Page 27

27

ERIK

T he Black Ox is empty.

Soft jazz music plays from the ancient jukebox near the door, the lights are down low, and the city sleeps while I drown my sorrows with another Scotch.

The Black Ox is the only neutral bar in New York City.

No one fights here, regardless of what family you’re from, so it's the safest place to go when you need to lose yourself. And I really need to lose myself.

Anastasia killed Sergey.

Viktor was right all along.

For months, I resisted his suspicions, convinced he was looking in the wrong place because his grief was driving him toward the one person who could have answers. I was sure he was just looking for someone to blame, and Anastasia was unfortunate enough to be in his firing line.

But he was right.

All this time. All these months.

And it was her all along.

It doesn’t sit well with me. I attempt to drown out the swirling, confusing sensation in my gut with the rest of the alcohol in my glass, but it only makes the feeling burn hotter.

I was completely and utterly convinced that she was innocent. I called Viktor crazy. I told him again and again to look elsewhere.

But it was her.

“Fuck.” My head sags forward into my hands while my mind races with the new truth. She killed him to save herself.

Can I fault her for that?

And children. He was going to traffic children. My stomach rolls at the thought.

There’s an illusion that exists in our world created by the belief that no one is innocent, so the crimes we commit, regardless of what they are, are mostly deserved. Adults are evil people, our family included, so it was easy to justify how we made our money. Even I got behind it after Viktor showed me a better way of life after my sister was snatched and killed.

That illusion protects us, but it only works for one reason.

No kids.

Kids are innocent. They’re fragile and kind, sweet and unproblematic. Which is why they are off-limits in all aspects of our world. There’s an unspoken rule to never go after someone’s kid, although that doesn’t always pan out.

But trafficking children? I can’t wrap my head around how Sergey thought that was a good idea. Surely, there would have been pushback from his own men if not for the other families? Are we all truly so blinded by greed that there was no one around to stop this from happening? No one except Anastasia.

I can get behind her reasoning. Sergey shouldn’t have been allowed to continue with such a diabolical plan.

But killing him?

Nausea curls hotly in my gut as I stare down at my empty glass, then my eyes close.

Anastasia should have brought her proof forward and presented it to the heads of the other top families, then a vote would have been cast about how to move forward. It’s one thing to unseat a Pakhan . That’s happened before when choices were detrimental to the survival of a family. But outright killing him?

That’s bad.

It’s like killing a king.

To some, there’s absolutely no excuse, regardless of how evil that person is. And if anyone were ever to find out…

Dragging my hands down my face, I groan softly.

To make matters worse, Anastasia is pregnant. With my baby.

Everything about her now is a rule break. Murdering the Pakhan , taking his place, and then having a baby with a lowly security guard instead of the son of some other wealthy, powerful Russian family. So much is stacking against her.

What the hell am I supposed to do? The look on her face when I told her the truth haunts me every time I close my eyes. I’d hoped that everything I had done for her these past months would stand out and show her that, despite my origins, I did care for her.

I see now that instead, my truth called into question every drop of loyalty I’ve ever shown her.

She hates me. So does Viktor.

How did I let this happen?

My thoughts jumble together, tripping over one another until I almost can’t breathe. Then the clink of a glass catches my attention. I drop my hands to face Hazel, the owner of The Black Ox, as she refills my glass.

“You look like you need it,” she says, topping me off.

“I think I need the whole bottle,” I groan. “Thanks.”

“You wanna talk about it?” Hazel leans against the bar and squints slightly as she eyes me. “You know the rules. Nothing that happens out there comes in here. And nothing said in here goes out there.”

I tilt my head and sigh deeply, deflating like a paper bag. “I don’t have a clue where to start.”

“Start at the beginning.” She pushes away from the bar and sets the bottle back down on the rack behind her. “Trust me, I’ve heard it all. Ain’t nothing you can say that will shock me.”

“Alright.” Challenge accepted.

I tell her everything. From my rough upbringing, the death of my parents, the kidnap and murder of my sister, and how Viktor was there for me through it all. He supported my time in the army and gave me a home and love beyond what I deserved.

