Page 12 of Scarlet Vows (Yegorov Bratva #3)

He didn’t say “sir,” but he doesn’t insult me by calling me Ilya without my invitation. Mr. Belov would also hold a level of insult I won’t put up with.

“Can you fill me in on what the bratva’s been doing? Last I understood, most of the Belov Bratva operations were in Russia. I was surprised to find such a big base of operations here.”

He meets my gaze, and I hold it, keeping everything neutral. It’s second nature. I’ve done it before. This is his decision.

As the minutes tick on, I can see the softening, the ease of his rigid stance, but I think he wants to know what I am. He heard what I said to the men, but this is a different situation. One-on-one.

If I put myself into his shoes, this is like an audition.

Demyan and I never did this. But when I went to work for his father, at Demyan’s side, his old man was a control freak, someone who’d belittle Demyan, treat him as unworthy, no matter what he did.

I was Melor. Once.

This isn’t the same thing, but it’s familiar. I recognize the air in the room.

“I’m an honest man,” I say. “So I’ll let you know this. I’ve worked next to a powerful pakhan most of my life. I’m his second.”

Demyan and I don’t label who I am or what I do. I’m more than a second, but it works for now.

“And I can and will build up both the Chicago and the Moscow branches of the bratva if I have to. I’ll gut it from the inside and replace it with loyal, smart people.

If you’d prefer to be in Russia, so be it.

I’d like a man I can trust, to help show others I’m worth trusting—show, not order—but first, let’s talk business. I need the overview.”

“Very well. Sir.” He stands as I sit behind the desk and gesture to the seat opposite.

“Tell me about who we deal with. Allies, enemies, what we import, export, the kinds of properties and businesses we own and run. Here as well as in Russia. ”

“The Russian operations run themselves. Don’t get me wrong. The Belov name is big business, big money. But only a few trips a year are needed to check up on things. I’d suggest letting the money makers make money. That part runs so smoothly, the pakhan moved here from boredom fifteen years ago.”

He continues on. The Chicago mansion is the headquarters, but my grandfather had dealings everywhere. Still does. He’d been quietly building inroads and setting up as an often silent ally to a host of cartels, mafia families, and bratva. There’s legit business, too.

But when he starts on the families and groups my grandfather had serious issues with, I’m shocked. They’re some of Demyan’s closest allies.

“Do the men know I’m with the Yegorov Bratva?”

His nod is all the answer I need.

It just may explain why the men didn’t seem to trust me. Why I was watched but not approached, why, when I came in, the guard just inside turned away, something I noted but dismissed.

Do these people in this bratva see me as a traitor because I’m so connected to Demyan? I know Demyan and his integrity. It makes me question the ideological bent of my grandfather.

But I don’t think they crossed paths, not on any real level, so maybe it was strong men clashing through the filter of different allies.

I sigh. “I understand their skepticism. And I understand if the senior men don’t trust me, then how can I expect the soldiers to? I’d be skeptical too, if the roles were reversed.” I look at Melor. “I’ll prove my loyalty.”

“I believe you will.” He nods. “But it’ll take time. And may I suggest you perhaps distance yourself from the Yegorov Bratva? ”

Fuck. “That might be difficult, considering I’m marrying Alina Yegorov.”

Melor’s brows rise. “Then perhaps you can find a way to harmonize the two bratvas. I’m here for whatever you need of me.”

“I was going to move in tonight, but I’ll perhaps move things in and give them a chance to accept.”

“As you wish,” Melor says.

I stand and hold out my hand. He takes it.

“Thanks, Melor. I’ll be in touch soon.”

I’m at home, organizing the bag I need to take. In the end, I sent most of my clothes over, but I’ll spend tonight sorting things and then sleep in the guest room so I can be there bright and early tomorrow.

I have work for Demyan, too.

I pick up my whiskey and take it to the sofa where my Chinese food’s sitting, and I look at the information Melor sent to me.

My phone rings, and I smile at the name that appears on my phone.

“Ilya,” Alina says, her sweet voice sliding into me. “You didn’t call. How did it go?”

I hesitate for a split second. “Fine.”

I don’t want to bother her with teething problems. The men will come around and accept me once they get to know me.

“It seems you’ll be moving somewhere way more exciting than my duplex,” I tell her.

“A mansion, isn’t it?”

“A mansion you can redo however you want.” I pause. “You’ll be impressed. When do you want to move in? ”

She falls silent. “I think…I think our wedding night makes sense.”

Wedding night. There’s something about the catch in her voice and the words themselves that send dirty fantasies spinning through my head. My cock gets hard.

Thank fuck this is a phone call and she can’t see me.

“Have you spoken to Demyan?” she asks, killing my erection in one fell swoop.

My mouth twists. “Get off the phone. I’ll go do it now.”

Her laughter rings in my head as she hangs up, but it does nothing to stop the anxiety as I call Demyan.

I quickly, quietly explain the inheritance, obviously leaving out the part about Alina. And I don’t tell him that the men seem to have an issue with my relationship with him. That’s something that’ll fall into place with time.

“Anything you need, let me know,” he says. “If you need me to swing by the Belov compound here, I will.”

“No, it’s all good.”

“I’ll help out any way I can. You have my support. This is good for you, and I think together, we can build something amazing. Don’t you think?”

“I do.”

I mean everything I said, so why does it feel like I’m betraying my best friend?