Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Kirill
“Pakhan,” Yulian stammers, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You…I…no. No, I cannot allow that to happen. It would ruin my daughter’s reputation!”
I've just broken the news of the change of plans- or rather, change of grooms- to Yulian, and as I expected, the man is opposed to the idea. I know Yulian is right. That the change would certainly cause gossip, but what’s the alternative?
Have no wedding at all? Have my own child grow up fatherless? No I will not, cannot allow that.
“This is happening, Yulian,” I state firmly. “You saw how my brother reacted to the news of Annika’s pregnancy. Even if I commanded him to go through with the wedding, would you truly want your daughter married to a man who would despise her for the rest of his life?”
Yulian shakes his head, looking as if he’s about to fall apart.
“But a marriage to you…Sir…it would be putting Annika in a direct line of danger far greater than the wrath of your brother,” Yulian argues. “You have enemies everywhere, Annika would become the greatest target.”
I can’t disagree with that. It's true. With Annika becoming my wife, my enemies would immediately see her as a way to retribution. Which is why I’ve already decided to keep her- and our child- protected at all times.
“There won’t be a single moment where your daughter and grandchild aren’t protected,” I promise. “I have the city’s most highly regarded bodyguards under my command.”
“You can’t promise me that,” Yulian argues, shaking his head. “No, even for the sake of an alliance, this is too dangerous. I am sorry, Pakhan, but I cannot grant this request.”
Yulian turns to go to Annika’s room, but I grab his shoulder and spin him around, my temper flaring toward anger. I do not take being told no lightly. Especially on matters such as this.
“The child is mine,” I confess, my tone low and gruff. “I am not walking away from it and I am certainly not going to walk away from the mother either. This wedding is happening, Yulian, and when my child is born, he or she will be raised by their true parents.”
Yulian’s furrowed brows shoot straight up for a second, then his face sets in a mask of pure anger.
“You? You did this to my daughter?! Tell me how this happened!”
This time I keep my temper in check. I can’t blame the man for getting upset. Even in the span of just the last few hours, Yulian has made it clear how much Annika means to him. Perhaps he even favors her over Valya.
“I’m not going to go into details,” I reply, keeping my tone calm. “It was consensual and that is all anyone ever needs to know. But Yulian? She is marrying me. Whether it seals our alliance or starts a war, that is up to you. But she will be my wife.”
Anger, fear, and sadness all flicker through the older man’s face, but finally submission shines through, and as Yulian’s shoulders slump, he bows.
“Yes, Pakhan,” he says, his tone full of defeat. “We will have our alliance. Just please, I beg you, watch over my daughter. You have no idea how much she means to me.”
Relieved that the matter is settled, I nod.
“You have my word,” I swear. “Now go. See her, hold her. Tell her everything will be alright, but do not question her. Stress is bad for her and the baby.”
I leave Yulian in the hall and head toward the exit of the hospital, not at all surprised when I find Edik and the town car waiting for me right outside.
“Where is my brother?” I demand as Edik opens the door for me.
“I took him to his townhouse, got him a drink and couple of pills for the pain. Ivan is watching over him and texting me updates. It seems he’s calmed down,” Edik explains, getting in the back with me.
“Good,” I grumble. Hopefully it will be easier to talk with Pyotr with a few sedatives in his system.
“Get an account line set up for Annika,” I command, moving on. “No limit. Make sure she has easy access to it.”
Edik raises a brow.
“Of course, Pakhan,” he replies. “But may I ask why?”
Edik being my oldest friend and protector, I take no issue sharing the details.
When I finish, Edik has no more questions, and simply gives a single nod before pulling up his phone to make the necessary arrangements.
The account is set up by the time we pull up to Pyotr’s townhouse, a purchase I made for him only a year ago.
He is still welcome at the lavish Pavlovich compound that lies just outside the city, but it didn’t take long for Pyotr and me to agree that it's best we don't share permanent living quarters.
I spared no expense on the townhouse. It’s four stories, and has a fenced in, very private back yard, and Pyotr is able to do with it what he wishes.
Pyotr took the last part as a challenge, and in my opinion, ruined the once elegant space.
Now, every room is either spray painted with some sort of grunge monstrosity or decorated in heavy gothic, vampiric manner.
There are tire treads on the once pristine wooden floors from the many motorcycles Pyotr collects and often drives into the house.
Holes are always being repaired in the walls after his constant ragers.
And there is always some sort of riff raff stumbling out at all hours looking half-drugged out of their mind and worse for wear.
Today is no different, and as I exit the town car, I can hear the blare of heavy metal music thumping from inside the house. I sigh, not wanting to think of how much money I’ve spent making sure the neighbors don’t complain about any of it to the police.
Knowing one of Pyotr’s body guards is no doubt watching the security camera's feedback, I let myself in, and find my brother in the large first floor living room lounging on the long, blood-red couch.
A bottle of vodka rests on his knee and a joint is tucked between his busted lips.
Even though my little brother sees me, he pretends to ignore me until I walk over to the massive stereo and turn off the mind-shattering music.
