Page 34 of Toxic Salvation (Krayev Bratva #2)

KOVAN

I don’t tell her about the onesie.

If I did, she’d be up right now, staring at the ceiling like I am, obsessing about everything that could go wrong.

And there’s a fuck ton that could go wrong.

This—this right here—is why I wanted to stay single. I always swore I would. But somehow, I came across a hypnotic pair of blue eyes and some well-fitted scrubs and I’d completely lost my mind.

Vesper shifts to her side with a soft sigh, her little sleep top riding up just enough to give me a peek of her pregnant belly. She looks so damn peaceful, so damn content when she sleeps. There’s nothing there to suggest that she’s tied her life to a man who has the potential to destroy it.

Why the fuck did she want me back?

If she had said no, then I would have been able to put some distance between us. Set her up in another house, far from me. Gave her the space she wanted.

But there’s no way I could have walked away from her knowing that she wanted me, too.

It’s one in the morning when my phone flashes on the bedside table. I swing my legs off the bed, grab my phone, and read the incoming message from Osip.

OSIP : We’re all cued up and ready to go, brother. You just need to give me the word.

I allow myself one last look at Vesper—her arms and legs wrapped around a pillow that should have been me instead—and then I get dressed.

Pavel is waiting for me in the driveway, his eyes puffy with sleep, yawing like a beached whale. “What the hell is so damn important that I had to give up my REM cycle to be here?” he complains.

“Get in the car and shut up.”

He throws me a glance as he buckles himself in. “Are you still mad at me about what happened yesterday at the mall?”

“I’m not mad.”

“You say that, but then your nostrils go all big and your eyes go all small and it reminds me of Dad when?—”

He shuts up the moment I turn my stare on him. “I am nothing like our father,” I rumble.

“I’m not saying you are. I’m just saying—” I shoot him another glare and he stops. “Okay, okay, I’m done talking.”

“It’s about fucking time.”

“I just told the guards to give us some breathing room!” he launches into another defense that I don’t want to hear. “I was going to be with them the whole time. I didn’t think?—”

“That’s right,” I interrupt. “You didn’t think. I don’t care how unhappy she is or how many promises she makes you; you never, ever should’ve let her convince you not to follow the orders I handed down. Is that clear?”

“Yes, brother.”

“No. I’m not talking to you as your brother. Right now, I’m talking to you as your pakhan .”

“Yes, pakhan ,” Pavel says glumly. “Do I at least get to ask where we’re going at this godforsaken hour?”

“We’re going to Simone’s.”

“Simone’s?!” Pavel yelps. “That’s Ihor’s stomping ground!”

I nod. “He arrived there ten minutes ago. He should be holed up in one of his private rooms getting a lap dance. Hopefully, we’ll be there before Glory or Roxy or Stardust or whoever the fuck takes her tassels off.”

“What’s the point of cornering him in his own strip club?”

“He needs to know that I’m not scared of him,” I explain. “And he especially needs to know that I can retaliate a lot faster and a lot harder than he can.”

Pavel balks. “He hasn’t done anything yet! Even if he cops to giving you that onesie, he can still claim it’s a gift.”

“I’m aware. That’s how he’s managed to skate by for so long. Even with Vitalii. He doesn’t do anything that’s openly aggressive. He doesn’t blatantly disobey. He undermines and deceives and lies. He toes the line so he can’t be held accountable for anything.”

“So, what are you gonna do about it?”

“You’re about to find out.”

The drive to Simone’s takes us through the shittiest part of the city. Neon signs flash advertisements for liquor stores and pawn shops. Homeless camps sprawl under overpasses.

This is where Ihor feels most comfortable: in the gutter.

I park directly in front of the club, not bothering with discretion. Let him know I’m coming.

As Pavel and I walk through the seedy, red-washed walls of the club, I can’t help thinking that the club reflects its namesake perfectly: flashy, trashy, and cheap as hell.

The bass from the main stage thumps through the walls. Girls in various states of undress lounge at tables with middle-aged men who look like they haven’t seen sunlight in months. The air smells absolutely vile, thick with beer and pot and perfume and God knows what else.

Perfect for Ihor. The stench of desperation.

There’s a bouncer in front of a room marked with a plaque that reads Don’s Suite . I should have made him remove the stupid sign on the day of the opening three years ago.

At the time, I’d laughed it off as insignificant. I was the pakhan . There was no dispute about that. If Ihor wanted to think of himself as one, he could and should do it here, among his sleaziest peers.

Now, I realize how tiny, insignificant acts left unanswered can lead to one big fucking problem.

“You guys can’t be back here.” The bouncer moves to block our path, but I step into the light and give him an unadulterated view of my face.

“Semyon.”

“Mr. Krayev!” he blurts. I can only see the whites of his eyes. “Is The Don expecting you?”

My lip curls in distaste. “He’s no don, Semyon. And calling him one is a good way to get in trouble with the real boss. Open the door.”

He steps to the side without another word of protest.

We walk into the room. The walls are lined with thick gold brocade and the sofas are a ghastly mix of velvet and satin. I guess he hasn’t just named the place after his mistress—it looks like he let her decorate, too.

Everything screams nouveau riche.

Everything screams insecurity.

Everything screams Ihor .

Ihor himself doesn’t see us enter because he’s too busy burying his face in the tits of some busty blonde whose eye makeup suggests she wanted to look like the hottest raccoon in San Francisco. Aside from the two of them, the room is empty.

Pavel and I sit down on the leather chairs facing the couch. I grab one of the empty beer bottles and throw it at the wall. At the eruption of splintering glass, Ihor rips his face up and gawks at us.