Then I tell her about Anastasia and Viktor’s orders, and how those orders blurred when my feelings for Anastasia surfaced. I detail how my life became about her and making her smile, keeping her safe and providing all the stress relief she required. Then I tell her about the pregnancy and remain vague on the details of Anastasia’s confession.

By the time I’m finished, I’m parched and Hazel is kind enough to pour me another drink.

“You’re screwed.” She snorts.

“I know.” Lifting the glass, I take a sip. “I have no fucking clue what to do.”

“Yes, you do,” she replies instantly.

“What?”

“You know what you have to do. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that you’re already doing it.”

I frown deeply. “The hell are you talking about?”

Hazel lets the bottle rest in her hands, then she tilts it toward me and tucks one thick curl behind her ear. “Look, I’m not one to get too involved. It’s part of the rules, you know that.”

“Sure.” I nod.

“But from what I can tell, traditions are bullshit. They’re old for a reason. Now, I’m not saying they’re all bad. After all, it’s tradition that keeps this place running with Irish, Russians, and Italians walking through my door each night. So some tradition?” She kisses the air. “Perfection. But you? And Anastasia? The shit her father got up to was twisted. It’s an open secret. But those traditions are only traditions because they benefited those people at the time. That doesn’t mean they should remain in place forever. Honestly, it sounds like Anastasia has a good head on her shoulders and she’s well on her way to creating a new era for Russian blood.”

“Sure, but that doesn’t change what she did.”

“Doesn’t it?” Hazel’s eyes narrow. “If you were in her shoes, would you have done it the right way? If you faced down the people who kidnapped and killed your sister, would you follow the rules laid out by the family?”

“No,” I reply immediately.

“Exactly. Because I guarantee a rule like that is only in place to stop people from getting rid of shitty leaders. Claiming you need proof like some kind of court case works in some places, I’m sure. But Sergey?” Hazel’s face twists.

“For someone who remains impartial, you sure have some opinions.”

“I’ve heard a lot of shit in my time.” She shrugs. “My point is, traditions benefit a certain criteria of people, and Anastasia, bless her heart, is going against that. And you’re sitting here, draining me dry, because you’re a coward.”

“Ouch.”

“It’s true!” She swats at me with a smile. “You already know what you have to do.”

“I don’t,” I insist. “And if this is your advice, it’s cryptic and it sucks. How the fuck am I supposed to choose between my father and the woman I love?”

“The woman you love, huh?” Hazel lifts one dark brow. “You sure about that?”

I pause.

Do I love her?

Is that why this is so fucking hard? Why seeing her face in my mind makes me feel like someone is trying to scoop out my insides with a hot poker?

Because I love her, and I hurt her. Badly.

“Yes,” I say after a moment of thought. “I do. I’ve never loved someone before, not truly. Not like this. But I do. I love her.”

“I know you do.” Hazel smirks. “You just needed to say it out loud so you’d understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Fuck me.” Hazel laughs loudly then, tipping her head back. “Men are so dumb sometimes, I swear.”

Warmth prickles at the back of my neck as my mind struggles to catch up to what on earth Hazel is talking about. “Huh?”

“Honey.” She fixes me with a serious look. “You’re so tangled up that you don’t even see it.”

“See what?”

“You’re not here drinking because you don’t know what to do. You’re here because you’ve already made your choice and you feel guilty about it. And as much as it’s good for my business, alcohol isn’t going to make that guilt any lighter. After all, if you had made any other choice, you wouldn’t be here.”

She’s right.

Of course she’s right.

Underneath the churning nausea in my gut, the pain in my tight chest, and the exhausted rush of thoughts in my mind, the truth is alarmingly clear.

I’m not here because I can’t decide where my loyalty lies.

I’m here because I know exactly where it lies.

And despite my certainty with that choice, it still feels like a total and complete betrayal.

I chose Anastasia the second I walked out of that estate without talking to Viktor.

And he’s going to hate me for it.