Page 66

Dimitry

I manage to hold on to the contents of my stomach until we exit the helicopter at a small private airport near Bangkok.

To Leon’s credit, he doesn’t comment when I retch myself dry into the grass beside the hangar. Nor does he try to make conversation as he drives the rental car through a series of small back roads, avoiding the main highways as we head south.

I stare into the night beyond the windshield, so filled with crippling self-loathing I don’t know how I will ever face Abby again, let alone myself.

What kind of man beats the woman he loves into a bloody mess?

The fact that she never once complained only makes it worse. Her sole comments were incessant taunts to Rodrigo, asking if the blows were the best he could do .

I recognize the technique. I know she did it to deny him the satisfaction she imagined he was getting from hurting her. At one point, she even jeered that he was using a hood to save his manicure.

The worst of it is that I almost laughed then. Almost ripped off the hood and kissed her through the blood I made run down her face.

I also came way too fucking close to beating Rodrigo into senselessness out of sheer fury.

I clench my fists, hating myself, hating this whole sordid goddamn mess.

I refuse the solace of the vodka bottle Leon silently proffers as we drive. I’m not letting myself off that easily.

I hunch into the door and try to close my eyes, but all I see when I do is Abby’s battered body when I left that cabin, still standing rigidly upright in defiance of the pain.

It takes over three hours on the back roads until we are winding up the driveway of Zinaida’s villa. Dawn is breaking over the valley, turning the bay to infinite glass and layering the rice fields in a soft mist.

The beauty is completely lost on me.

All I feel is a hollow loneliness, the kind of desperate pain I thought I’d left behind on the streets of Miami years ago. Even Leon’s silent presence beside me, good man though he is, doesn’t offer any kind of comfort.

Normally I’d discipline myself into focusing on the problems ahead. I know I have to, if we’re to have any chance of success, just like I know that losing myself in planning is the best way out of the dull despair threatening to overwhelm me completely.

I will , I think grimly, straightening up in my seat as Leon pulls the car into the garage. I might have just committed the worst sin of my life. But failing to execute now will only take that sin and multiply it by a thousand.

Get your shit together, Dimitry.

I suck in my breath and trudge upstairs, willing my mind and body to obey me, trying to push the sickening images from my mind. I’m so lost that at first I don’t see the figures standing out on the patio, silhouetted by the rising sun.

By the time I reach for my gun, I already know it’s a lost cause. There are too many of them.

Big men. Dangerous men.

Even still, I’m not going down without fucking trying. I take aim, squinting into the breaking dawn, my finger tightening on the trigger.

“I wasn’t expecting a hug.” The rasping, familiar voice comes from behind me. “But a bullet’s a bit extreme, brother, don’t you think?”

Shock floods me like an arctic wave, stopping my heart completely so I’m frozen in a half crouch at the top of the stairs.

I will my shaking legs to take the last step, my gun arm slowly lowering, and turn to the source of the voice.

Roman is leaning against the bar, staring at me with a wary smile that fades as soon as he sees my face.

“Christ.” He takes a halting step forward then stops, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “Are you—What the fuck has happened?”

I can’t move.

I can’t speak.

I just stare at him and drop the gun to the floor.

Then he’s across the room, locking me into an embrace so hard I can barely breathe. “I’m sorry.” His voice cracks.

I shake my head silently, incapable of words, holding on to him like he’s a fucking buoy in the middle of the ocean.

“But I’m here now, brother.” One big hand grips the back of my head. “I’m fucking here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“And you planned to do what—go in there on your own and assassinate this prick?” Roman stares at me across a small round table, turning his vodka between his hands.

We’re sitting on a private balcony at the back of the villa.

It faces a jagged stone mountain covered in lush forest, and there’s nothing but the sound of birdsong to interrupt our conversation.

Roman, clearly realizing I was in no state to greet visitors, took me out here, and this is where we’ve been ever since.

He’s barely spoken since we sat down and I started talking.

I meet his eyes briefly. “That’s the basic plan, yes.”

“With no fucking backup.”

I lift a shoulder.

“Jesus, Dimitry.” He ducks his head, shaking it slowly. “Why didn’t you just call—” He cuts himself off abruptly and takes a mouthful of his drink, staring at the tree-covered mountain. Two scarlet minivets flutter down onto a branch just beyond the balcony and poise there, twittering cheerfully.

He scowls. “Noisy little fuckers, aren’t they?”

I snort softly, staring into my drink.

Roman stands up and walks to the edge of the balcony, leaning over the wooden railing. “Never really liked Asia,” he says. He waves his glass over the railing. “Too many fucking monkeys.”

“Monkeys.” I shake my head. “I know I’ll regret asking, but what is your problem with monkeys?”

“Remember I flew out to Thailand a few years ago, to meet with the bratva boys who set up shop here?” He glances back and I nod; I remember.

