5. Andrei
Andrei
T he Krutikovs' front door is as black as my mood. I glare at it as I take a deep breath, doing everything I can to rein in my temper. The sound of Niko’s laughter rings through the wood, and there’s no point in storming in and scaring him.
The fact that he’s such a happy, well-adjusted kid is a testament to Blair and Daniil’s parenting when everyone else around him is typically a miserable bastard. Myself included.
I close my eyes and picture what I’ll do to Daniil when I get him away from his family until I’m able to relax my hands and knock on the door. There’s a murmur of low voices, and then the door opens to reveal Blair peeking at me through the crack. For a moment, she looks so fucking happy.
I want to capture that expression and keep it close so I can look back on it whenever I want.
Her smile freezes on her face as she registers that it’s me, stepping back as quickly as she can to put distance between us before I can protest. Just like that, all my anger is gone.
Like it wasn’t even there, consumed by the familiar regret that weaves its way through my veins.
My gut squeezes so tight I can’t breathe, and I have to clench my jaw as I step inside.
“Andrei,” she says, hardly louder than a whisper.
“Hey, Blair.”
Niko laughs as he runs away from Daniil, who’s stomping after him, head thrown back in a dramatic roar. He’s still dressed in a full suit without a hair out of place. Blair moves to lean against the wall furthest from me.
I close the door behind me, the soft click enough to draw Nikolai’s attention. His head whips toward me so fast I worry that he’s going to get whiplash as he sprints toward me.
“Andrei!” he squeals, his smile all gums and teeth when I sweep him into a hug.
“How’ve you been, kid?” he takes a deep breath, and I can’t hold back a smile as he launches into a full explanation of everything that’s happened since I last saw him.
I try to come over for dinner at least once a month, if only because Niko makes such a big deal about missing me, but I haven’t been over for a while.
And when you’re only three, I guess four months feels like a long fucking time.
Over his shoulder I watch as Daniil goes to Blair’s side and gives her a quick kiss, taking a moment to whisper something I can’t hear. She gives him a private smile as her whole demeanor softens, releasing the instinctive fear that’s held her tight since she saw me.
Niko’s fingers dig into my forearms, dragging my attention back to him. “And Papa says we’re gonna have pancakes!” His eyes are glittering with excitement, cheeks flushed as he talks .
I haven’t heard a word he’s said, but he doesn’t seem to care. He just wants to talk at me, and I’m not going to deny him the opportunity.
Unfortunately, I can’t let him talk for as long as he’d like to.
“Hey,” I interrupt, “I have to steal your papa for some work stuff.” The joy on his face seeps away, leaving him glancing warily between Daniil and I. “That alright with you?”
His eyes settle on Daniil in the fiercest glare a three-year-old can muster. “You promised we could have breakfast,” he whines. To his credit, Daniil rubs the back of his neck, looking ashamed.
“We will, buddy. I have a meeting tonight, but I’ll still be here for pancakes.”
“You promise?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I promise.”
Niko pulls away from me and wraps his arms around Daniil’s leg, his hands clinging to the thick fabric of his pants.
When they look at each other, it strikes me how similar they are.
The same eyes. The same unshakable confidence.
The only thing that keeps him from looking like an exact clone of a younger Daniil is his blond hair, a gift he got from Blair.
Niko’s shoulders slowly slump forward as the two of them look at each other, having a silent debate before Niko gives up, trudging toward Blair with his arms folded across his chest. Reluctantly, he waves in my direction, and I smile at him.
“You be good for your mama, okay?” Daniil waits for Niko to nod, then grins. “Good. Love you guys.”
They call out quiet goodbyes after him as he leaves, heading straight toward his car .
I nod at them as I walk out the door, unable to find a voice to say anything.
Niko might not like it, but I’m sure Blair doesn’t mind.
I wait on the patio until I hear the soft click of the deadbolt behind me, then follow.
The moment we’re alone in his car, the tension from earlier is a persistent ache inside of my skull.
“So. Virgo, huh? I thought you said you wouldn’t kill my brother.”
He remains quiet until we’re only a couple miles from the club, his hands tight on the steering wheel. He doesn’t try to argue with me or justify himself. He just sits in his silence.
“If I had to pick between her and your brother, I’d pick her every time,” he eventually says with a sigh. “So would you.”
