Page 2 of Scarlet Sins (Yegorov Bratva #2)

Chapter Two

DEMYAN

Anger is something I cling to. I can use it. I know it, and there’s strength to be found in anger as long as you stay in charge.

The other thing in me?

It’s new.

Frightening.

And it threatens to bring me crashing to my knees.

I’m so fucking frantic that if I give in, I don’t know if I could function.

It turns my stomach, mixes with the panic and not even the knowledge my boy’s safe back here, now in the fortress-like mansion.

Extra fucking alarms. More guards, more guns, and, of course, a new head of security do nothing.

Exactly nothing.

Erin is missing.

And it’s my fucking fault.

She’s gone, stolen from the hospital, and the only one I can turn that fury on is myself. I know Ilya he’d have died for her, to keep her safe. And he just might, at that.

I pick up the vodka bottle and down a good slug of it as I pace my fucking office .

My woman’s missing, stolen, just like my son was from here as a red fucking herring. And my best friend’s undergoing emergency surgery.

A gunshot wound to the stomach.

I rub a hand over my face and take another slug. The doctors said if Ilya had been shot anywhere other than at the hospital, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.

Ilya can handle pretty much anything, I’m aware of that, but it sounds like an ambush and how the hell did he end up in the stairwell shot? Apparently, the trail of blood led from there to the hall where he collapsed, holding on long enough to demand they call me.

And—I try and drink some more, but the fucking bottle is empty. It only had a third in there when I grabbed it, but still…

I throw the thing against the wall, and it smashes.

What I should have done was have an army there, too. And here. A good army. One that could protect Sasha and also Ilya and Erin.

I could have lost all three of them.

Fuck. I turn and throw a chair, and then I punch and kick the wall.

“Did that help?”

I whirl around to where my sister stands, just inside the door. She doesn’t look frightened of my temper, and she shouldn’t be. I’d never project it toward her, ever. But she looks worried. On top of her grief, she’s worried.

Shit. I want to kick the fucking wall again.

“No,” I snarl. “It didn’t. What I should be is scouring the city for Erin.

Hunting down the fuck who did all this, shot Ilya, and killed Max and…

I can’t. Because all my leads have come up empty.

Fucking Niko isn’t anywhere he usually is.

He isn’t even at any of his fucking homes. He must have somewhere… ”

I pick something up from the table and smash that, too. It was a gaudy porcelain figurine that I think belonged to my fucking father. I hated it, so I really don’t care.

Even Sergio isn’t out and about for me to torture and kill just because I can.

Which I can’t, because I need him?—

Right now, the intricacies of the interconnecting territories of allies and enemies in my world don’t interest me. I just want Erin.

“I’ll burn the fucking world down.”

“I’m glad you want to do something, and I get your anger and pain, believe me ” Alina utters a small, bitter laugh. “But Sasha’s finally asleep, so waking him won’t do you any favors. He wants his mama, and like it or not, we’re still not family to him.”

“And whose fault is that?” The guilt crushes me the moment I say it. She’s out there, somewhere, and if she’s hurt, if…

I swallow. Hard.

My hand clenches at that, and her gaze goes to it.

“Demyan, he’s a little boy. He’s two. His world is his mama.

Even if you’d been part of his life from day one, you’re never going to be mama.

She’d still be his world. Daddy time comes in a few years when he stops being a baby.

He’s a baby. A toddler’s a baby. It’s mama and it’ll always be mama. ”

“I get it,” I push out. “I’m not fucking mama.”

“He did ask for you. Dane, Dino, whichever comes to him, that’s you and that’s something.” Her gaze softens. “But keep up this… tantrum and you’ll wake him and you’ll stress him.”

Tantrum? It’s not a fucking tantrum. It’s the physical manifestation of my mistakes, of the world imploding, of things happening I can’t control.

“I said I get it. ”

“Be sure you do.” She wrings her hands. “So, no word about Erin?”

I shake my head.

She swallows. “And Ilya?”

“In surgery.”

There’s a long silence and I can pretty much fucking guess at the thoughts in her head. All this violence. It took the man she was going to marry, and if it takes Ilya, it might destroy her.

Especially since he too, was shot.

