Chapter 28 - Konstantin
It took twice as long as it should have, and it was dawn before we ended up at my nephew Dima’s beach house in San Diego.
Tati was exhausted after the roundabout route we had to take, and stiff from being crammed in the crate for so long.
I promised her she’d have a massage as soon as there was a security perimeter set up, and she managed a cheeky smile, asking if I’d be the one giving it.
I would have much preferred to be doing that instead of assigning the newly assembled army to posts all around the property, going as far as sending a few men out in a heavily armed boat.
Disguised as half-drunk fishermen, they could dodge any curiosity by the coast guard, but keep the shore behind Dima’s mansion from any unwanted visitors.
There were also more guards inside the grounds and the house, too, not just for Tati’s safety, but to keep a closer eye on her.
It was cute watching her pick the lock on the security livestream, and there was no way she would have gotten into the safe to retrieve her phone, but I wouldn’t take her skills for granted again.
I was stunned that her weaving skills were no joke, either.
The project she had begun in the few hours of having the loom had been truly impressive and definitely expert work.
She had seemed so bereft at the thought of losing the new loom because of our sudden move that I was already having it transported to our new home.
Maybe there really was nothing out of the ordinary about her dropping out of college, now that I saw she was so passionate about weaving, but I still wasn’t a hundred percent convinced. My own men had learned skills to assimilate for undercover jobs.
One bright spot in the dark sea of chaos was Mat, and his team thought they had located the shooter whom Tati was able to recognize.
Things quickly got dark again when he was identified as none other than Riku Yoshida’s second in command.
It didn’t bode well for Grigor’s claims of innocence that such a man had been invited into his home.
Since I had promised to keep her in the loop and let her help out as much as she was able, I printed out a new batch of pictures that CJ emailed me.
Tati looked up from her magazine at the table set up outside on the big porch overlooking the sea, and eagerly shoved it aside to take the stack of photos.
Making a pitcher of margaritas from a convenient mix in the well-stocked pantry, I brought it out and filled each of us a glass. Letting out a long sigh, I settled into the lounge chair next to her, unable to remember the last time I could relax.
There was no reason to relax, but it was impossible to stay tense and tightly wound with the soft sea breezes, the warm sunshine reflecting off the sand, and the sound of the ocean rolling in and out.
Even the raucous cries of greedy seagulls, dive-bombing the water, had me closing my eyes for a brief moment of respite.
“A bit early for drinks?” Tati asked, but still reached for her glass. “You’d think this was a vacation.”
“Consider the next hour that way,” I said, letting the sun hit my face. “Or at least the next half an hour.”
I took her hand, but she still shuffled through the pictures while I dozed, wondering what it would be like if this were an actual vacation and neither one of us had a care beyond where we’d eat for dinner, and if there’d be dancing after, or straight home to bed.
It was a nice little fantasy. Too nice, and over too soon.
“I know this guy,” she said, jolting my eyes open. She held up a photo. Russian, not Japanese.
I sat forward with a frown. “That wasn’t half an hour,” I said, but took the picture.
I knew him, too. He was part of a rival family in Moscow that we’d been keeping an eye on since there were rumblings of a possible attempt on our territory.
“How do you know him?” I asked, keeping my voice and face neutral.
She shrugged. “Okay, I don’t really know him. But he was at the house for a meeting once. Maybe twice, with some other guys, but they’re not in any of these pictures.”
“He’s a Rostov,” I said, watching her carefully. Her brows shot together, and there was a slight tremble to her hand as she set the picture down. “So you understand what that name means?”
“It doesn’t mean anything,” she said.
“But it’s obvious that there’s no reason for a member of the Rostov family, who’ve been warring with mine, a fact of which your father is fully aware, to be at your house.”
“There could be a dozen reasons,” she snapped, crossing her arms in front of her.
“Name one.” It was an honest request. I was willing to listen, as I’d promised her, but she only sputtered, her mind casting around for anything at all that would make sense.
