Chapter Two
For someone so keen to talk to me Tomas, was eerily quiet at the small table we’d been seated 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 knew the Bratva ran this territory, but I’d never realized how well they ran it. Elias ruled with fear, and I often forgot that Matthias refused to employ fear tactics. He took care of his people and the neighborhoods. I pondered on what I knew about how he’d run 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’d told me himself, but I learned most of it from watching and listening.
Now that I thought about it, the name of the shop was Piroshky Piroshky. It took me a minute to put the pieces together, but I remembered Vas saying that Maxim, who was the Avtorvet—brigadier—to this area, met with the locals once a week to see what was needed and to hear out their complaints. All of Matthias’s Avtorvets did this in their own areas, even Leon.
It was one of the reasons the community didn’t push back against the Bratva. Unlike Dante, who struggled to keep his capos under control. He’d been trying to build a new regime after his father’s death, but the sinister heart of the old Cosa Nostra ran strong, and it would take at least another generation before the festering wounds of his organization were healed.
“I’m sorry.” I blinked at Tomas. He’d said something, but I was too lost in thought to catch what it was. “I missed that.”
Vas chuckled lowly, biting into his piroshki with gusto. Couldn’t blame him, the food here was amazing.
“I asked what your plans were going forward.”
“My plans?” I quirked my head to the side, brushing the crumbs from my hands on the napkin in my lap before clasping them together in front of me on the table. “What would I have plans for, Mr. Ivankov? I was under the impression I was no longer needed, seeing as my husband is dead. I assumed you were here to bang the gavel of dismissal.”
Vas cringed as his father’s face darkened slightly. He turned to his son; his eyes narrowed dangerously. “You didn’t tell her?” he asked incredulously. Vas cleared his throat uncomfortably.
“I meant to, but between planning the funeral and her hiding away at the Kavanaughs’, there has not been a moment to sit down with her.”
My gaze darted between the pair. They really did look a lot alike, but there was a softness about Vas that his father didn’t possess.
“Tell me what?” I questioned frustratingly. “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Their hazel eyes snapped to me.
“How much did Matthias tell you about Bratva succession?” Tomas asked. Moving his empty plate aside, he wiped the crumbs from the table and leaned back in his chair, a cup of coffee in his hand.
I shrugged. “He didn’t,” I admitted. “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 nodded, seemingly impressed with my small amount of knowledge.
“You know,” he began wistfully, pausing to take a sip of his drink. “I was sixteen when I started the Ivankov Bratva on the streets of Moscow.” He chuckled as he recalled 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 were 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 continued, and I wondered where this was going.
Was he going to ask me to stay on as a member of the Bratva?
“That’s great and everything,” I told him dryly. “It’s a real leap for feminism, but I don’t understand what this has to do with me.”
Tomas smirked. “I changed the rules of succession, Ava,” he educated. “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 seeming as how you were married under duress, but Matthias’s people have proven today that they are willing to stand by your side,” Tomas continued, as if he did not just drop the Hiroshima of all bombs. “And he listed you as the heir in his will, so there’s that.”
He relayed the information so casually. Like Matthias making me his heir was no big deal. It was as if he’d been expecting it. I knew better. Divorce. That was what Matthias intended for me. Not for me to take control of his empire if he died.
So, I did the only logical thing I could think of. I laughed. Tears fell from the corners of my eyes as I struggled to rein in the maniacal sound that fell from my lips. My shoulders shook, my belly aching from the action. The painful weight that sat on my chest felt suddenly heavier, cracking through to my heart.
The two men at the table remained silent as my laughter continued until the tears and surprise were spent. When I looked back at them, their faces wore mirrored looks of shock and concern. As if they’d never seen a woman have a mini mental breakdown before. What I didn’t see was any sign that they were jesting.
Tomas was serious when he’d proclaimed that Matthias had named me as his successor.
I swung my gaze to Vasily. “Did you know about this?” I asked incredulously, the shock clearly painted across my face like a shattered mosaic. “Have you known this entire time?”
Vas nodded, his throat bobbing with unease as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “He named you the successor after you were married.”
“And he never changed it?”
Vas shook his head.
Letting out a forced breath, I rubbed at my temples, a headache forming behind my eyes as my irritation and disbelief grew. “I don’t understand,” I admitted. “Matthias was planning to divorce me. Why would he keep me named as his successor?”