“So we went out for lunch,” Roman goes on.

“It was all going well—decent food, halfway decent booze—until a fucking monkey came up and snatched my meal out from under my nose.”

I give an involuntary snort of laughter.

“Yeah,” he says darkly. “Funny, huh? But while that little prick was stealing my food, another one was picking my pocket. For a hot minute there I actually thought the fucking monkeys were on the bratva payroll. I came damned close to pulling out a gun and putting monkey brains all over the nice tablecloth, which would have blown a multibillion-dollar deal, not to mention started a fucking war.”

My snort turns into an actual cough of laughter. Roman gives me a dry side glance, which makes me laugh even more.

His wry smile widens as he watches me, and when he starts to laugh too, the sound sends the startled minivets flying off into the forest, which tips us both over the edge to full-blown hilarity.

I laugh so fucking hard that tears roll down my cheeks, and when I finally stop, the horrible, leaden weight in my chest has lifted enough that I can breathe again.

We sit there in a companionable silence for a while, feet up on the railing, just drinking our vodka and watching the forest.

“I should have flown out to Australia the minute you told me Abby was missing.” It’s Roman who finally breaks the silence.

“For what it’s worth, I knew I was wrong as soon as I got off the phone.

That was before Darya, the kids, and every one of our crew made it pretty fucking clear that they thought I was a grade A asshole.

” He shoots me a sideways look. “Yes, even more than usual,” he says dryly.

“It got so bad that Mickey refused to train in the boxing ring with me and Darya took off to London with the girls and Aleksander. Even Sergei, her father, had a shot at me, the old bastard. Not to mention my mother and Alexei. Even the fucking geek squad gave me the cold shoulder, the little pricks.”

“So you’re saying you basically got bullied into getting onto that plane,” I say, grinning despite everything.

“No.” His unusually sober tone makes me turn to face him, my smile fading when I see the hollow look in his eyes. “I got on that plane because you were fucking right, Dimitry, and I was wrong.”

I’m too surprised to speak.

Roman looks down at his glass. “You told me last year that one of the reasons you ran into the streets with me, back when we were kids, was because you thought I was the loneliest person you’d ever met.”

I grimace. “Pretty sure you told me to fuck off.”

“Probably.” He doesn’t smile. “But what I didn’t tell you is how it felt to finally have someone by my side.

The truth is that it wasn’t me who rescued you back in that halfway house.

It was you who saved me.” He meets my eyes.

“You gave me a reason to wake up every day and fight for a better future, from rebuilding the Stevanovsky clan to starting Mercura. And you didn’t just stand beside me while I did it.

You built the foundations that hold it all together, and you did it without ever asking for credit, let alone the slice of Mercura that’s yours by right. ”

“I didn’t do it for that—”

“I fucking know you didn’t.” Roman cuts me off harshly. “That’s the worst of it.”

We sit there for a moment, the words between us slowly reshaping the years we’ve walked side by side.

“No offense,” I say eventually, glancing wryly at him, “but my girlfriend is still stuck in a compound with a psychopath, and we’ve got several triad clans, not to mention probably the entire Cardenas cartel, who’d prefer Abby and I were both dead. Can we park the therapy for now?”

Roman snorts into his vodka glass. “Christ, yes. Please.”

“Good.” I tilt my head back toward the house. “Who’s the crowd?”

“Mickey and Pavel, for starters.” He grins.

“No chance those two were sitting this one out. They’ve probably already hacked into every scam those bastards are running.

Bryce insisted on coming, despite all the bullets he took in that Miami shitshow.

Mak sent a team to Australia to free up Luke, so he’s on his way with some mad fucking Irish mate of his—”

“Paddy,” I say, grinning.

“Something like that. They’re not coming here, though, since Luke’s worried they might have been made.

They’ll wait for your instructions.” Roman half smiles.

“Mak has offered whatever help you need. I said you’d be in touch as soon as you have a plan.

Oh, and Alexei Petrovsky is here, too. Apparently he’s gotten used to having you around in Miami.

He brought a couple of men with him who seem to like you too, though fuck knows why. ”

His smile twists a little. “It took threats of actual violence to stop the rest of the entire Stevanovsky and Petrovsky clans from buying their own tickets and coming here under their own steam, no matter what I said.”

I swallow with difficulty. “What about the bratva clans here? Is that going to be a problem for you?”

Roman pretends not to notice the rough edge to my voice.

“Those fuckers are making so much money off Mercura they’ll cop the risk and fucking like it.

I’ve told them this is a private deal, not company business.

” He swallows the last vodka in his glass.

“This is your show, Dimitry. Your plan. Your orders. We’re all here for you, and for Abby.

” He grips my shoulder hard enough to leave marks.

“Whatever you need, brother—I’ve got your back. ”