Page 36 of Scarlet Promise (Yegorov Bratva #4)

Chapter Thirty

ILYA

“Oh. You brought a friend,” Santo says deadpan. “Are we having a party? Because I do have a code. No assholes.”

He stares Demyan in the eye.

His great room’s big, but then again, so is the musclebound blond giant.

He motions with a flick of his wrist at the wet bar for us to get our own drinks.

I don’t want one, but Demyan pours himself a vodka.

This is something we like to do on occasion. One will drink, and the other will observe. Like all kinds of old habits, we fall right back into it.

Demyan takes a sip and stares at Santo right back. “Cut the shit.”

“My house. I can do what I want, including kicking bullies out.”

Demyan nods slowly and smiles. “We can have this out if you like, any time you choose, as long as it’s not business time. And this, as far as I’m aware, is business. You called Ilya and demanded his presence?”

“I called and asked him to come over.” Santo turns to me. “I agreed to not taking Yegorov down, but I didn’t agree to him being here.”

“School ended a long time ago. Those grudges should be put away.”

“Can you put them away?” Santo asks Demyan.

“Enough,” I say. “You called. I’m here. I still work with Demyan, and his reputation got dragged into this. So…”

Santo lets out an annoyed sigh. “What is it you want, Demyan?”

“Ilya’s debt’s no longer valid, which gives you no hold over Ilya’s bratva at all.”

Santo considers him and smiles.

“Really?” Santo asks. “What makes you think I’m going to agree to that?”

Demyan walks right up to Santo until his face hovers close to the other man’s, so close it makes Santo recoil a little.

“I promise you this, Santo. If you don’t agree, I’ll make it my lifelong mission to destroy everything you’ve worked hard for.

And you and I both know you don’t want to make an enemy out of me.

You could, however, work hard, earn my trust, and become someone I might consider one day calling an ally. ”

“So kind,” Santo snaps. “And this charming deal of yours… It hardly seems far.”

Demyan nods. “You’re absolutely right. It should be fair. Which is why you’re going to take care of Simonov for us. I hear you have issues with him too. I know you’re creative. You can make it work in your favor.”

Santo laughs. “Are you crazy, Demyan?”

Demyan smiles. “Perhaps. Although perhaps not. You probably don’t remember this, but a long time ago, my father did a massive favor for your father. A huge favor. One so big and important that it allowed your father to keep control of his mafia. Your mafia now.”

The big man pales a little. “So?”

“I’ve never wanted anything to do with you or your mafia, so I never asked for that favor to be repaid. Until now.”

Santo shakes his head and walks away, muttering to himself, then he downs his drink and comes back to Demyan.

I keep an eye on them and the door. No one comes in.

I do give Santo credit for not raising an alarm at our presence. He still could, though.

But taking him down isn’t on my list of things to do.

He’s not the nicest to deal with, but in his own way, he follows the rules. He’ll play hardball and slip in curves, but he still plays ball.

Besides, if we kill him, we may have a hard time getting out in one piece.

“You can’t call in a favor twenty years later,” he says to Demyan.

Demyan tuts and looks Santo dead in the eye.

“I can do whatever the fuck I like. Besides, do you really want to be known as a man who doesn’t honor the promises made by your predecessor? Your father, no less?” Demyan asks. “If you don’t agree to this, I’ll destroy you.”

“That sounds like a threat,” Santo mutters.

“Think of it more as a promise,” Demyan says. “Besides, allies are better to have than enemies, and right now, Ilya, for reasons of his own, says you’re a man of his word.”

I’m not sure I said that exactly, but I let it slide.

Santo glares at Demyan and gives me a hard side-eye, but then he sighs. “If I have to, I will.”

“You do,” Demyan says. “Just look at this as opening new roads and taking everything you want from Simonov’s organization. Once he’s gone, as well as the top four men—you know who I’m talking about—the whole thing will fall apart. And it’ll be there for the taking. I’d take.”

“You…” Santo hesitates. “Why should I do any of this?”

But there’s a glimmer in his eyes. He’s smart. He wants to do it, but not alone. He wanted more than just Simonov’s territory. But he did lose men when he came to help me the first time, no matter his motives.

“Simonov killed your men, too. Remember that,” I say. “And I’m looking for people to coexist with.”

Coexist means allies even if we never work together. It means not treading on toes. It means stronger and better smuggling routes.

Demyan’s the hammer. I’m not. I’m the negotiator, the facilitator. I see the things people need and find a way to get them to work if it’s a good deal. This is, whether he sees it or not, a good deal.

“So is Demyan,” I add. “We all have assets that will be of use to each other in the future. It doesn’t mean selling out, or forming a partnership. Look on it as friends with benefits.”

Demyan stays silent, giving me the space. And I take it. I’m at home in this arena. Not being pakhan. But a strong second, a trusted second, one who can use the softer approach when Demyan and others can’t.

“I’ll do it. I’ll leave you alone.” Santo’s lip curls, and he motions for Demyan to put his glass down. Which he does after draining it. “Now get the fuck out of my house.”

We go, gladly.

When we get into our car, Demyan shakes his head. “Coexist? Your men died so get revenge for them? Oh, and you’ll get friends that come with benefits? Is this nursery school, Ilya?”

I laugh at how Russian he sounds. “It’s always nursery school. I do that shit so you don’t have to. You don’t have to like him. He can be an ally if it ever comes down to it, and territories are better if people aren’t trying to start fights and wars with each other.”

He nods, and then he looks at me. “Are you okay with what happened? He wanted a lot from you.”

“I’m good,” I say. “Though I’d have felt better going into that knowing the leverage you had over Santo. But he’ll do it. He’ll take care of Simonov and take his territory and operations as his own.”

“Maybe coexist is right,” Demyan mutters, as close to a thank-you as he can manage in the moment.

“We can concentrate on getting that fucker Melor, and then I’m a free man.” I sit back as the driver heads back to the hospital.

“Free’s not the way I’d put it.”

“Ass.”

“Moron.”

I smile. I feel good about this suddenly, like it’s going to all work out.

I pull out my phone to call Alina, but my smile freezes. “Demyan, I’ve got a bunch of missed calls from Erin.”

“Me, too.”

My stomach twists.

He calls her back, and before he can speak, he shuts his mouth and goes still. When he hangs up, he turns to me.

“What is it?” I demand.

His expression is grave, haunted, and my heart plummets.

“Alina’s missing.”