Tomas coughed and turned to his son expectantly.
“Why indeed, Vasily?” His father cocked an eyebrow at him as he brought his drink to his lips. The man scowled at his father, eyes burning like fiery coal.
“He wasn’t planning to divorce you, Ava,” Vas murmured, his eyes softening as he looked at me. “Yes, Ben drew up the paperwork before…” He trailed off.
“Before what, Vasily?” I hissed at him, my throat clenching as a sob threatened to tear through it. “Before he took Serena to the gala? Before he kissed her?” I let that sink in, noting the shame that crossed his face. “Or maybe it was before he told Liam that as soon as the gala was over, we were finished. That all he needed from me was information.”
Vas took in a long breath, his hand running down his face. He let out a frustrated sigh, his jaw working, teeth grinding as he tried to put whatever he was going to say together in his head before he spoke aloud.
“It isn’t what you think, Ava,” he pressed, but I was done with secrets. Done with the lies. Whatever game Matthias had been playing was over.
It didn’t matter anymore.
“Why don’t you explain it to your new Pakhan then, Vasily,” I growled. Tomas choked and spluttered on the coffee he meant to drink. Instead, tears gathered at the corners of his bright eyes as he struggled to breathe while hoarse laughter poured from his lips.
Vas stared at me, a sadness lining his face that I’d never noticed before. His hazel eyes darkened slightly, hands twisting anxiously in front of him. His foot tapped a quiet staccato rhythm beneath the table, his knee bouncing just enough to see.
What was he hiding?
“I can’t,” he breathed regretfully. “But I can tell you that the whole thing with Serena was an act. It wasn’t real.”
The corner of my lip turned 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 and fuck the Jessica Rabbit look-alike, then what did he need her for?”
“Information.” Vas swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the pale skin of his throat. He wasn’t lying, but there was more to his story. He was loyal to Matthias, even in death.
“What kind of information?” Didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try and pry it from him.
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Gotta say,” I breathed out harshly. “You sure are loyal to a dead man.”
Vas smirked. “We all are.”
Which meant I wouldn’t be getting any information from the other men in his circle either. I would be lying if I said all the cloak and dagger shit didn’t bother me. It did. Made my skin itch and my stomach burn like acid. Even in death, they were more loyal to Matthias than they would ever be to me.
Not that I expected anything different. Respect and loyalty were earned. Matthias taught me that. And even though we’d been married, and they knew me, had fought for me when my husband thought I betrayed him—I still needed to show them they could rely on me as much as I relied on them.
Silence fell over the table as the three of us sat with our own thoughts. Vasily looked as if he wanted to say more, but his promise to his friend, his brother, was holding him back. Out of all the scenarios I went through on how our conversation would go, this was not one I envisioned.
Pakhan.
I was now the most powerful woman in the city. The first female to ever lead a faction of the Bratva in mafia history. There was an army at my back who were all just as bloodthirsty to see Matthias’s death avenged as I was. Hell, probably even more.
That gave me power.
True power. Something Christian would never have.
I thought back to the horrid night. The night the one I called sister shot the man I’d fallen in love with. The man who’d shown 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’d taken the bullet for me.
He was right. I was his weakness, and I was the reason he was dead.
I shut that shit down real quick.
Kenzi was the reason he was dead.
Kenzi and Christian and all those who plotted to take his empire. She’d been aiming for me, but I wondered now if she knew Matthias would jump in front of me to take the bullet. Killing me did nothing. Killing the leader of the Bratva in Seattle could have potentially destabilized the underground hierarchy, causing chaos and disruption.
Disruptions that would have been easy enough for Christian to slink in and take advantage of, but he’d never be able to hold on to that power. There wasn’t enough left of Elias’s empire to successfully keep control of the underground. That did not mean he didn’t have help.
The man with the silver cane.
My grandfather. Seamus McDonough, the man my brother was named after. Libby had written about him in her diary. The silver cross cane. My mother had been a spitting image of him. I was reticent to approach my biological father about my grandfather. So buried in my grief, I never bothered to crack open the book that would soon decipher Libby’s rashly written code in the back of her journal.
It meant going back to the penthouse, and I hadn’t been ready. I was too cowardly to face the space we once shared. The memories it invoked.
Now, I was more than prepared to face what lay ahead.
“So,” Tomas broke the silence. He leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, a small smile tugging at his lips. “What is your plan?”
“Kill them all.”