“I… he’ll be okay? Someone has to be okay in this nightmare, Demyan.”

I kick the wall again.

“Demyan.”

“Sorry, sorry, I won’t wake him.” I walk over to my sister and give her a hug. “I need to get out of here.” I mutter words of comfort and love in Russian into her hair, and there’s a part that isn’t awkward with the hug.

Fuck, maybe I need it, too.

Just to make sure she’s okay.

One less thing to worry about. “Go to bed, Angel. The place is now locked down. You’re safe.”

“Where are you going?”

I ease back. “I can’t stay here and do nothing. Just because all my leads have given me nothing but crickets, it doesn’t mean I can’t do something.”

“Like what?”

The fear in her voice stops me. I was going to hurl more words of violence down in the room, but she doesn’t need me saying that. It’s not a lie, the omission; it’s just not feeding her fear.

I will kill. I’ll tear people into pieces to get answers. Torture them. Do what it takes.

But she doesn’t need to hear that spoken aloud .

“Look myself, talk to people.”

“Demyan …”

I shrug. “I have allies. I’ll start there. Go to bed.”

She crosses her arms, then shakes her head, moving past me to pick up the broken porcelain and glass, but I stop her.

“I need to do something, too, Demyan.”

And she continues. I’m at a loss for what to do. If I was someone else, someone better, I guess, I’d be able to distract, to fix things for her. But I can’t. I know bringing Max back is beyond anyone, but people like Ilya, like Erin, bring smiles to her face and she needs those.

Of course my son does, too. That’s Sasha, an adorable child who could melt even the coldest, hardest heart. Make ones that haven’t beaten in the longest beat forever . After all, he did that to me.

And so did his mother.

I stop. Did? Does. It makes her beyond dangerous. They make me weak.

My chest tightens.

“Don’t cut yourself, Alina.”

She gives a small snort. “I’ve picked up a lot of broken things recently. I’m not afraid of being cut by glass. That heals.”

Her words punch me hard in the gut.

There are words. I know there are words. Great words. Perfects words. Ones that heal and help make things better. But they’re beyond me.

“I’m going to tuck Sasha in and head out. You’ll be safe. I promise.”

She just nods, and I turn and leave.

As I climb the stairs, ignoring my men—armed men in the house at posts—my weapon grows heavier with each step.

Maybe it’s the fact I know what I need to do. If Sergio had been out and about, I very well might have killed him. But he’s home inside his own fortress, and short of storming the damn gates and starting an all-out war, I can’t do that.

It’s the only thing keeping him alive.

That, and unfortunately, I think I need him.

He’s the last person I want to owe more favors to, but he might be able to actually help.

Our last altercation didn’t end well, but it didn’t end in a bloodbath, because we both want something. He fucked up, tried to play me and Niko, but I don’t think he trusts the dickbag anymore than I do, so if I go to him…

He might be able to help.

And then he’ll extract his pound of flesh.

The gun’s like an anvil in my holster, but I push open Sasha’s door, not glancing at the guard with the semiautomatic.

In the room, the night-light shines a soft light, and my boy sleeps, looking angelic with his chubby cheeks.

My heart squeezes tight and I’m so overcome I’m lost at sea. I cross to him and carefully brush a few strands of fine silk hair from his forehead.

“ Ya tebya lyublyu ,” I say. “I love you, Sasha, my son.”

Then I rise, sighing heavily, and head out, taking a handful of men with me. Pavel, I have here. I know it’s not what he wants, but he’s always willing and he gets how important it is to have someone I trust who’s smart and can think on their feet in the mansion when I’m away.

As we drive to Sergio’s, I toy with the idea of moving the entourage to my penthouse in Chicago city itself. But I reject it. Yes, a smaller space might feel safer, but it’s also a world of glass and a gilded cage, one that becomes a target, one where any comings and goings would be a commodity.

The mansion, now that security’s been upped and tightened, is the safest bet.

I sit in the car on the street outside his townhouse, taking it in. The neighborhood’s beyond affluent and while I know he’s got a home outside of the city, like I do, he’s here. At least my intel told me that.

The other thing on my mind was if I should let him know I’m coming. But he’s not worth a thing if his people haven’t given him a heads-up.

