Chapter 43
forty-three
For someone so keen to talk to me, Tomas is eerily quiet at the small table we are sitting at.
The owner nearly tripped over himself when we walked in the door.
He obviously knew who Tomas and Vas were by the way he smiled, shook their hands jovially, and then cleared out his entire restaurant only minutes later.
Matthias had never taken me anywhere other than the compound.
I expected the people there to worship him and his men like gods.
They were devoted to their boss, the man who controlled their paycheck and even their lives.
But to see how the men were welcomed warmly and enthusiastically by the owner of the shop and his staff left me somewhat stunned and off balance.
I know the Bratva runs this territory, but I never realized how well they run it.
Elias ruled with fear, and I often forget that Matthias refused to employ fear tactics.
He took care of his people and the neighborhoods.
I ponder what I know about how he ran his territory.
Over the weeks leading up to our charade of a wedding, he’d opened up about certain parts of the business.
Some he told me himself, but I learned most of it from watching and listening.
Now that I think about it, the name of the shop is Piroshki Piroshki. It takes me a minute to put the pieces together, but I remember Vas saying that Maxim, who is the brigadier to this area, meets with the locals once a week to see what is needed and to hear out their complaints.
All of Matthias’s brigadier’s do this in their own areas, even Leon.
It is one of the reasons the community doesn’t push back against the Bratva.
Unlike Dante, who struggles to keep his capos under control.
He has been trying to build a new regime after his father’s death, but the sinister heart of the old Cosa Nostra runs strong and it will take at least another generation before the festering wounds of his organization are cut out.
“I’m sorry,” I blink at Tomas. He said something but I was too lost in thought to catch what it was. “I missed that.”
Vas chuckles lowly, biting into his piroshki with gusto. I can’t blame him, the food here is amazing.
“I asked what your plans are going forward.”
“My plans?” I quirk my head to the side, brushing the crumbs from my hands on the napkin in my lap before clasping my hands together in front of me on the table.
“What would I have plans for, Mr. Ivankov? I’m under the impression I am no longer needed seeing as my husband is dead and you are here to bang the gavel of dismissal. ”
Vas cringes as his father’s face darkens slightly. He turns to his son; his eyes narrowing dangerously. “You didn’t tell her?” he asks incredulously. Vas clears his throat uncomfortably.
“I meant to, but between planning the funeral and her hiding away at the Kavanaugh’s, there has not been a moment to sit down with her.”
My gaze darts confusedly between the pair. They really do look a lot alike, but there is a softness about Vas that his father doesn’t have.
“Tell me what?” I question frustratingly. “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Their hazel eyes snap to me.
“How much did Matthias tell you about Bratva succession?” Tomas asks. Moving his empty plate aside, he wipes the crumbs from the table and leans back in his chair, a cup of coffee in his hand.
I shrug. “He didn’t,” I admit. “Not really. Most of what I learned was from the internet. If the Pakhan is compromised in any way his second in command takes the role of leadership in his stead. Or something like that.”
Tomas nods, seemingly impressed with my small amount of knowledge.
“You know,” he begins wistfully, pausing to take a sip of his drink.
“I was sixteen when I start the Ivankov Bratva on the streets of Moscow.” He chuckles as he recalls the memory.
“I only had ten people under my command. One of which was a woman who later became my sovietnik. You see, Ava, I wanted to set a different tone for my organization. For far too long, women were nothing more than second class citizens in the Bratva with little to no say in how things are run.”
“It took a while, but I managed to build up an empire from scratch that saw women in the Bratva acquiring higher roles,” he continues, and I wonder where this is going.
Is he going to ask me to stay on as a member of the Bratva?
“That’s great and everything,” I tell him dryly. “It’s a real leap for feminism, but I don’t understand what this has to do with me.”
Tomas smirks. “I changed the rules of succession, Ava,” he educates me. “If the Pakhan in question doesn’t have a blood heir or hasn’t named an un-blooded heir and is married, his role goes to his wife.”
Old man say what now?
“Now, there would normally be a bit of muddied waters seeing as how you were married under duress, but Matthias’s people proved today that they are willing to stand by your side,” Tomas continues as if he didn’t just drop the Hiroshima of all bombs.
“And he listed you as the heir in his will, so there’s that. ”
He relays the information so casually. Like Matthias making me his heir is no big deal. I’'s as if he expected it. I know better. Divorce. That is what Matthias intended for me. Not for me to take control of his empire if he dies.
So, I do the only logical thing I can think of.
I laugh.
Tears fall from the corner of my eyes as I struggle to rein in the maniacal sound that falls from my lips. My shoulders shake, belly aching from the action. The painful weight that sits on my chest suddenly feels heavier, cracking through to my heart.
The two men at the table remain silent as my laughter continues until the tears and surprise are spent. When I look back at them their faces are mirrored looks of shock and concern. As if they have never seen a woman have a mini mental breakdown before.
What I don’t see is any sign that they are jesting.
Tomas is serious when he proclaimed that Matthias named me as his successor.
