Page 28 of Scarlet Vows (Yegorov Bratva #3)

Chapter Twenty-Two

ILYA

There are major inroads that’ve been made into the Jewel of Russia vodka. It goes down easily, so I make sure I measure each sip and swallow.

I can drink most under the table.

But this isn’t a drinking competition. It’s a balancing act of wits and deals and me trying to untangle the truth at the heart of why Santo is here, indulging me.

He wants something. I’m more than aware of that.

The big man would never have lit up at the restaurant that time when he found out who I was outside of my connection with Demyan.

And I don’t think he’d have given me his business card.

The card I have contains his personal contact information.

That’s his private card. Demyan has a couple like that. His personal one and his generic business one, as well as the one that gets certain people through to a different level in his organization.

I know how those games are played .

My question is why he’s interested in me. Or, I should say, my bratva. What it is that I can bring to his table.

So I stay on the right side of sober and make it look like I’m imbibing more.

We’ve discussed a lot of nonsensical things, small pieces we don’t need to be one-on-one for, and finally, he asks about my deal with Simonov.

I take a sip of the smooth vodka. “I have no personal deal with the Simonov Bratva. But my bratva and Simonov? Now that’s a different story.”

“You don’t see yourself as your bratva?” He leans back in his chair, making it creak as he refills his glass to the top.

Santo downs it easily and then has another. He’s got a hundred pounds on me easily, and none of it is fat, so I just take another sip and allow him to top my glass up, too.

I know that strategy, which is why I’m aware of each and every mouthful I consume.

“Did I say that?” I ask. “I’m positive I didn’t.”

“In a matter of words.”

“Your interpretation,” I say, considering him.

He wants honesty. He wants a lot of things like it’s oxygen, and he needs to suck it all down to emerge a survivor, the winner, the man.

If I play strong man like he does, it’ll end in another confrontation like we had over Alina.

That one I’ll do again and again and carry out my promise to him if he dares to try to cross the line or put a hand on her.

But this? No. Doing that here makes me not just look weak, but weakens my position.

And I don’t know what that is.

Yet.

“All I meant was I’ve had no personal run-ins with the Simonov pakhan or any of his people. My bratva have before my time. And the facts are the facts. Simonov is fighting us for territory. And we aren’t inclined to give that up.”

“Kill them.” Santo throws back some vodka like it’s water.

“Wars should only happen when there are no other options. Right now, I’m looking into options. You have history with Simonov, where you were both left on opposite ends of things. It seems to put you in my camp or on the same side.” I look at him closely. “Don’t you think?”

“So you want me to help you?”

“Depending on your terms, it makes sense if we work together on this.”

“Support for what I do? Carte blanche to carry out things where I won’t earn retribution from you?”

“If you let me know your plans, and I agree, yes.”

“Why?” he asks.

Why? The big, billion-dollar question.

“I wish to do it with minimum manpower of my own. I want my men to see me as someone able to do the impossible, to pull off deals, to make things happen.”

Santo gives me a shit-eating grin, and it makes me want to punch his teeth out. “You want respect.”

“Yes.”

“The thing we all want.” He nods. “I’ll do it.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he says.

I frown. “Deals in our world don’t exist without an exchange.”

“I said I’d do it.”

“And I asked what you want for it.”

The grin stays on his face. “Do you always inspect gift horse mouths, Ilya?”

“I like to see if they’re Trojan.” I smile. “You must want something.”

“Look, obviously I do, but I don’t know what yet. There’s the business I mentioned when I gave you my card, so maybe that, but whatever it is, we’ll work it all out later.”

I nod and take another swallow of the vodka. At the restaurant, he was even vaguer. And I don’t like the dodge and parry of his words.

People want things. A favor gets a favor. Sometimes people want money. They want some of your power. Or they want your backup when it’s their turn.

There are degrees to things, and I don’t want to just agree to find I’ve essentially signed away my firstborn. Metaphorical firstborn. I don’t see myself with children. I don’t see myself with any woman except for Alina. And even then, I’m not sure I can quite picture a future between us.

Not one that I want.

But I digress.

What the fuck is it Santo wants? That’s the point here. The fact he keeps brushing it off sits badly with me. But we both know I’m not in a place to bargain.

Still…maybe I should just do this on my own, find another way.

“Santo, I think?—”

“I’ll be honest.” He downs and then refills his glass. “I’ve wanted Simonov out of the picture for a long time. So in a way, Ilya, by your asking me this, you’re doing me the favor.”

“This makes us even, then?” I joke.

Santo laughs and shakes his head, then he looks at me, his expression deadly serious. “Not even close. So, do we have an arrangement?”

“If you want to get rid of him, then why haven’t you?”

He breathes out. “Many reasons. I might be don, but there are other alliances who don’t want dirty business with the Russians.

A fight is what they mean by dirty. And our territories aren’t in dispute.

We’ll work on this together. Pool our talents and resources.

I know Simonov, his weaknesses. And I have a card up my sleeve. ”

“What kind of card?”

