8. The Devil You Know
THE DEVIL YOU KNOW
“Shouldn’t you be with Victoria?”
Aleksandr looks genuinely confused by the question. “Why?”
“Because she’s due to give birth at any minute.”
“The doctor is on call. I’ll hear when the baby is born.”
If necessary, I would take a bullet for my brothers. They’re blood. But I don’t particularly like either of them.
Aleksandr is too similar to our father—never content and always cold.
Maksim is the opposite extreme. He enjoys the money and power that accompany carrying the Sokolov name, leaving Aleksandr and me—mostly me—to handle what’s required to retain both.
Maksim was trained, same as us, but only uses violence as a last resort.
My younger brother probably knows exactly how many men he’s killed. I lost count a long time ago.
“You should show up sooner,” I state.
“What am I supposed to do?” Aleksandr’s focus remains on the scantily clad women dancing onstage.
Just like Igor.
If he were less distracted, he’d be more irritated by this conversation. Aleksandr hates being questioned—another trait he learned from our father.
He’s not really asking, so I say nothing. I try to relax. To hear the low, pulsing beat and see the dancers moving in perfect synchronization to the sultry beat.
“You finally crawled out of your hole?”
I glance at Aleksandr, surprised to find his attention on me rather than remaining on the women. He’s sharp when necessary, but I doubted my presence would rate as relevant inside his favorite club.
“It’s a long flight.”
A trip he hasn’t made since he turned eighteen. Aleksandr is too valuable to negotiate or enforce agreements. Maksim is too impulsive and lacks any diplomacy.
“Yet you never complain.”
“I just did.”
He cracks a smile at that. I get a glimpse of the boy who used to huddle on the stairs with me, eavesdropping on what was happening downstairs. Even at that age, we knew what was coming. We never had to be told what was expected. We were determined to be as ready as possible.
You can’t truly prepare for this life though. It attacks. You learn to fight back, or you have no life.
I hope Victoria delivers a son. Aleksandr would ready him the same way he tried to assist me. A daughter? He’d ignore. And Aleksandr needs to care more.
I need to care less.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see an incoming call from Igor. So does Aleksandr.
“Ah, yes,” he says, chuckling. “Lyubimyy syn.”
I shake my head once as I stand, striding outside to answer the phone. I am the favorite son—an uncommon position for a middle child. Oldest is the default, unless a girl arrives first. But I’m not the only one aware of the similarities between my father and older brother.
Aleksandr tried to prepare me, but I was ready first. I’m not sure my brother has—or will—forgive me for that.
It’s a short call.
Igor barks out, “My office. Now,” and promptly hangs up.
I sigh, then continue toward my car. Despite inviting me here, Aleksandr won’t care I left without a word. I was half-hearted, at best, about bringing a woman into one of the private rooms. Work will be more distracting than sex with a stranger.
A dozen feet ahead, I notice the shadow that’s too wide to only be the lamppost.
I scan my surroundings, looking for accomplices, gun already drawn.
I’m not the favorite because I’m reliable.
I don’t have the most kills because my brothers are incompetent.
Smart people are scared of the Sokolovs. Everyone is fucking terrified of me.
The man is dead before he even had a chance to raise his weapon.
He fell forward, so I kick him over, avoiding the blood seeping steadily from the neat hole in his head.
His face isn’t familiar, but I do recognize the tattoo on his arm.
We cut his crew out after they failed to deliver payment last month.
I sigh, step over the crimson puddle, and call Aleksandr.
He answers on the fifth ring with an annoyed, “What?” as if I don’t know he’s currently preoccupied by prostitutes.
“Send Koslov and Galkin outside,” I snap. “I have to go, and there’s a mess.”
He hangs up without a word, much less a thank-you.
Aleksandr likes to bring too many men to this location. A way for him to let his guard down as much as we’re ever able to. A waste of resources usually. Convenient tonight. Saves me a second phone call.
The men appear; Aleksandr doesn’t. I instruct Koslov and Galkin as to where and how to deliver the body, then climb inside the car.
I speed home, driving too fast along dark, empty roads—my solitary thrill for the evening.
Igor is pacing when I enter his office. He nods toward his desk, and I walk over to assess the grisly photo displayed there.
“That is why you kill rats,” my father sneers. “They flip once, they’ll flip again.”
“We don’t know that he did,” I say evenly.
“They did that to him, and you think he kept his mouth shut?”
“He didn’t know anything important.”
“He knew about the warehouse.”
Another photo, this time a smoldering building.
My jaw clenches. “We have others. The only reason any product was stored there was because we’d run out of space in the other buildings.”
Igor huffs. “We can’t continue to expand if O’Brien is—”
“I’ll take care of it. Cillian is reliable. We’ll hit the house. He has no idea we—”
“Igor? You said you’d be right back.”
I don’t turn toward the unfamiliar, distinctly feminine voice. I close my eyes briefly. When they open, my father’s expression is amused.
“I did. And I told you not to leave the bedroom.”
“I’m sorry,” the woman coos. “I missed you.”
She appears to my left, wearing a silk robe and a hopeful expression. Blonde and beautiful, like all the others. She aims a coy smile my way as she clings to my father’s arm, and my stomach roils.
“We done here?” I ask Igor.
He nods. “Victoria is in labor. You’ll stay until Aleksandr has adjusted to fatherhood, then go to Chicago and deal with this.”
I nod back. Turn and head into the hallway, intent on getting as far away as possible, as quickly as possible. Maybe he’ll fuck her again before—
Thud.
Next time I’m summoned, there will be a new carpet.