something.
Best I can tell, they hacked your phone temporarily somehow?
Or spoofed the number—though that doesn't explain how they knew what Gregor said to you.
Maybe some sophisticated cloning software, but even then there would be fingerprints, and I can't find any. "
The mumbo jumbo is over my head. I’m a fighter, not a tech wizard, and Timur may as well be speaking Greek. But if he says there's no trace, I believe him.
"So, what now?" I ask, scowling.
"Give it a few days, it'll work itself out. If not, we'll get you a new phone and put more security into it." Timur sits up straighter as Roman walks back in, glowering. He jerks his chin upward, beckoning Timur over to him. I lean my head back against the wall and shut my eyes.
I don't know who is trying to make me look bad, but I don't like it. And I don't know why I was the one targeted. Roman would make way more sense. No one knows I'm going to be in charge while he's away except Zora. Besides, she'd have no reason to tell my bettors bad information.
It's sort of baffling.
Who knows why I'm being singled out, but if it doesn't stop, I'm gonna bust someone's head. I have worked way too hard on restoring my reputation to let someone ruin it with stupid pranks. If it wouldn’t have really hurt close associates and allies, I'd have thought Stepan immature enough to do something like this, but he knows better.
I'll figure it out eventually, and when I do, heads will roll.