Page 8

8

ROMAN

I t’s been four hours since Lucia left my office.

Two hundred and forty minutes.

And despite my phone’s incessant buzzing, the only message I’m waiting on remains noticeably absent.

Will she sign it?

With every passing moment that Lucia doesn’t answer, my tension ratchets up a notch.

It’s just because you want to fuck her.

There are a million other women out there who’d leap at what that contract offers. Damn, I wouldn’t even need to throw in the offer of money. And despite what I told Lucia, au pairs are hardly a rare breed. One phone call and a decent salary package would have another one on my doorstep within the hour, even if I had to fly them in from overseas.

Lucia Lopez is no more than a passing urge, the contract just a means to an end.

But no matter what I tell myself, her final words as she left my office have left me with a distinctly uneasy feeling. “If you think that asking me to formally become your live-in sex slave is a fact I want widely advertised, then you’re even more delusional than I thought.”

I stare out the car window to avoid Dimitry’s eyes and press my fingers to my temples to alleviate an increasingly uncomfortable headache. It’s been a long time since my sex life has caused me any kind of concern.

Actually, I’ve never allowed it to cause me concern.

I don’t do love. I do mutually convenient sex.

Frequently, and with willing partners whose names I rarely recall after the momentary lust has passed.

Love leaves only wreckage in its wake.

I learned that lesson as a child. It’s not one I intend to repeat.

It’s a measure of how unsettled I am that it’s almost a relief when we pull up outside Alhaurin prison. The relief lasts as long as it takes for me to exit the vehicle and notice the license plates on the black SUV parked nearby.

“What the fuck is that mudak doing here?” I slam the car door with enough force to shake the whole vehicle. “Nikolai should know better than to turn up on my day.”

Dimitry rolls his eyes. “Since when has Nikolai known anything?”

Good point. I stalk through security, seething. Mikhail’s younger brother has been a gigantic pain in my ass for over a decade. In my current mood, seeing him seated opposite Yuri, clad in his customary shiny track pants and designer T-shirt, blond hair greasy with product and slicked back from his narrow little face, has me grinding my teeth. Where Mikhail always favored his mother’s darker coloring, Nikolai is the spitting image of his father, which only annoys me more today.

“ Otets. ” I greet Yuri with the respectful title of father, completely ignoring Nikolai. At seventy, and after six years in prison, Yuri is no longer the feared pakhan who once ran Malaga with an iron fist. Without the benefit of a well-tailored suit, his sagging paunch stands out against the thin frame, and his features are slack, the once bright blue eyes sunken and nervously darting this way and that.

“Don’t be angry, moy syn .” Yuri licks his lips and glances around, leaning in as if to speak in confidence. “I have good reason for inviting both of my sons to meet with me today.”

I swallow my annoyance for the second time. It’s bad enough that Yuri insists on these weekly updates of “his” business. There are always eyes watching our movements. Such regular visits to a convicted felon don’t help the rumors that continue to swirl around my name and Hale’s reputation.

Including Nikolai in the meeting increases the risk tenfold.

“I paid the guards so we could both visit.” Nikolai shoots me a rather triumphant glance, as if this accomplishment shows some kind of genius.

“And now they’re all watching us have this little meeting. Way to stay under the radar, Nikolai.” I don’t attempt to soften my tone. He scowls and lights another of his ever-present cigarettes. Clearly his payment to the guards also includes the right to smoke.

“Nikolai tells me you haven’t been to visit Pillars since it reopened.” Yuri takes one of his son’s cigarettes and lights it, leaning back in his chair as he blows a long plume of smoke directly into my face. “You are pakhan in my place, Roman. Your bratva need you.”

It’s an effort to keep my expression blank. This is an old argument, one Mikhail and I carefully navigated for years.

I miss you, my brother.

For an instant I feel Mikhail’s absence so much it takes my breath away.

Yuri so adored his eldest son that he would bow to Mikhail’s judgment without question. But I am not Yuri’s natural-born son, and adopted or not, I won’t ever have the same standing Mikhail did.

“I have told you before that I do not interfere in Nikolai’s business interests, Otets .” It’s a struggle to maintain the facade of respect with Nikolai’s smug face in punching distance. “Pillars nightclub, and the associated interests, are entirely his responsibility. Nikolai has his own vor. He doesn’t need me looking over his shoulder.”

And I’ve worked night and day so that your grandchildren can grow up with clean hands, far away from your dirty legacy of girls, drugs, and gambling that occupies Nikolai’s time.

