55. Vasiliy
I’ve died.
That pissant I was just pummeling to death grabbed the knife from my pocket and sliced through my carotid.
Or maybe my uncle finally dented his barrel to my cheek and pulled the trigger.
It’s the only explanation for the image filling my eyes and the nonsensical words pouring through the speakers.
I blink once.
Twice.
The image doesn’t dissipate. If anything, it sharpens.
“What. The fuck. Did you just say?”
Anger floods my veins at my uncle’s tone.
How dare he speak to dream-Octavia like that?
But then the gorgeous phantom raises a perfectly arched brow.
“I was not speaking to you.”
Blinding white startles my eyes as I’m backhanded hard by the man beside me. I almost appreciate the effort to wake me up. I don’t deserve such heavenly dreams.
“What did you do?” Uncle snarls in Russian. Then he raises his hand again, only to be stopped by a gravelly, feminine voice cutting through the speaker.
“Touch him one more time, and your alliance with Solokov crumbles into ash.”
It’s finally happened. I’ve lost my mind.
My uncle’s face unfurls, revealing the poisonous rage beneath his constant mask. “Solokov, why is my son’s whore standing beside you, let alone opening her mouth on this call?”
My body moves of its own accord.
In the space between blinks, my palm finds the crux of my uncle’s exposed throat. Then his cheek slams against the flat surface of the table. Suddenly, I’m a small boy once more, listening to him lodge threats at the person I care about. The only person who’s ever cared for me.
I bare my teeth, gazing into those acidic eyes as the sound of ten sidearms being cocked and aimed at my skull rumbles through the room.
“Well, that was a dramatic start,” my former boss drawls through the speaker.
“Clearly, I have to remind you of the deal we made four months ago, Morozov. I believe it had something to do with our alliance being contingent on Vasiliy staying on American soil, serving me. You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with his return to the homeland, would you? ”
I glance up at the new development, meeting Mikhail Solokov’s icy gaze.
He tilts his head on the monitor, subtly motioning for me to back off.
Then I see the hardened planes of Octavia’s face, twisted in rage and standing tall beside the Bratva legend.
There’s something wrong in her eyes, but I can’t name it.
My hand releases his neck, allowing him to straighten. I don’t bother looking at his expression before settling back in my seat. I can feel the fumes of his fury licking my skin.
“Well, now that the introductions are over,” Mikhail deadpans through the speaker. “I would appreciate an explanation for my lost employee.”
“There were extenuating circumstances,” my uncle hisses beside me.
“I see.”
It’s a bullshit excuse. Everyone here knows it.
“Well, I’m forced to take the circumstances at face value. I can only assume you no longer wish to hold up this alliance. I will make the necessary adjustments to separate all of our shipping routes and dismantle our shared streams of revenue.”
Holy shit.
Dissolving the alliance would cost both parties millions more than that pathetic hit on my woman’s head. Why would Mikhail do that? None of this makes any sense. What is going on?
“You’re bluffing,” my uncle says beside me, straightening his collar.
“Unlikely. You were always getting the lion’s share out of this bargain of ours.
I only agreed because I was considering expansion of our Russian operations, but it seems I now have a competing deal.
” He leans back casually, siphoning all the air in the room, even through the screen.
“The Pakhan of the Siderov Syndicate has offered up territory for a Chicago expansion instead.”
Sasha Siderov would never offer up his territory. Every individual hair on my arm stands on end. But what reason would he have to lie…
“Might want to check on that new ally of yours, Mikhail.” A shallow chuckle beside me. “I heard reports that the Siderov Pakhan is dead.”
What?
“That’s correct,” a raspy, feminine voice says. “The deal is mine.”