Page 2 of Scarlet Promise (Yegorov Bratva #4)

Chapter Two

ILYA

We’re wasting time. I don’t know how much more Demyan’s going to make me waste.

Demyan’s making calls, because apparently, he doesn’t fucking trust me. He’s got Pavel out searching for her, and now Erin’s saying something to her stubborn husband. I catch the words “work with him.”

Melor and Simonov could have moved her five times by now. Since the fucker stole my car, it’s the only clue we have, and if Melor’s even half as intelligent as he seems, he’ll have dumped it as soon as he could.

My head still thumps sickeningly, and Albert creeps in and presses against the leg of my chair. I gently try to get him to leave because Demyan may scare him if he gets loud. But Albert turns into a small, very heavy boulder, unwilling to leave me since his mistress isn’t back.

“Go back to Svetlana,” I whisper to the dog. “She tried to kill that fuck. Bullet missed, and she’s beside herself. She loves our Alina, too.

He ignores me, pressing closer.

“What is that?” Demyan asks.

“Alina’s dog.”

“Fuck…” He pinches his nose. Speaking in Russian, he says, “If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you. I’ll flail you alive and feed you your entrails, and then I’ll break every bone in your body. And maybe then I’ll let you die. Maybe.”

Then he turns and leaves, his phone pressed to his ear again.

I hit another number on my phone, a low-end gossip runner.

He hears things. From bars, from low-end jobs.

He’s so small-time that he often has stories to tell and to sell to the right buyer.

I’ve used him over the years for all kinds of things.

But this is the biggest thing yet. It’s a risk, because if he sells to me, he sells to others.

The thing I hold on to, as I carefully lay out the things I want to know to him, is this: the man would be dead if he pitted people against each other or backstabbed.

“Call me,” I say to him, “if you hear anything about Demyan’s sister. Or anyone with the Simonov family.”

“Will do.”

“And Oleg? If it’s good, it’s worth your while.”

If he gets something, he’ll tell me; if not, he’ll tell me.

He doesn’t ask about how much I’ll pay, and he’ll take my offer. He knows the hand will keep feeding him if he doesn’t bite it.

Oleg’s a long shot, but always worth a call.

Beyond him, I have other contacts, including my PI. I have him out looking at all the places he followed Melor to. But no call means he’s found nothing.

Thing is, contacts work if there’s something to report. Right now, there’s nothing.

Which leads me to believe she’s off grid somewhere.

Off grid doesn’t mean out in the middle of nowhere; it just means low-viz, private property, probably industrial.

Off grid, where the comings and goings are hard to follow.

But someone will be spotted.

Someone will lead us to her.

I know it.

I believe it.

I have to.

Otherwise, I’ll lose my fucking shit.

“Okay,” Demyan says from the door of my study as he gazes at me, his pale-blue eyes like ice, “explain again.”

I stand and lean on my desk. “Any word?”

“No one’s seen her.” He stalks into my office. “Explain.”

I bite back my sigh, going over most of the will with him, how I’ve been saddled with men who don’t trust me. Who seem to hate me. I mention Denis, but he waves that away. He doesn’t mean it’s inconsequential. Rather that it isn’t important to this. Neither are most of the men.

When I tell him of the setup, he winces.

“And yet you stayed to save the injured, and still, they didn’t turn loyal to you? This Melor has that much influence?”

“They know him,” I say.

His gaze snaps to me, then away.

“I know what you’re thinking?—”

“You’ve no idea what I’m thinking.” Demyan paces, quick, angry steps.

My mouth twists. “You’re thinking that I’m a na?ve fool and not fucking ready to lead.”

“Your words, not mine. You trust.” He shrugs. “Is that na?ve? I don’t know. I do trust your instincts, but maybe in the role you’re occupying, you need to pull back on trust until it’s utterly earned.”

“And how am I meant to do that when I step into a world already built around someone else?” I ask.

“The men supported Belov, then as his chosen, it should be automatic,” he says.

Then he frowns and helps himself to a vodka, pouring one for me, too, without asking.

I take it. “It seems Melor saw himself as next in line, not me, an interloper?—”

“His boss’s heir.”

“One he’d never heard of.” I grimace and take a swallow as Albert whines softly. I sit back down and place my hand on Albert’s head. “No doubt the old bastard told stories of my mother not bending to his will, of her being weak…”

He nods.

“Melor no doubt turned the men against me, poisoned their already suspicious minds, and then played cozy with me while double-crossing me,” I mutter. “And then of course he went and made Santo the bad guy?—”

“He is.” Demyan’s voice is dark, full of accusations.

“And then Melor teamed with Simonov. And took Alina. To get her back, I need to step down and hand everything over.” I take a sip of the vodka and set it down.

“But problem is, it isn’t that simple. There are so many stipulations in the will I’d be walking away from, and he’d still be on the outside looking in. ”

Demyan taps a finger against the glass, downs the contents, refills it, and then hurls the bottle against the wall, making Albert whimper and quiver and press tighter against me.

“You fucking got her in this mess,” he snarls. “ You .”

He’s beyond furious. I expected this. I’m furious at myself, too, so he can join the fucking club.

“How the fuck did any of this happen anyway?” Demyan demands. “Why would this Melor think she’s important enough to you to take, when he’d know she’s my sister, and crossing me is an exceptionally bad idea?”

“Demy—”

“I knew it was a bad idea letting her stay with you.” He glares at me. “I should have sent for her if she was having nightmares. Upped the security. Come back earlier?—”

“About the importance.” Fuck me. The coldness that emanates from him chills me, and he eyes me with the flat look of a snake. “Melor might have gotten the impression because he thinks something’s going on between us.”