If I thought it would accomplish anything, I’d argue with him, but what’s the point?
He’s right. Semyon might be my brother, but he’s just as stupid as he is ambitious, and I’ve always known he was going to end up in an early grave.
He’s not worth protecting, and by threatening Blair, he’s assured me he’s not even worth the breath it would take to defend him.
But Blair? She’s worth all that and more.
He pulls into the parking lot, the neon lights above the door reflecting a tasteless red across the interior of the car.
“I’m not willing to gamble with her, yeah? I’ll do what I have to in order to keep her safe. And if that means I have to piss you off?” He shrugs. “Then so be it. I know it’s a big ask, but I’d rather you have my back on this.”
My head thumps against the headrest as I close my eyes, taking a bracing breath. Taking on Semyon two-on-one has far better odds, but it means accepting that I probably won’t have a brother by the time the night is done .
Daniil’s right—if we pretend that this is just a conversation, then it’s a risk. Semyon’s stubborn enough that the best-case scenario is him pretending to drop this while he moves forward with his plans. He’s a stupid man, but do I want to risk him actually succeeding?
No.
I can’t.
I’d rather lose the only remaining family I have than let him hurt her.
“Even if Semyon’s no longer on the board, there are plenty of others who would gladly be Pavel’s pawn,” I say, resigned. “I doubt Semyon came up with this idea on his own. If this is some plan Pavel cooked up, are you going to kill him, too?”
Daniil is well suited for his job. He’s clever, arrogant, and direct, but he isn’t prone to killing and violence. He’s the type of person to use intimidation and blackmail to get what he needs done. Violence isn’t foreign to him by any means, but he tends to rely on others to do that if he’s able.
“If I have to.”
“And if it wasn’t Pavel? What’re you going to do if this was Maksim’s idea?”
For a moment, his carefully practiced facade fails, and he looks like he’s going to be sick.
He swallows, shaking his head as he looks at the door to the club with a sense of determination.
“Let’s get this over with, yeah?”
I’m grim as I follow him inside.
Virgo is exactly how it’s been every other time I’ve been here.
The floors are sticky beneath my feet, and terrible music blasts through the speakers, the bass boosted so hard my teeth rattle in my skull.
None of the patrons bother to look anyone else in the eye and dancers wander around the floor, happy to offer a lap dance to anyone who asks, and even more if you’re willing to pay for one of the private rooms in the back.
I catch the eye of the guard blocking the door to the private rooms Alexei sets aside for private meetings.
With a single tilt of his chin, he steps aside, letting us into the dark, disgusting space.
Daniil makes himself comfortable right away, settling into one of the old, cracked leather seats, bouncing his foot where it’s crossed over his knee.
I take my time looking around the room, familiarizing myself with everything while he glares daggers at the door, muscles coiled like a spring ready to launch at anyone who walks through.
By the time I take a seat of my own, I’m on edge just from listening to the ceaseless tapping of his fingers against the arm of the chair.
If he doesn’t find a way to calm down soon, he’s going to let Semyon wind him up and get himself killed before he gets a chance to do anything.
“Hey, what happened with that DA you’ve been working on?” I ask after he checks his watch for the fourth time in two minutes. Semyon will probably be late to his own funeral, and I can’t figure out why Daniil expected this to be any different.
It’s Semyon’s version of a power move. If he makes others wait, then he tells them that they’re unimportant to him. He’s never understood that everyone has the amount of respect for him that he offers them .
“The guy from up-state?” Daniil squints, and I lift my chin in affirmation. “Guy’s a tool. He seems to think that he’s too good to meet with me, but I’ve asked Artyom to look into him.” He shrugs, flexing a hand over his knee. “I’ll get my meeting, and he’ll learn to like what I have to say.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then he’ll quickly figure out why everyone else finds me so agreeable.”
Sometimes I wonder what it is Daniil likes most about his job.
Is it the power of controlling the outcome, or is it the threats and intimidation?
Making sure that he has contacts that are willing to work with him when someone ends up in prison is important, but it’s better for him to make sure none of us end up there in the first place.
If he has to make sure charges are dropped, or evidence is lost, or ensure that whoever is prosecuting the case decides there isn’t enough evidence to move forward, then it helps to have the right carrot to dangle on the end of stick.