Page 2 of Scarlet Vows (Yegorov Bratva #3)

Chapter Two

ILYA

“What, you’ve turned into a weakling since I last saw you?” I rib Isaak as he lifts lower weights than usual.

Isaak sets them down as he finishes his reps and moves to the lat machine. “I’ve got a hangover.”

“ Slabak ,” I mutter, hiding my grin.

He snorts. “Did you just call me a weakling again?”

“If the shoe fits…” I finish legs and move on to the rowing machine.

“I’ll have you know the hangover was for a billion-dollar deal.”

“You drink and get handed billion-dollar deals?” I shake my head. “Now that’s something I could get behind.”

“The sealing of the deal, the cherry on top. Some of these rich assholes want to see what you’re like outside the boardroom and office.

They like to big-note themselves. So, who am I to say no to taking some assholes out for an expensive dinner and drinks at a high-end bar full of hot, scantily clad ladies they can ogle?

All in exchange for a sweet pile of money… ”

That’s Isaak. The high-flying finance executive needs the outlet of our morning routine, one we’ve had for years.

Working out is… Well, when I was young, I hated it. Hated the discipline of getting up and lifting weights, running, boxing, all the shit I have to do to attain fitness, peak condition.

It always seemed like a boring chore, something akin to punishment. But the longer I did it, the more I found a place of comfort in it. A way to work out anger and fear, to work off the shackles of a traumatic childhood.

It held and still holds a place of Zen.

When we do classes it makes me better, soothes the edges, just like us meeting to do our own free-style workouts.

For Isaak, I’m sure he finds the same thing, a way to work off the stress of his life.

Once I dreaded getting up before dawn to hit the gym or take a class in martial arts or defense. Now? I look forward to it all.

“Maybe I should call you out for missing our session last week,” Isaak says, starting up the treadmill. “Because fuck, man, you were grumpy the next morning.”

“That was out of my control,” I mutter.

I had an all-nighter staking out a warehouse where trouble had gone down. Merchandise going missing, books “balanced” but lighter than they should have been.

It ended in a 6:00 a.m. shootout and an interrogation that took up an hour more so we could root out the core of the problem.

Demyan’s in Russia with his young family for a couple of months. And the rats always think they can come out and play when he’s gone.

That’s stopped.

But yeah, I had to miss a day of working out. I had to break my routine .

And that drives me almost insane.

Like the other time I fucking got shot. Almost dying, hooked up to machines, and forced to stay in bed had nothing on the anxiety and irritation of not hitting the gym.

A disrupted routine is like being shot.

Fuck, me dealing with that probably makes most of those who have to put up with me wish I’d shoot them.

But if I’m not happy, why should they be happy?

I almost smile. Because yeah, I once heard one of the maids mutter she wished I’d just shoot her instead of snipe at her.

But…it’s something I’m working on.

The bonus of routine in the early hours is I get to spend it with Isaak. We don’t get to hang out as much as we’d like due to our super busy lives.

“Work,” I say, “sucks.”

“Same with me,” he says, huffing a little.

We lapse into banter, sporadic bursts of conversation that help the time pass until our two-hour gym session is up.

When I can’t meet him at the exclusive gym we’re members of, I’ll use the home gym at Demyan’s mansion.

Sometimes, I’ll do a lighter afternoon or evening session there just to keep an eye on Alina, Demyan’s sister, the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.

After our cooldown, I flick my towel and hit Isaak’s legs. “When are you going to find a girl, man?”

“Me? Too busy. What about you?”

Again, Alina appears in my head, that dark, long hair, like the color of wheat at midnight. The waves frame her face, and her summer-blue eyes sparkle when she’s happy, the hazel hidden there moving in like a storm when her mood changes. When her heart breaks.

“No time.”

“Doesn’t Demyan have a sister? ”

Isaak knows damn well Demyan has a sister.

“Do you have a death wish?” I ask.

He holds up his hands. “I meant for you.”

“We’re friends, and this is you deflecting, Isaak.” I grin as he looks at his expensive watch. “Hot date?”

“I don’t even have time for a shower. Thank fuck it’s a Zoom meeting.”

We head to the locker rooms. I need a shower, so I grab my gear from my locker and nab a fresh towel.

“Drinks soon, man.”

Isaak nods, changing into his suit quickly. “I’ll check my schedule,” he says as he knots his tie. “Work’s crazy at the moment, Ilya. Back-to-back fucking meetings, deals to nail. But we’ll find a time outside the gym.”