Demyan doesn’t move. “Thinks?”

“As a condition of my inheritance, I needed to be married?—”

“This better not be going where I think it is.” Demyan shakes his head and stalks right up to the desk. “And Melor’s impression is something is going on. Explain.”

With a long exhale, I say, “Melor thinks we’re married. We are married.”

“You’re what ?”

“She’s helping me out.” I hold up the hand that’s not on Albert’s shaking head. “Don’t be furious at Alina. This is my fault. I talked her into it,” I lie. “I take full responsibility. And full blame. For everything.”

Demyan starts laughing. “You think?”

“Be as angry at me as you want,” I say, “but right now, we need to put all that aside and focus on getting her back.”

There’s a long moment where Demyan doesn’t move or speak, but finally, he nods. “Fine.”

“Fine, you’ll be angry or fine, you’ll put it aside?”

“Don’t fucking push it, Ilya. I’m focusing on getting my sister back. Once we get Angel, I’ll deal with you. And if you’ve fucking so much as touched her…”

“Demyan.” I bite down on my tongue. “Please.”

“Her safety is priority. We have to do what we can. We could pretend to give in to his demands…but—” He stops. “Fuck, that’s not going to work.”

I know where he was going with that, and I agree.

“It might work,” I say, “but you’re right. Double-cross once, and who knows if he’ll do it again. And pretending won’t get us far if we don’t know where she is.”

“If I were such a coward as this Melor?—”

“He’s involved, but it’s not just him,” I say quietly.

Demyan frowns. “If I were a coward like those who took her, I’d want proof my demands were truly met. I don’t know what the other party wants, but Melor wants this, and he’d want to walk in here, have everything.”

He cocks his head.

I shake mine. “No. Whatever you’re thinking won’t work.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” I say in Russian, “because I thought of it, too. Get him here, have papers, let him think he’s getting the keys to the castle, and then kill him. But it won’t work because this Simonov is involved. He wants some of this bratva.”

“Maybe all of it, so Melor might be expendable.”

“And if we kill Melor, who knows what Simonov will do. All accounts state he’s ruthless and without any morals.”

“What the fuck do you have?” Demyan spits at me. “I’ve got Pavel and the others looking. Could this Denis you mentioned help?”

“He’s been in the hospital, so I don’t know. I think he’s waiting to see how it plays out.”

“Make him choose.”

I flick an annoyed look at Demyan. “In normal circumstances perhaps, but these aren’t normal. Wasting time on getting him to commit or ousting him is pointless.”

“This is how you run things?”

“Yes. As you know.” Because we both know I do this when I’m his second.

Right now, I’m not, but it’s the same thing, no matter how he chooses to see it.

“Do you have anything to go on?” He downs his other glass of vodka.

Demyan stalks off to the bar and picks up the bourbon.

He pours some but just holds it. “Tell me something.”

“I don’t have much,” I admit. “Not beyond what Santo told me. He said you often can spot a Simonov man by his cross tattoo on his inner left wrist. Otherwise… Most of the men in my bratva are loyal to Melor. They’re not going to want to rat him out.”

“Rat protection?” He sneers.

“Demyan,” I warn.

“You might want to fix that situation with men loyal to another. A leader who can’t control his bratva isn’t really a leader at all. Is he?”

With great effort, I ignore him. Whatever fallout may be in progress here isn’t my concern. Neither is a blame game or a pissing contest.

There’s only one thing that matters.

Alina.

Getting my malyshka back safe, unharmed. Alive.

That’s all that matters.

“Not helping. We need to get a game plan. Melor took my car, so maybe he’ll lead us to her. If he hasn’t dumped it.” “So he has her.”

“Melor was with me when Alina was taken. He probably dumped the car. I’ve got my PI on it, looking out for Melor and for Simonov, along with any of his higher-ups.”

A muscle works in Demyan’s jaw, and I’m pretty fucking sure he’s thinking of murdering me right now.

“What are you trying to say?” he asks.

He can’t be this obtuse.

“I’m saying, Demyan, that she’s not with Melor. He didn’t take her.”

“The man orchestrated it.”

I frown. “And ordered the killings of what he sees as his own men? At the gate, in the yard? No. Another car came in. Whoever it was killed everyone in their way. That smacks of Simonov.”

“Does it?”

But Demyan knows. He’s not the type of pakhan to only know those he works with, those he classes as enemies.

He’s aware of others, ranks, reputations.

Degrees of trustworthiness and recklessness.

Demyan knows it all. Even if he only knows of them in the periphery, he can easily decide if he wants to know more or to avoid crossing paths.

This is different. Someone stepped into his sandbox by taking his sister.

“Think about it, Demyan. If he wants to live, he won’t exactly know where she is. But he knows who has her.”

“This Simonov,” Demyan mutters.

“Simonov is, as you know, a man who has no morals, no value of life outside his own,” I say.

Demyan narrows his eyes and sets his glass down. “Melor told you what Simonov is, and Santo said he’d help. Who’s to say that Santo and Melor aren’t in this together? How sure are you it’s this Simonov Bratva?”

“Because I’ve got proof Melor was working with Simonov. He confessed.”

I play the recording.

Demyan growls. “He might be bluffing.”

“Does that sound like a man bluffing to you?” I ask. “Because to me, it sounds like Simonov is the real culprit.”

“How sure are you?”

“I’m one hundred percent sure this is the truth. I’m one hundred percent sure that Simonov has Alina.”

Demyan downs the bourbon and nods. “Let’s go find Simonov, then.”