He hesitates a moment. “If all else fails, or even if it doesn’t, I can call in someone to deal with it and do it in a way that your bratva knows it was because of you, but we avoid a war.”

Santo means an assassin.

“I’ll take the name and do that myself, then.”

He holds up a hand. “Not so easy.”

I take another sip and wait.

“Now if there’s an unspoken…friendliness between your bratva and my mafia, then it can only be seen as a strengthening of mutual interests.

Of sharing information and helping out when needed.

But other than that, we do deals when it benefits both, and we keep to our own without interference from the others. ”

On the surface, it’s the perfect answer, the explanation I want. And it also clarifies what he wants.

But the beauty of his lip service is that it also doesn’t clarify what he wants.

It’s a bunch of vagaries that can be interpreted down the line, but the implicit warning is clear.

If I brush him off, if he asks me to pay up, that’s going to be met by force and a souring of our ties. It could be met with war.

Bottom line is agreeing to work with Santo means a certain level of blindness from me and no clear terms. No clear terms is a bad move.

But still…

“You’ve got a deal.” I shake his hand.

There are no other options. I need this.

“Excellent,” he says. “Now you know I have my card. She can come in and take him out if we deem that necessary, or there’s no other way. She can structure it in a way that benefits you and keeps me out of it.”

“She?”

“The female is more deadly. They just don’t use force like we do.” He taps his temple. “But first we pool what we have and go from there.”

I nod, and for the first time that evening, I relax my tight control on the vodka. I take a deeper swallow as we discuss the details of an attack.

Making it look like an unknown is a good idea.

He wanted to target someone else. I think it needs to look like it’s an out of left field attack from an absolute unknown.

That sort of thing will help decimate the status quo and make others shaky, too.

If there’s an unknown, questions will arise such as: Who are the enemies? And who are the friends?

Santo likes the idea, and we build on it.

But then I stop. “We’re doing this wrong.”

His face turns thunderous.

I shake my head.

“What I mean,” I say, taking another sip, “is it shouldn’t be unknown until the very end. Early strikes can be unknown. We weaken them, shake them.”

“Which will up their defenses.”

It’s a gamble I’m willing to take. “Not if we strategically take out or just take his best. You have a skilled assassin who can help. Your part in it can remain silent, or not. I take the credit. Or we both can share that.”

“You take it.”

In the end, we work it out. Santo will supply weapons, as well as his assassin if needed, and unlimited manpower for a surge of resistance. He’ll supply intel on where to attack and when.

And my men will lead the final attack. Which allows me to take the advantage and take the credit for that attack .

After Santo leaves, I become aware of how this sits inside me. Like I ate something that isn’t agreeing with me.

A soft knock sounds on the open study door, and I turn.

Alina stands there, soft, so fucking pretty and vulnerable in her dress. She’s unpinned her hair, removed her jewelry and makeup, and my heart thunders inside as I rise, smiling, simply because she’s here.

“I heard him leave. How did it go?”

My smile wants to slip, but I keep it in place like a mask as I round the desk and meet her as she steps inside.

“It’s all good,” I say, not wanting to discuss it with her because I know it’ll worry her.

“Are you sure? We can find another way.”

“We? This is as far as you get involved.” I hold up the vodka and fetch a glass to pour some for her.

She just holds it after I press it into her hand.

“And everything went to plan.”

“Okay.”

As she takes a sip, I nod.

“And I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“That’s not true.” She scoffs. “I didn’t do a thing.”

“Didn’t you? If you hadn’t asked me to help you with him, then where would we be?”

She shoots me a look at the dry note in my voice. “At Demyan’s.”

“And not with a bratva of my own. That’s because of you, too.”

Alina takes half a step toward me. “Are you sure working with Santo’s the right move? What if it backfires?”

“It could,” I say with a nod. “If I’m not careful. But I’m careful.”

“I don’t trust him. It’s a risk,” she whispers.

“Yeah, it’s a risk,” I say in Russian, “but it’s one I need to take. And malyshka , I promise you I can take care of myself. You have nothing to worry about.”

Her eyes are big pools of concern. “I hope so, because if anything happened to you, I’m not sure I could…”

She breaks off, her voice scratchy.

Then she suddenly steps forward, almost spilling her drink as she hugs me.

I close my eyes and breathe in that clean, flowery scent of hers. She’s soft and warm in my arms, and I remember her sweetness, the soft heat of her, how she fits perfectly against me.

Her touch lingers as she pulls back slightly, her breath shuddering, and she gazes up at me. Then she rises up so she gets even closer.

I’m rooted to the spot as she closes the gap between us, and her lips brush mine.

A groan breaks free, and I’m teetering, torn between the desire to haul her in and crush down on her, take this where it needs to go, and pushing her gently back and doing the right thing.

Shit.

Doing the right thing wins out, only just.

“Alina—”

“Shush,” she says, putting her finger to my lips. “I want this.”

She moves in once again.