Page 24 of Scarlet Vows (Yegorov Bratva #3)

Chapter Eighteen

ILYA

“Don’t look at me like that, Albert,” I say, setting my gym bag down. “You’re the one who got to sleep with her last night.”

I kneel down and scratch his ears while his tail thumps.

Clearly, from his sad eyes and low head, he’s playing to my sympathies, but as much as I already adore this dog, I’m the one who’s envious.

He got to spend the night with Alina.

I find some treats for him in the stash I brought home, and he gobbles them up and trots along with me as I get changed.

I’m fucking exhausted, and last night’s sleep didn’t come easily. My brain wouldn’t stop working. A good deal of my tumultuous thoughts had nothing to do with Alina and everything to do with the fucking bratva I’ve inherited.

I tie my tie as Albert observes.

The house is quiet, apart from some noise that drifts up from the kitchen, like a big pot’s been dropped. Albert twitches and looks to the door, then at me, and it occurs to me that he may want to explore, but he doesn’t want to go alone.

If I had time today, I’d do that, but right now, he’ll have to cope between the two floors he knows—mine and Alina’s. He’s got beds, food stations, and a host of toys that seem to have multiplied since his arrival two nights ago.

A stair creaks, and suddenly he loses all interest in me and races out, barking.

Alina laughs. “Albert!”

By the time I reach the door, Albert’s giving me a “what can you do?” look over Alina’s shoulder as they bounce down the stairs.

I’ve got the kind of day where I’m not sure how to fit everything in. Demyan’s shit, my shit. Fuck. Who knew walking into a bratva I had nothing to do with before would be this hard? I didn’t think it’d be a breeze, but this? No, I didn’t expect my own men to be part of the problem.

I didn’t think it’d be so difficult to convince them to give me a chance. After all, I have a proven record with Demyan. And the fact I can do both should be something of a bonus, not a cause for derision or suspicion.

It’s almost like they decided not to accept me before I stepped foot into the mansion and into the role. Like they met up and settled on rejection before meeting me.

I’m not sure how to change that.

I slide the cufflinks into place when the phone rings.

I answer, “Melor, give me something good.”

I don’t technically need the suit, but I decided to dress the part of a pakhan, starting now. If I need to suit up every fucking day, I will. If I need to send heads rolling each day, I will.

“Ilya, I’ve been thinking about last night.”

I pull out my jacket then glance at the phone on the dresser in the walk-in closet…or dressing room. Whatever you want to call it. “So have I. This isn’t workable as is.”

He doesn’t speak for a moment. “You told me to speak frankly and honestly. So I don’t think you should do anything drastic, like kick anyone out.”

“Do you have a good reason why not?” I slide my shoes on and tie the laces.

“These men are the most loyal I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t know about that,” I mutter. “So are Demyan’s.”

“Perhaps,” he says, “but if that’s true, you also know how much a loyal man is worth. They’re just nervous about change. Aleks never told them about you, never said who the bratva would come to. As far as they knew, he didn’t have relatives.”

“Who did they think it would be?” If it’s one of them, I can see the problem, but none of them have the same standing as Melor.

He sighs. “Either someone from the Russian end of things, or me. I did know of you. Aleks told me you were in his will.”

“So I should have been nice? Brought them flowers?”

“What you did and said was right. Just don’t follow through, is my suggestion.”

I pick up the phone and carry it into the bedroom with a sigh. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have flown off the handle, but I am sick of being treated like nothing. Worse, like a traitor.”

“They don’t think you’re that.”

Don’t they? I’m not so convinced.

“Melor, will you help me? To get through to them? They obviously trust you and respect you a lot.”

“If I look like I’m helping you, it’ll fail. They’ll see you as weak.”

I’d feel that, too, if the roles were reversed. I’m just annoyed and pissed off, and this idiocy is taking up precious time.

“So what do you suggest? You know them.”

“Show them you have the balls to lead, like your grandfather did.”

“I’m strong, but I’m not him, and trying to be someone else doesn’t work.”

“Show your strength.” Melor pauses. “We’re currently fighting for territory?—”

“With the Simonov Bratva? I saw the notes, but didn’t have a chance to ask.”

“Yes, them. Make a bold move against them,” Melor says, “and show your men you’re a leader.”

A bold move or an act of unnecessary war?

“It’s something to consider.”

“Do,” he urges.

I leave the bedroom, cross into the study, sit behind the desk, and go over the Simonov Bratva information my grandfather compiled. It doesn’t matter how much I know them or don’t. What matters are the circumstances, the grievances, and the common ground between them and this bratva.

As I do, Melor and I discuss the day and what he’s up to, and I pass orders along to him for the men.

He starts to say something, a hesitant, soft question that I cut off.

“If I need to go down every fucking day and bark out orders to each and every person, then I might as well start this arm of the bratva from scratch. If people don’t like or don’t understand delegation and give you a hard time, let me know.”

Because whether he likes it or not, those people can go.

“Think about what I said,” Melor says.

“ Da .”

I hang up and work some more. Finally, I’ve had enough. I need coffee before I dive in further. There are two meetings scheduled for later today, but I want to think more on this issue with other bratva, so I head downstairs.

The kitchen smells homey and full of coffee and goodness, and Svetlana greets me, offering to make me breakfast. She has a pile of towels in her arms, so I shake my head, insisting I can make do on my own since I’m only after coffee.

When she leaves, another maid comes through with sheets, turning crimson when she sees me. But I pay her no attention. I’m guessing she isn’t meant to take the kitchen shortcut if I’m here, but I really don’t give a shit.