“So,” Pyotr asks after sucking in a hit of his joint. “How’s our little damsel in distress?”
I look over to the two body guards watching Pyotr from across the room, and signal them to leave. They nod in unison and disappear without a word.
“Have you kept your mouth shut?” I ask, walking over to the large marble bar in the far corner of the room.
“What choice did I have?” Pyotr grunts, staring at the joint in his hand, “Your ape took my cellphone and wouldn’t let me bring my people over.”
I nod as I pull out an unopened bottle of vodka and pour myself a shot.
“Good. We need to keep this quiet. If anyone asks why we went to the hospital today, you tell them that your bride-to-be had an allergic reaction.”
Pyotr half-coughs, half-laughs as he is halfway through another drag of his joint.
“I had no idea that pregnancy could be an allergic reaction,” Pyotr chortles.
I fix him with a glare, my shot glass half raised to my lips.
“It’s mine,” I state, then down the shot.
Pyotr’s head whips toward me, his eyes wide as he looks at me for the first time since I walked in.
“Shit, bro. You’re serious?” he asks.
I nod, pour another shot, and down it.
“Look, man, I didn’t know she was your intended,” I tell him.
“The circumstances under which we met were not ideal, and I trusted Yulian enough not to try to pass another girl off as his daughter so I didn’t even bother to do an image check.
I had no idea she was the woman I hooked up with until I saw her today. ”
“But you’re sure the kid is yours?” Pyotr asks. “I mean, if she didn’t even bother to ask for your name, she can’t be all too particular about who shares her cat with.”
“Watch your language,” I growl, feeling a spark of rage shoot through my veins. “Yes I am sure, and I’m going to make this right.”
The combination of pills, vodka, and weed must be working well, because Pyotr bobs his head up and down at the news.
“Good for you, bro. Stepping up and doing the right thing. Good for me too, because even if the kid is yours, I still wouldn’t want to marry a girl who’s already knocked up,” Pyotr says.
I come around the bar and grab ahold of Pyotr’s collar.
“The baby is mine,” I growl. I’m not sure why I’m reacting this way to someone I didn’t even know, but I can’t stand to hear any bad words about Annika.
Pyotr studies me with calm, narrowed, drug-addled eyes, and then laughs.
“Right, man,” he says in way of apology, bringing the joint to his lips again. “As long as I don’t have to take care of it, I don’t really give a shit. In a way I should be thanking you. Because of your wandering dick I don’t have to marry a woman I don’t know anymore.”
I glare at him for another moment, then let out a gruff laugh as I release Pyotr’s collar, then roughly ruffle his hair.
“Well, you’re welcome I guess,” I reply, then take a seat beside my brother.
“You gonna apologize for hitting me at the hospital now so we can be buddy-buddy again?” Pyotr asks, looking at me sideways.
I roll my eyes, but concede.
“You did deserve it, though,” I add with a rueful smile afterward.
Pyotr shrugs, takes another gulp from his already half-empty bottle of vodka.
“Yeah. Maybe. Guess I did let my temper get out of bounds there for a minute.”
“It’s alright,” I assure him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
It really is. We both have issues controlling our tempers at times, and I’m sure that it is only through age and experience with leadership that I've only just learned to better handle my own.
I hope in time, as Pyotr matures, he will be able to show the same restraint.
“So now what do we do?” Pyotr asks.
“We control the story people hear. I don’t know what we’re going to tell people yet but I’ll work on it with my advisors. Make sure you and Annika both come out of this looking free of blame. Then, if you want, we can look for another wife for you,” I explain, ending on a chuckle.
Pyotr chortles.
“No, thanks,” he says, “I’ll take all the freedom I can get.”
I smile at Pyotr, relieved that we’re no longer fighting. I enjoy these rare times, when I don’t have to play wrangler and can just be his brother.
“I do want you to be happy, you know,” I tell him. “I know whatever Mom put you through couldn’t have been easy, and I just-”
“Don’t talk about Mom,” Pyotr says, turning his head to look me square in the eyes. There’s no venom in his voice as there had been at the church, but the is a stern warning, almost a plea, in his deep voice.
I press my lips together, nod, and clap him on the shoulder before I stand.
“Right. Well. It’s been a hell of a day. I’ll let you get back to your headache music and parties. Just don’t drug and drive, okay?”
I know I have control over it, but I have to ask anyway. As much as we fight, I don’t want anything bad happening to him.
“You could stay, you know,” Pyotr says, looking almost hopeful as he stares up at me. He then smirks, holds up the bottle of vodka. “We’ve never partied together before, and we finally have something mutual to celebrate. You’re going to be a father, and I don’t have to get married.”
I laugh, but shake my head.
“I don’t think I’d fit into your crowd very well, mladshiy brat,” I reply, “And I have a lot to do. I’m getting married in a few weeks, after all.”
A flicker of disappointment moves through Pyotr’s eyes, but it quickly passes and he merely smiles and nods.
“Sure. I get it. The boss is always busy.”
“Sadly, that is true,” I agree. “See you soon, little brother.”
“Bud' zdorov, bol'shoy brat,” Pyotr replies.