But I don’t say any of that. Yuri comes from another time, a different mindset. He and Mikhail fought bitterly over the establishment of Hale, but by then Yuri was in prison and Mikhail was pakhan. By mutual agreement, Mikhail and I never told Yuri about Mercura. Both of us instinctively knew that Yuri would never understand it. As far as Yuri knows, Hale Property is just our legitimate front, while Nikolai runs what Yuri considers to be the “real” end of the Stevanovsky bratva.

Nikolai’s business is the old way of doing business, and the one Yuri understands. For the past two years, since Mikhail’s death, I’ve walked a delicate line between pretending to respect Nikolai’s independence and keeping him and his sordid business well away from Hale. More importantly, away from Mercura, about which Nikolai knows absolutely nothing.

It hasn’t been easy, and I don’t like lying to Yuri, who is the reason I’m not still on the streets, and to whom I know I owe everything.

But in the end I had to choose between protecting Mikhail’s legacy and making his father happy. And loyal though I am, Mikhail’s children are my priority. Yuri will spend the rest of his days in jail, whereas the children have their whole lives in front of them.

As for Nikolai—if it wasn’t for what I owe Yuri, I’d have put a bullet between his eyes long ago. The little prick is as nasty as he is incompetent. It’s almost a full-time job keeping his bumbling ineptitude from sinking Hale altogether.

“I understand what you and Mikhail had to do, after the raids.” Yuri nods sagely, as if Mikhail and I built Hale at his command, rather than despite it. “I made you pakhan over my second son because it was Mikhail’s wish, and because I thought you had the balls for the job.”

I stiffen, and Dimitry shifts uneasily in the seat behind me.

“Am I to understand you are reconsidering that decision, Otets ?” My tone is still even and respectful, but by the way Nikolai shifts his chair subtly away from me, my cold fury is clear enough.

“No, no.” Yuri waves me away, but the light of petty triumph in his eyes makes me grit my teeth. “Sixteen years ago you stepped between Mikhail and a bullet. That is not something I will ever forget, Roman. You were poor, an orphan surviving on the streets. There was no reason for you to come to the defense of a rich college kid on spring break, and yet you did.” He smiles ingratiatingly at me, but the petty light remains in his eyes.

I’ve learned over the years that Yuri only ever tells this story when he wants something. It’s his subtle way of reminding me of where I came from and what he has done for me.

I also know there’s no point in interrupting him once he starts telling the story.

I force my face into a neutral expression and distract myself by remembering the juicy heat of Lucia Lopez’s open mouth as she screamed against my palm.

Khuy.

I’m immediately hard, and this is no place for that.

I drag my attention back to Yuri.

“You saved Mikhail from the consequences of a stupid mistake with no thought for your own safety.” Yuri smiles fondly in reminiscence, and despite the fact that I loathe the occasions when he drags this story out, I feel my heart soften a little. If there is one thing that Yuri and I unquestionably share, it is our love for Mikhail.

Yuri’s eldest son was reckless, there was no doubt. But even as a teenager, he was also incredibly generous, with the biggest heart I’ve ever known.

The week I met Mikhail in Miami, he was drinking every night in the restaurant where I was busing tables. He lit up the place night after night, with laughter and enormous tips. One night he even took me with him and his friends after the restaurant closed, insisting I drink tequila with them until we were both rolling drunk. Unfortunately, his generosity put a target on his back.

The following night I noticed two of the more notorious thieves in our district eyeing up Mikhail and his friends. When I saw them follow the college kids on their way to a beach party, I knew it meant trouble. It might not have, if Mikhail was the kind of person to just hand over his wallet when they pulled a gun.

But of course he wasn’t. He was Yuri Stevanovsky’s son, after all.

“You saved my son’s life when you stepped between him and that bullet. Then he saved yours by bringing you out to my yacht, where we found a discreet doctor and managed to keep you out of jail.” Yuri gives me his serious look. “That is why you became brothers, and why I brought you into my family. When a man saves a life, that life belongs to him. You and Mikhail belonged to each other. I always respected that.”

Nikolai has stayed silent throughout this little recital, though he has chain-smoked the entire time, his face wearing a petulant expression that is all too familiar. Nikolai was barely ten when Mikhail and I met at the age of seventeen. He’s only twenty-five now. And he hates this story almost as much as I do. Nikolai was still a teenager when Mikhail and I lived the blood-soaked days of the bratva wars that followed Yuri’s incarceration. Unfortunately, while we were fighting, Nikolai was visiting his father in prison and absorbing Yuri’s business views. Back then it had seemed harmless enough. Now, I fervently wish we’d taken him in hand.

“Nicky has a proposition for you,” Yuri says now.

Pizdozh. Here it comes.

“Oh?” I say politely, still not looking at Nikolai.