Whatever gets the job done with efficiency and ease for the staff.

At least the house staff doesn’t seem to have an issue with me.

I make a coffee, and the first sip is heaven. Actually, the coffee’s good, but the view outside the glass doors is heaven.

Alina and Albert are outside, enjoying the morning sun. She turns to the dog as he brings her a stuffed toy.

“Good, Albert. You’re so smart.” She laughs as he barks and nuzzles her neck.

My heart swoops. I haven’t seen that kind of joy in her eyes in a long time.

I move closer, stepping out the open door and onto the patio behind where they sit on the grass, and clear my throat.

Albert rushes up and licks at my trousers as his tail wags madly.

“Morning, boy.”

Alina looks at me, and when she smiles, it lights me up inside.

“How did you and Albert sleep?” I ask.

She hooks her hands around her legs, hugging them to her, and Albert gives me a whine and goes back to her. She lets go of her legs and hugs him instead .

“It was the best sleep I’ve had in a long time. Albert settled right in.”

“I’m glad.”

Albert barks.

It’s clear the two of them belong together.

With a sigh, I turn and head back in to get more coffee.

When I’m about to take it upstairs, Albert trots up, his new collar on and his lead dragging, clearly proud of it as he stops to show me.

Alina collects the end. “We’re going to explore the neighborhood before I go to the shelter.”

“I’m sure Eva would want you to take the day off,” I say in Russian. “For Albert’s sake.”

With that, I go to my office.

I want to dig in deeper to the whole Simonov Bratva, a family I’m not that familiar with, though I’ve met some people in the game called Simonov. But sometimes names are just names. And sometimes a bratva keeps a low profile in certain areas.

I’ve got time, so I dig in deep.

With a frown, I sit back. No, the Yegorov Bratva hasn’t dealt with anyone from the Simonov Bratva. A few people with the last name in other groups, yes, both allies and enemies. But not anyone specific with this bratva.

A text from Melor leads me to a file on my computer.

My dear grandfather has a detailed list of every member, down to the housekeeper and girlfriends of certain soldiers. While I’m sure some things may have changed, the last save to the file was a few months ago.

But I recognize the pakhan’s name, Abram Simonov. I start searching my computer. There…I knew I’d seen the name recently.

Abram is someone Santo Barone’s had a few run-ins with.

I call Santo, and to my surprise, he picks up himself .

“It’s Ilya Belov,” I say.

“And how’s your fiancée?”

Rolling my eyes, I keep my voice neutral. “Wife. And she’s good. I wanted to arrange a meeting.”

“Yes?” His interest rings clear.

“I’ve got some things I’d like to talk to you about.”

“I’ll come to you. We’ll make an evening of it. Discuss this business, and I can see your home, something I’ve been wanting to do.”

“I’ll let you know when?—”

“Tomorrow night sounds good,” Santo says. “I’m a sucker for a home-cooked meal and new business talks. I’ll bring wine and vodka. Besides, it’ll be nice to catch up with Alina again.”

I grit my teeth. I bet it will. Asshole.

But I don’t say that. “How is seven?”

“I’ll see you then.”

I pace, waiting for Alina to get back from her volunteer work. I know I’m pushing it. I’ve got meetings with a supplier for Belov Bratva interests, and then Pavel and I have two meetings with two different allies this afternoon. But I think I have time.

Fuck it. I’ll make time.

I need to talk to Alina. I’m concerned for her, but not by Santo’s steamrolling of the dinner. I suspect that’s just him. I’m concerned how playing wife in ways that count, loving, devoted, a role she wanted with Max, will affect her.

The door opens, and a bark carries up the stairs, pulling at my heart and making me smile.

I hurry down to meet them, and there’s a moment where she takes me in. Really takes me in. My suit is the most expensive one I own. I rarely wear it. Italian, handmade, worth a fortune, but I’d spend five times what I did for the suit if it meant I could see that look on her face.

Naked appreciation. Lustful hunger.

She likes it.

She likes me in it.

Things start to get hard.

I shift my thoughts to the matter at hand and get right to the point. “Alina, we need to talk.”

Any lust vanishes. Maybe it was a figment of my needy imagination anyway.

I go to the living room, Albert pressing against me as I walk.

She follows. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

With my gaze on a wall of books, I sigh, then I face her. “Things with the Belov Bratva haven’t been going well,” I say in Russian. “So I called Santo.”

“Are you giving me to?—”

“What? Nyet .” I highly doubt her words were serious, but that’s how I take them. “Never. I thought he might be able to help me make a big move to prove my loyalty to my men.”

“Oh.”

I nod. “The last thing I want is to make things more difficult for you.” I go to her and gently put my hands on her shoulders. “So I’ll call everything off if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“What do you mean?”

“Santo is coming here tomorrow for dinner. So you’d have to play wife. You don’t have to kiss me or anything like that.”

“God forbid,” she says, a small smile on her mouth, but there’s concern in her blue eyes with golden specks, and a touch of guilt.

“And if you feel uncomfortable and don’t want to do it, let me know. I’ll cancel. There are other ways. This is just one, and it might not work?—”

“Ilya,” she whispers, putting her hands on my unshaven cheeks, “we’re married, right? The deal is about this, and more importantly, we’re friends. Close friends. Our arrangement means that at times we’re going to need to act like we’re married. I knew this going in. I’m fine.”

I breathe out. “Thank you, malyshka . I owe you one.”

“I know,” she says as she slips her hands down to my chest. “I know.”