With a sigh, I open the door and make my way across the footpath, narrowly missing a woman and her ridiculous dog, and ring the bell.

Sergio pulls open the door within seconds, smiling.

The fucker not only knew, but was lying in wait. I narrow my eyes. “Sergio.”

The smile gets wider, and satisfaction gleams in his gaze. “Demyan, welcome. I’ve been expecting you. Come in.”

I follow him in and whatever he’s going to say ends abruptly as I grab him and hurl him into the hallway wall, earning the click of a gun and a grunt from a guard who steps from a room.

My attention’s for the asshole Sergio and I ignore the guard. I lean in close to Sergio, cutting off his air with my forearm.

“First, my sister’s wedding is shot to fuck.

Her fiancé—a fucking civilian—is murdered.

Then my—” I almost say son. Almost. And I can’t remember if with the last face-off between me and Sergio I mentioned Sasha, let alone that he’s my son, but I stop myself.

Just in case. Just in case the entire world hasn’t worked out, the little boy in my life is mine.

Hope springs fucking eternal.

“Then my second is shot. And the woman with us? Erin? Her son is taken. And now her. And if I find you had anything to do with any of this? You’re fucking dead.” I look him in the eye. “Is that clear?”

There’s a brief spark of fear, but as I release him, it’s gone and he laughs, waving a hand at the guard, who grunts but disappears.

“Demyan, is that any way to speak to the only man who can help you right now?”

I nod, taking a beat. This is all levels of wrong, but at the center of it, I think he’s telling the truth. Friend or foe or even fucking frenemy, the man’s right.

With Niko seemingly gone to ground, with him sending his men into that very, very private and secure hospital, into my fucking home, I’m not sure there’s anyone else.

Our world will be watching. My allies waiting for word, waiting, I know, to see if they need to shift alliances. The tremors are out there, vibrating.

Something’s going down and has been since Alina’s wedding.

Possibly since I took out Niko’s bag of dicks, he called a brother.

But everyone’s taking note and not moving unless help is asked.

I don’t want to owe those favors. I don’t need more firepower than I have at my disposal.

Sergio has information. I smell it, feel it.

And that’s what I need.

I’m going to have to play ball no matter how bitter it is.

But I’m not about to let this fuck know. “And how do I know that?” I spit the words. “Why should I trust a word you say?”

“Demyan.” He spreads his hands wide and walks down the hall, expecting me to follow.

I struggle to control the violence, the savage bite of anger in me as I follow him into his study where he’s pouring a drink. He leaves me one but I don’t touch it. Fuck protocol.

“Demyan,” he says again, “you wound me, you do. Of course you can trust me. After all, we’re going to be family. ”

There it is, the hook in all this. And Erin’s bait.

“You do nothing without an ulterior motive.”

“You know what I want.”

“I told you?—”

“Believe me or not,” he says, sipping the amber liquid in his glass. “But I can help. And I know where Niko is holding this Erin. Your son’s mother.”

I wait, giving away nothing. Even though I want to rip his head from his shoulders.

“But,” he adds, “you’re right. I never give away anything for free.”

He downs his drink and goes to a drawer in his desk and rummages around before finally pulling out what looks like one of those old-fashioned dictator tape recorders.

“What the fuck, Sergio.”

“This time, I want confirmation that you’ll hold up your end of the bargain.” He presses record.

“Demyan Yegorov, this is in lieu of writing, which we will do, but I need a verbal confirmation you’re to marry my beautiful daughter, Stefina Augusto.”

I look at him. “In exchange for?”

“In exchange,” the man says, smiling broadly, “for my assistance, the great Don, Sergio Augusto’s gracious assistance in getting this Erin back safely. To her son.”

A muscle ticks in my jaw, but he’s got me. Every second Erin’s out there with Niko is a second more she’s in danger, and I don’t trust the fucker. Not at all.

I have no option. “I, Demyan Yegorov, agree to your terms.”

“Excellent. We have a deal.” He clicks off the recorder and tosses it on his desk. “You’re not going to drink up?”

“My patience is now nonexistent,” I snarl.

He sighs. “Very well. Come. I’ll give you the location and some extra men, so we can take Niko down.”