“Cádiz Football Club.” Yuri announces this with the same pomposity Nikolai used when he boasted about bribing the prison guards. “The manager has approached Nicky, looking for sponsorship.”

“You want us to launder Nicky’s income through Cádiz FC?” I keep a straight face with no small effort. “You don’t think that might be, er, a red flag , if you’ll excuse the football pun?”

Dimitry’s snort of laughter is discernible enough that I hastily speak again to cover it. “I mean no disrespect, Otets . But using a football club to launder profits is how you ended up in jail the first time. I just think it might be... risky, to repeat that pattern.”

“Not if it’s Hale, rather than Pillars, who is the official sponsor.” Nikolai speaks up for the first time, glancing resentfully in my direction. “Nobody would see anything wrong with that.”

Nobody except the hundreds of federal officers currently watching our every move.

God, Nikolai is stupid.

“If you want to work with Cádiz, Nikolai, you have my permission to do so.” I’ve heard enough, and I don’t have time for this shit. It’s time to remind them both that no matter how I got here, I am now pakhan . What I say goes, and they both know it. “When I gave you Pillars, you asked for complete autonomy in running it. I gave you that, with my respect and trust. I don’t interfere with Pillars, or any of the businesses you operate from it. I don’t even ask,” I say pointedly, “for you to pay tribute on those businesses, as is my right. I have given you free rein, Nikolai. Helped when you’ve asked for it and stayed away when you haven’t.” I glance between Yuri and his son to make sure my next point drives home. “But nor will I risk Hale to wash your income any more than I already do. I’ve set up an entire branch of the company to manage your earnings, at no small cost to the organization as a whole. If you want more than I can offer, then you are free to pursue Cádiz independently.” I pin Nikolai with a look hard enough to remind him of who I am. “You will also take whatever consequences might come from that decision. Am I understood?”

For a moment it looks like he might argue.

Oh, please do, you little fuck.

Between my state of semi-arousal and waiting for Lucia Lopez to say yes to that goddamn contract, I’d like nothing better than to connect my fist with Nicky’s face.

But in the end, he just nods sulkily and lights another cigarette.

Good choice.

I spend another twenty minutes giving Yuri a bullshit update and listening to Nikolai boast about the celebrities that are patronizing Pillars and all the money he’s making. I even pretend to be interested, for Yuri’s sake.

I’m about to make my excuses when Yuri pipes up again, this time in a wheedling tone that makes my skin crawl.

“When will you bring the children to visit their grandpapa? And what about darling Inger?”

Never is the answer to the first question.

And “darling Inger” is a walking nightmare.

Yuri, however, has always believed Mikhail’s ex-wife to be the epitome of what a Russian wife should be, and Mikhail never had the heart to take her down from the pedestal Yuri put her on.

“The children are in London with Vera.” Vera is Yuri’s dragon of a wife. To my vast relief, after her husband’s incarceration, Vera chose to live in London rather than Spain. Personally, I think she’s just happy to be far away from Yuri. “And Inger is currently on a modeling contract in the US.”

“Ah.” Yuri nods, yet again as if all of this is by his decree. “Inger is so beautiful. Such a beauty needs a good husband, Roman. And it would be Mikhail’s dream, I think, for you to raise his children together.” The pale blue eyes turn a little misty, his Russian accent growing harsher. “A man needs a wife, Roman. You could do a great deal worse than Inger.” He gives me a sly smile. “As I recall, it was you she favored in the beginning, was it not?”

You just stepped over the line, old man.

“I told you I don’t plan to marry.” The cold finality in my voice wipes the sentiment right off Yuri’s face. “Mikhail’s son will inherit Hale, and I will raise him to run it, as his father would have wanted. I have no need of either wife nor heir since, as you no doubt understand, I am pakhan only until little Mickey comes of age.”

I barely manage not to add that even if I were to marry, Inger would be the very last damned person on this planet I would choose.

“Inger was Mikhail’s wife. I would thank you not to disrespect your son’s memory, or dishonor her, by bringing up a past that is long forgotten by us all.” I glare at him across the pockmarked table. “Do I make myself clear?”

When Yuri finally drops his eyes, it’s with the same sullen resentment his son showed moments earlier.

I spend the next ten minutes pretending to give a shit about Nikolai’s business and to take Yuri’s advice. It’s never smart to piss off a man who has nothing but time in which to dwell on his grudges. Nor do I fancy making an open enemy of Nikolai, no matter how useless the little prick is. By the time I take my leave, we’re back on amicable terms, which is just how I like it.

I’ve got bigger things to worry about than dealing with those two.

Like whether or not Lucia Lopez is going to surrender to me.