I swing my gaze to Vasily. “Did you know about this?” I ask incredulously, the shock clearly painted across my face like a shattered mosaic. “Have you known this entire time?”
Vas nods, his throat bobbing with unease as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “He named you the successor after you were married.”
“And he never changed it?”
Vas shakes his head.
Letting out a forced breath, I rub at my temples, a headache forming behind my eyes as my irritation and disbelief grow. “I don’t understand,” I admit. “Matthias was planning on divorcing me. Why would he keep me named as his successor?”
Tomas coughs and turns to his son expectantly.
“Why indeed, Vasily?” His father cocks an eyebrow at him as he brings his drink to his lips. The man scowls at his father, eyes burning like fiery coal.
“He wasn’t planning on divorcing you, Ava,” Vas murmurs, his eyes softening as he looks at me. “Yes, Ben drew up the paperwork before…” He trails off.
“Before what, Vasily?” I hiss at him, my throat clenching as a sob threatens to tear through it.
“Before he took Serena to the gala? Before he kissed her?” I let that sink in, noting the shame that crosses his face.
“Or maybe it was before he told Maksim that as soon as the gala was over, we were finished. That all he needed from me was information.”
Vas takes in a long breath, his hand running down his face. He lets out a frustrated sigh, his jaw working, teeth grinding as he tries to put whatever he is going to say together in his head before he speaks aloud.
“It isn’t what you think, Ava,” he presses, but I am done with secrets. Done with the lies. Whatever game Matthias had been playing is over.
It doesn’t matter anymore.
“Why don’t you explain it to your new Pakhan then, Vasily,” I growl. Tomas chokes and splutters on the coffee he means to drink. Instead, tears gather at the corner of his bright eyes as he struggles to breathe while hoarse laughter pours from his lips.
Vas stares at me, a sadness lining his face that I never noticed before. His hazel eyes darken slightly, hands twisting anxiously in front of him. His foot taps a silent staccato rhythm beneath the table, his knee bouncing just enough to see.
What is he hiding?
“I can’t,” he breathes regretfully. “But I can tell you that the whole thing with Serena was an act. It wasn’t real.”
The corner of my lip turns up in a snarl. “Sure as hell felt real to me.”
“And I wish it hadn’t.”
“If Matthias wasn’t eagerly trying to get rid of me to fuck the Jessica Rabbit look alike, then what did he need her for?”
“Information.” Vas swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the pale skin of his throat. He isn’t lying, but there is more to his story he isn’t tell me. He is loyal to Matthias, even in death.
“What kind of information?” That doesn’t mean I am not going to try and pry it from him.
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Gotta say,” I breathe out harshly. “You sure are loyal to a dead man.”
Vas smirks. “We all are.”
Which means I won’t be getting any information from the other men in his circle either.
I would be lying if I say all the cloak and dagger shit doesn’t bother me.
It does. It makes my skin itch, and my stomach burns like acid.
Even in death they are more loyal to Matthias than they will ever be to me.
Not that I expect anything different. Respect and loyalty are earned, Matthias taught me that. And even though we were married, and they know me, fight for me when my husband thinks I betrayed him—I still need to show them they can rely on me as much as I rely on them.
Silence falls over the table as the three of us sit with our own thoughts. Vasily looks as if he wants to say more, but his promise to his friend, his brother, holds him back. Out of all the scenarios I go through on how our conversation will go, this is not one I envisioned.
Pakhan.
I am now the most powerful woman in the city. The first female to ever lead a faction of the Bratva in mafia history. There is now an army at my back who are all just as bloodthirsty to see Matthias’s death avenged as I am.
Hell, probably even more.
That gives me power.
True power.
Something Christian will never have.
I think back to the horrid night. The night the one I call sister shot the man I fell in love with. The man who showed no sign of loving me back. The man who adamantly stated he was incapable of loving me. It was a weakness. He was also the man who took the bullet for me.
He was right. I was his weakness, and I am the reason he is dead.
I shut that shit down real quick.
Kenzi is the reason he is dead.
Kenzi and Christian and all those who plot to take his empire.
She aimed for me, but I wonder now if she knew that Matthias would jump in front of me to take the bullet.
Killing me does nothing. Killing the leader of the Bratva in Seattle could have potentially destabilized the underground hierarchy, causing chaos and disruption.
Disruptions that would be easy enough for Christian to slink in and take advantage of, but he would never be able to hold on to that power. There isn’t enough left of Elias’s empire to successfully keep control of the underground. That does not mean he doesn’t have help.
The man with the silver cane.
My grandfather.
Seamus McDonough, the man whom my brother is named after.
Libby wrote in her diary about him. The silver cross cane.
My mother was a spitting image of him. I am reticent to approach my biological father about my grandfather.
So buried in my grief I haven’t bothered to crack open the book that will soon decipher Libby’s rashly written code in the back of her journal.
It means going back to the penthouse and I am not ready. I am too cowardly to face the space we once shared. The memories it invokes.
Now, I am more than prepared to face what lies ahead.
“So,” Tomas breaks the silence. He leans forward, elbows braced on the table, a small smile tugging at his lips. “What is your plan?”
“Kill them all.”