“Just one reason why your father should be entertaining Anton Rostov, or for that matter, why he should have had Riku’s second over for tea and cakes. ”
She stood up, almost knocking over her half-finished margarita. “Stop being sarcastic,” she said. “None of this is funny.” Her eyes flew wide as she finally registered what I said. “Wait, what? Who is Riku’s second?”
“The man you identified as the shooter,” I told her coldly. So far, her acting skills were top-notch, but I kept my eyes trained on her, waiting for a crack in the performance. “You didn’t know that all along?”
“Of course I didn’t. How could I? I don’t know anything, Kon.
” Her pleading tone grabbed my chest and squeezed.
God, I wanted to believe her. She only wanted to fight.
“I’m not going to pretend I have any idea why either of those men was at my house, but Papa certainly wasn’t giving them tea and cakes.
Why are you so set on believing he was working against you? ”
“Why are you so set on believing he wasn’t?” I asked.
Her hackles rose at my cool tone, and she stormed back and forth, still hugging herself against a truth she didn’t want to accept.
“Because he would never betray you. He would never betray anyone who didn’t deserve betraying,” she shouted.
This wasn’t just self-protection; she was honestly furious. And I was getting closer to joining her. “Excuse me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you dare put words in my mouth. I never said you deserved to be betrayed.”
“Sounded really close,” I told her. “And at the same time, you admitted your father could betray someone.”
“Then you just admitted you gave him a reason,” she said, stopping her short, quick steps back and forth. “Don’t explode. Just think for a second. Is there any reason he might have believed you were—”
“We were partners in everything,” I said, standing up now, my own voice rising.
“There was no reason to keep anything from him. He was the one keeping things from me, apparently. I never would have reason to meet with the second in command of the man who wanted me dead, or a member of a family who’s been trying to overthrow mine for years. ”
“He must have had a reason,” she said, pressing her fingers to her eyes as if wracking her brain.
She was so certain, I began to wonder if I was wrong. But the evidence said otherwise, and I reminded her of that.
“You’ve never faked evidence before?” she asked, almost begging me to admit it.
Of course, I had. In the process of tripping up an enemy. But Grigor wasn’t supposed to be my enemy.
We were at an impasse. I didn’t want to browbeat her; she had no answers that would change my mind. She stormed into the house, and the next few days were anything but a vacation.
She ate in the guest room, which I was sure she thought of as her new prison cell, and when her weaving loom arrived, she only came out to work on it when I was out of the house.
I only knew because of the progress she made on the beautiful rug.
I would have loved to compliment her on it, but three days later, she was still mad enough to spit in my face.
The men we were searching for were still staying well hidden, and we were back to waiting, something I hated as much as Tati did.
By now, I almost didn’t want to learn the truth, knowing how it might end up destroying her if she was telling the truth about not being involved.
And how it would destroy me if she were.
When Sofiya called for an update, she could tell how wound up and miserable I was, and astutely accused me of getting in too deep.
“Let it go,” she said, sounding even more distant than the miles between us. “Cut Tatiana loose and forget about Grigor. Who gives a crap about the money he stole?”
“It’s not the money,” I said for the dozenth time.
“Then let it go. Come to Milan and help me wrangle my idiot brothers.”
The last I heard from one of the twins, they had just done a very lucrative deal. Perhaps the men they made it with weren’t exactly savory characters, but who was I to judge? My daughter was bitter that I was prioritizing something she felt didn’t have anything to do with our family.
She didn’t understand that I couldn’t just let this betrayal go. That wasn’t how it worked. Because if Grigor was responsible for turning the Yakuza against me, and perhaps responsible for trying to overthrow the Moscow Fokins, then that meant it had everything to do with her and her brothers.
My enemies weren’t letting anything go until I was dead, and after that, they’d go after her, and then my sons. They were already going after my nephews and nieces all the way across the world, here in LA.
Nothing would stop until I stopped it. Whatever that meant, it had to end.