“You work too hard, my friend,” I say, shaking my head as I loop the fresh towel around my neck.

Isaak laughs and raises a brow. “Like you can talk. At least I’m reaping my own rewards. Living the dream in my penthouse in Lakeview. I don’t have to live in someone else’s shadow.”

It’s an old argument we always have, and I know at its core, beneath the friendly ribbing, Isaak thinks I do too much for Demyan. But to explain it all involves going too deep, so I laugh it off. We’re in different worlds, and to equate our jobs in the same view is inherently wrong.

He smooths a hand over his hair. “I have to go, bro.”

“See you Friday.” I wave him off.

We don’t meet every single morning, but we have set days to keep us grounded. Me, I need the routine of everyday workouts. But when I’m not hanging in the gym or taking a morning class with Isaak, I’m still working out, either here, the boxing gym, or at Demyan’s.

Speaking of…I also need to get out of here .

I grab a shower, letting the heat ease the burn in my muscles, as the day’s priorities come at me.

With Demyan away, I’ve got more on my plate, but instead of freaking me out, or delegating like some would, I thrive on it.

Less time idle is less time spent stressing, and it adds even more structure to my world. I take the unexpected as treats.

Maybe that’s fucked up. But like the shootout, the interrogation, and subsequent takedown of the bad actors, a part of me thrives on that too. Spilling blood, getting physical. Tangible results are a treat.

A lot of that is my normal job when Demyan’s here, as well as working with him, strategizing, working out the details of plans. I’ve always done admin, looked over books to make sure all is up to scratch. We both agree that two sets of extra eyes help.

But now I’m in his shoes, to a point. I’ve stepped right into the admin he does, and I’m honored my friend, my brother not of blood, accepted my offer of help.

Of course, the admin side, the bigger, deeper job I have now, means spending more time at Demyan’s mansion.

He doesn’t have an office he goes to every day, although there is a Yegorov Foundation office that he will go to on occasion, as well as the more oblique Yegorov Industries one.

But Demyan is head of this bratva. A home office is perfect.

I could, I guess, use either office outside the mansion if I wanted to. But I’m not doing sensitive admin outside of the security of the mansion.

Besides, me being at Demyan’s on a daily basis means seeing Alina. Keeping an eye on her.

I could go back to how pretty she is and not tire of the subject, but I’ve known her forever. She’s not only Demyan’s, a man I consider family, my closest friend’s sister, but she’s also a close friend, too.

I love them both.

And Alina… For someone so young and sheltered in our violent world, losing Max has been hard on her. We’ve become very close following his death.

Death?

Murder.

I turn off the shower and dry off, then I take my things back to the locker room to get dressed.

I pull on my suit since I’ve got a meeting with another bratva leader concerning a place of business he wishes to buy from Demyan.

I’ve been given the green light, depending on what my instincts tell me.

I head out, getting in my car and then driving to the mansion. The highway is a time to relax because the drive’s against traffic, out of Chicago’s center while everyone else comes in.

Guilt eats at me over Alina, over Max.

I hadn’t been near to stop it, but maybe I should have been.

Seeing Alina pick up the pieces and retain her innocence, rebuild from her personal devastation to become stronger, is something to behold.

But the sadness still clings to her.

And I hate that.

I liked Max. He would have done right by her, and he worshiped her.

As long as Angel, as Demyan calls her, is happy, then I am too. And her bouts of sadness, the loss she still feels… It hurts me. Because it hurts her.

I don’t know how else to explain it.

I’m not Demyan. I’m not a man who has the walls that Demyan had before he met Erin. I’m not rigid in the ways he still is. But while I understand feelings, I don’t know how to reach across and heal hers.

My own feelings for her are…complicated. Maybe they always have been, but she was too young, and then she met Max. Even with my crush, I had to acknowledge that he loved her.

Max is gone, but his ghost haunts her.

And I’d love to be the magic potion, the thing that lifts her free, gives her a taste of a new life, new love, new happiness.

Not with me, of course. I’m not a forever guy, not for a girl like Alina. But to be the one to help her transition would be an honor.

And a pipe dream.

Demyan trusts me to watch his sister, keep her safe. And he knows we have a bond and isn’t bothered by it because that bond is pure. It’s based on friendship.

Or so Demyan thinks.

And it is. To a point. As I said… the feelings are complicated, and if he thought for one second that sparks of lust existed inside me for his sister, that my feelings weren’t strictly platonic, then…

That would be a different story.