“What the?—?”

“Sorry to interrupt your little hobby.” I smirk. “But this just couldn’t wait.”

Ihor’s cheeks flush. “Kovan, Pavel—you could have picked a better time to visit. This is Candy,” he squints at the blonde who’s been fiddling with her tits while she stares at Pavel. “Or is it Brandy?”

“We really don’t give a fuck,” I say. “Brandy, Candy, you can hit the road. We need a little alone time with the old man. I’m sure the Viagra will keep ‘til you get back in here.”

She nods and scurries out.

Ihor clicks his tongue with irritation. “Remind me to fire that whore when I’m done with the two of you. She ought to know who she takes orders from.”

“You sure about that?” Pavel interjects. “You two seemed to really enjoy each other’s company.”

“Why the fuck are you here?” he demands.

“I just want to make sure we’re on the same page, is all,” I tell him casually. “Yana wasn’t exactly on her best behavior on her last visit to see Luka.”

Ihor snorts. “I don’t know why she’s even bothering with that kid. He’s a little bitch, just like his father was.”

Pavel jerks to his feet, his hand on his holster, ready to kill.

“Tell the boy to sit down before he hurts himself,” Ihor drawls, pulling his legs into a figure four.

“Who are you calling a boy?” spits Pavel.

“ Brat ,” I grit, “sit down. If you can’t keep your cool, then step outside.”

“Choose a girl if it helps,” Ihor suggests, an ugly sneer dancing across his lips. “Touch her, fuck her, beat her—they’re used to all sorts of fun here.”

Pavel’s hands are balled into fists and I’m certain he’s planning on using them if I don’t stop him. “Pavel,” I boom, “take a walk.”

His eyes move to me. He’s angry enough to start swinging, but he doesn’t want to disobey me. I give him one final nod and he stalks out of the room, slamming the door in his wake.

“That one’s a hothead,” remarks Ihor. “He might make a good vor if he weren’t so damn stupid.”

“If you say one more word about him, I will take your tongue here and now,” I tell him calmly.

“Is that right?” Ihor scoffs. “Look at you, making threats like a real-life pakhan . That one almost had me convinced.”

I pull out my phone and have the satisfaction of watching Ihor’s hand twitch toward his own trousers. “Not convincing enough for you, huh?” I smile. “Well, then, maybe this will help.”

I cue up a video feed and turn the screen so Ihor can see. “Recognize that house?” I ask. “You should. I believe you bought it last year for your latest little side piece. Didn’t you name this club after her? Simone, right?”

Ihor is staring at the screen, frozen to the spot. “What the hell is this, Kovan?”

“You were always a fan of fireworks, weren’t you, Ihor? You’re gonna love these. Three… two… one… There she goes.”

The sound is understated, given that we’re only watching the live feed, but there’s nothing understated about the explosion that takes down the entire house. All eighty acres, forty million dollars’ worth of prime real estate.

Gone in the blink of an eye.

On the heels of the explosion, Ihor leaps to his feet, his eyes practically bulging out of their sockets.

I didn’t think it would be all that fun to watch.

Turns out I was wrong.

I get to my feet and pocket my phone. “Secrets certainly have a way of being exposed, now, don’t they, Ihor?” I wink at him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to uncover a few more. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

I turn toward the door, but Ihor’s response stops me cold.

“You think blowing up some real estate scares me?” His recovery is faster than I expected. “You think I don’t have insurance? You think I don’t have ten more properties just like that one? You think I care? ”

I turn back around slowly. “No, Ihor. I think you’re missing the point entirely.”

“Which is?”

“The point is that I found Simone. I found her house. I found her schedule. I found her yoga class, her grocery store, her favorite restaurant.” I pause, letting that sink in. “I found her kids’ school.”

Now, his face goes completely white.

“That’s right,” I continue. “Little Simone has two kids, doesn’t she? Cute kids. Eight and ten years old. They walk to school every day. Same route. Same time.”

“You wouldn’t?—”

“I wouldn’t what ?” I interrupt. “Touch innocent children? You’re absolutely right.

I wouldn’t. But you seem to have forgotten that you’re the one who brought children into this game.

You’re the one who had Yana threaten Vesper while she’s carrying my child.

You’re the one who sent me a baby onesie as a message. ”

Ihor’s mouth opens and closes like a fish.

“So, here’s what’s going to happen,” I continue, my tone conversational.

“You’re going to call off whatever game you think you’re playing with my family.

You’re going to stop using Luka as a pawn.

You’re going to convince Yana to sign over her parental rights voluntarily.

And you’re going to disappear from my city for good. ”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll do to you what you’ve been threatening to do to me. I’ll take away everything you care about. Starting with Simone and her kids, and working my way down the list.”

The truth is that I would never hurt children. But Ihor doesn’t know that. And right now, his fear is the only thing keeping my family safe.

“Think carefully,” I tell him. “It won’t be long before the gloves come off.”

I don’t wait for his response. I stride out of that gaudy room, through the strip club, and into the night air where Pavel is waiting by the car, smoking a cigarette.

“How’d it go?” he asks, his leg bouncing with all the unspent anger.

“Better than expected,” I tell him as I get into the driver’s seat.

As we pull away from Simone’s, I catch a glimpse of Ihor in the rearview mirror. He’s standing on the roof of the club, watching us leave.

Good. Let him watch. Let him remember.

Because the next time he threatens my family, there won’t be any warnings. There won’t be any negotiations.

There will only be consequences.