56. Octavia
He hasn’t been sleeping.
His exhaustion is evident, even through the grainy pixels of the screen.
I’ve spent the last two days working with Solokov’s inner circle to organize this joint venture. My eyes ache. My chest hurts. Every single hour that passes weighs on me like a hot stone.
Ninety-one hours since I last held Vasiliy in my arms.
Seventy-two hours since my cousin was taken.
Sixty-nine hours since I let go of my father’s hand.
I know the cost of every second Kirill is held captive by Popov. Even as I sit still in this room, I can’t help but think about the methods they’re using to loosen his tongue and punish him for his blood.
“I don’t understand,” Vasiliy’s uncle says, squinting his eyes at his monitor. “Are you implying that this cunt is calling the shots? Can’t you afford better whores, Mikhail?”
He looks nothing like Vasiliy. Where my man’s skin is pale below the dark swirl of tattoos, his skin takes on an orange hue through the camera, and his white hair is combed forward in an effort to hide the thinning back.
The insults bounce off my skin. I’ve heard them my whole life. Men like him are a dime a dozen. Mikhail, however, straightens by my side. I bet he’s unused to hearing crude slights go unpunished. His eyes shift into a predatory gleam.
Through the screen, I see Vasiliy’s breathing pick up, as though he’s one second from trying to rip out his uncle’s neck all over again. I shoot him a wink through the camera in an effort to calm him down.
And it seems to.
Unfortunately, the gesture appears to have the opposite effect on his uncle.
“You know what? You can have your trade routes. I’ll take the loss. Obviously, you don’t have the head for business I thought you did, if you’re letting your dick lead you around!” he explodes, slamming the table in front of him.
My heart rate rises.
It’s okay. We prepared for this outcome.
“I see,” Mikhail says beside me. It’s hard to reconcile this cold, calculated version with the one I’ve seen melt beneath his wife’s touch.
“Unfortunately, I can’t allow partners to go about breaking bargains at their will—the optics—surely, you understand.
” He waves his hand in feigned indifference towards the screen.
“So I regret to inform you that this will be received as an act of war.”
I knew the strategy before starting the call, went through every possible outcome with Mikhail’s second-in-command, Ivan, but hearing the words spoken out loud is uncanny.
“Excuse me?” Morozov’s eyes widen into round saucers.
Vasiliy’s eyes double. His scruff has grown thick and unruly, making him look a more brutal type of handsome.
Fuck, I miss him.
So much, it hurts.
“Is that question rhetorical or legitimate?” Mikhail drawls.
There’s something in the Morozov Pakhan’s eyes that reminds me not to look away. The outcomes of this meeting start filtering across his face in the tense quiet, and I have no idea which direction he’ll march into. He calls to one of his men standing out of view.
At the rate I’m picking them, the scabs on my knuckles will never heal.
“Anton.”
“Yes, sir?” the unseen voice responds.
“Reinstate the bounty on Octavia Siderov. Bump it to twenty million.”
My mouth dries.
Vasiliy flips towards his uncle with a horrified expression. “I’ll kill you!” His booming shout is punctuated by the sound of his chest being shoved onto the table by arms behind him.
Terror consumes me as two more bodies pour into the frame, fighting to hold Vas down. I’m already rising from my seat when Ivan stops me with a hand on my wrist. Steady, he seems to say. My limbs shake.
A low laugh fills the air. It starts as a breath, escalating until even the violence on the other side of the world comes to a stop to look over. All of us stare at the man by my side.
“What a spiteful man you are,” Mikhail finally says, lips pulled in a smile.
“I simply have contingencies in place to ensure good behavior,” Vasiliy’s uncle says.
“Contingencies? Is that what you call it?” Mikhail’s head tilts. “Breaking your deal with me will cost millions, but it’s unlikely to exceed the price of your beloved bounty. This seems far more personal.”
“It is personal,” Morozov snaps. “First, this bitch corrupts my nephew, and now she’s messing with my business.”
“I see,” Mikhail says. “Well, if we’re being entirely truthful, I must admit that I’ve been prepared for your emotions to cloud our business arrangements for a while now.”
The man on the screen scoffs.
“Come on,” Mikhail continues. “You didn’t honestly believe I handed over all of those resources in exchange for your kid interrogator, did you?”
He blinks. Vas’s head lifts off the table where he’s held down, taking advantage of the moment to shrug his limbs free.
“Vasiliy is excellent at his job, but I already have the best of the best in New York. I didn’t need his services.”
Fire lances through my gut, but I hold my tongue. My man is the best of the best. Mikhail should consider himself lucky to have had his talents for even a day.
“What exactly are you saying, Solokov?”
Mikhail relaxes back in his chair. “All I needed was a viable door into each of your underbosses’ domains. In fact, if you do your due diligence now, I’m sure you’ll find my touches everywhere you look. Supply chains, taxation, warehouses…”
Morozov has gone still. So still, he resembles one of the pompous stone statues standing behind his chair.
I knew Mikhail Solokov would be a valuable ally, but I had no idea how much leverage he had managed to collect on Vasiliy’s uncle until our meeting yesterday morning. If this is how he studies his allies, how must he prepare for his enemies?
It’s a terrifying thought.
“I wasn’t actually looking for dirt when I burrowed into your operations,” he continues. “But, what’s that old saying? When it rains, it pours? Would you like to discuss the Sardona trade with the class?”
“You wouldn’t dare—”
“Call my bluff. I do love a good poker game.” Mikhail smiles cruelly beside me, and I’m woman enough to admit how scary the sight is.
He didn’t tell me what he found on Vas’s uncle—only that it would be enough to end the negotiation. I didn’t ask. The Solokov Pakhan loves his secrets, and I don’t want to owe him any more than I do, gorgeous wife or not. I don’t think Vasiliy knows, either, by the puzzled look on his face.
Long minutes stretch by. No one speaks.
I’m beginning to wonder how far he’s going to take this when an irritated sigh finally cuts through the speaker.
“What are your demands?” Each word crawls out from clenched teeth.
“Take down the price on my head to start with,” I say with a glare. And tear out your bloody liver. “I require the temporary use of twenty-five soldiers, as well as the immediate transport of your nephew. He will now serve the Siderov Syndicate. Permanently.”
I study each pixel of the screen, ripping my gaze off of Vasiliy’s shocked features and onto the calculating sneer beside him.
“What use do you have for my soldiers?”
“Does it matter?” Mikhail asks with a sigh.
A pause. How valuable was Solokov’s leverage?
“Fine.” He glances toward Vas. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s no longer a Morozov, nor is he my heir. Now, if that’ll be all—”
“Ah,” I interrupt, raising a finger. “Not quite. One more individual will be transported to New York. Immediately.”
All gazes swing my way.
“Anya will join her brother. And her mother will sign over any legal rights to him.”
“The child? She’s under my protection! This is moronic!” he shouts, feedback screeching through the speaker.
“And yet, a demand nonetheless,” I say evenly, raising my brows.
She may be a child, but to him, she’s also the leash he uses to keep Vasiliy in line. So long as he has Anya, we will never have control.
“Fine. Take them! But know this, Solokov.” His voice turns to gravel. “I will never do business with you again. You are destroying a powerful relationship—”
“Noted,” he says beside me. “Safe travels, Vasiliy. I look forward to seeing you in fifteen hours.”