31. Vasiliy
“What do you mean, I can’t speak with her?” I snap, crushing the phone against my ear.
The courtyard is especially busy this morning beneath the constant bootsteps of Siderov’s soldiers. I don’t know where they’re all headed today, but I have plenty of ideas. Nothing moves business along quite as fast as an armed grunt showing up at your door.
Walking to a sequestered alcove, I tuck my back against the side of the stone mansion and listen carefully.
“I’m sorry. The order is out of my hands.”
I laugh humorlessly. I hope he doesn’t have any dependents, because they’re all about to get a whole lot more dependent. “You work for me. If I want to talk to my sister, I’ll talk to my sister.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s not possible. I don’t—”
“Put someone else on the phone before I buy a very expensive plane ticket just to bury you in person.” My foot toes the grass, desperate to kick something for the hell of it.
Feedback crackles through the speaker a few seconds before a different voice comes through, this one far more welcome.
“Vasiliy, you must stop calling this week,” a gravelly-voiced woman chides over the phone.
“Lena, what’s going on? Is she okay?”
“She is fine,” she says, calming some of the rising panic.
I hired Lena years ago after firing a long line of nannies, each one more incompetent than the last. I needed someone sturdy enough to stand up to my mother’s manipulation attempts when she deigned to float back into town, but soft enough to bring my sister into their heart and protect her with their last breath.
The bossy woman in her sixties fit the bill.
“But you are not,” she continues. “I don’t know what you did this time, boy, but it has your uncle on edge. His soldiers came by to warn us not to communicate with you right now, and I’m unwilling to risk Anya’s safety for your peace-of-mind calls.”
His soldiers went over there.
God, I don’t want them anywhere near my sister. I should be there, keeping them as far away as possible. Making sure she feels safe. She’s so young, I’m not sure how much of our situation she actually understands.
“You may reach out again in a few weeks, after giving the dust time to settle, yes?”
I rub my tired eyes. “Fine. Whatever you think is best.”
“I’m good at my job, Vasiliy,” she says, not unkindly.
“That’s why I pay you so damn much.” And why I allow you to order me around and speak to me in a tone that would cost anyone else their life.
“That’s right,” she says with a chuckle. “Worry about yourself, for once. Your sister’s in excellent hands.”
The weight of the call sits like a stone in my gut. I can’t believe he really sent his shitheads over to my property to threaten my staff. If I had a chance to kill him right now, I would take it with open arms.
“You seen the little princess out today?” a voice says, followed by the slam of car doors from the direction of the roundabout.
“Nope. Probably back to hiding in her room, or screwing around with the Morozov boy.”
Ice trickles down my spine. I straighten, feeling all of my irritation from the call redirected to a new source.
“Don’t say that.” A third voice. Boots draw closer, steps crunching against the walkway. “Boss would clip you on the spot if he overheard—”
“Maybe he should hear, though. She’s his only heir, and he’s letting her sleep around with the enemy in our own compound, knowing full well she’ll be promised to one of us.”
“Is that so?” I ask in a low rumble, stepping around the corner onto the path. The group of guys freezes in their approach the moment they see me, and a few have the good sense to look frightened.
“He wasn’t…” One starts, but the other cuts him off. His long, dark hair is vaguely familiar from my surveillance of Siderov’s men, but it’s usually pulled back into a tight bun, rather than flying free around his shoulders like it does today.
“The boss should have gutted you before allowing you to step inside the gates,” he says, doubling down with a glare. “You stay here, eating our food and fucking our women, all while giving us nothing in return. He’s clearly lost his mind—”
“Paxton,” another man snaps, running a ragged hand through his blond hair.
“No. Please, do go on.” My arms cross over my chest. “Where were you? Fucking your women, was it?”
Your women. It’s comical that he thinks he has a chance with my girl in any universe. She’d destroy him in a single breath, and then I’d feast on his fucking remains.
The idiot squares up, stepping closer while flexing his knuckles. A wild grin overtakes my face. I wonder how mad Sasha would be if I deleted a few of his guard dogs off the face of the earth.
His arm lifts, announcing the attack before he can even begin to land it. The attempt is easily blocked. I’m guessing the mature thing to do would be to get a few hits in and walk away, assuming shit-for-brains had learned a lesson. That’s not exactly what I do.
My jaw rattles in the collision as I tackle the guy to the dirt, not wasting a single second before slamming my fist into his skull. On my second hit, a rewarding red gush opens up below my knuckles.
“You will not talk about her again,” I grind out between punches. “You will not think about her again. As far as you’re concerned, that girl belongs to me.” He tries to roll away, but I lug him back, securing him with my legs so I can continue my leisurely assault.
“Get off of him,” someone calls out from behind, but I keep slamming my fist into the kid’s face until it’s so bloody and swollen that Octavia wouldn’t even manage a passing glance in his direction without hiding her wince.
The next hit knocks him unconscious. My heels sit back as I take a moment to appreciate my work.
Huh. I’m feeling much better already.