Page 37 of Toxic Salvation (Krayev Bratva #2)

KOVAN

Every time I blink, I see names.

Names of men I want to believe are loyal to me. Names of men who are yet to declare a side. Names of men I should be able to trust but I’m not sure I should.

It doesn’t seem to matter how many secrets I uncover or how many of my wayward soldiers I save from their own choices—the finish line doesn’t seem to be moving any closer. If anything, it’s moving further away, taunting me from a distance I can’t measure.

It’s already been fucking days since Vesper and I got back from Switzerland, and I’ve heard nothing from the other side. Ihor has maintained radio silence. Jeremy has been suspiciously quiet, too.

The calm before the storm, probably. I can’t help but fear that they’re planning something so elaborate that it requires weeks of preparation.

I have to make a move before that happens.

“Hey, brother,” Osip greets as he swooshes into my office, carrying a backpack that’s stuffed to the brim and lugging his laptop in his hands. “I’ve got new info for you.”

“Is it Ihor? Has he made a move yet?”

“Nah, Ihor’s turned into a ghost. Yana, too. But I did find something on Borya. Specifically, what Ihor might have on Borya.”

The name makes my jaw tighten. Borya Stepanov has been with the Bratva for eight years. Solid, reliable, never gave me a reason to doubt his loyalty. If Ihor has something on him…

“Forget it,” I say. “I don’t care to know.”

Osip freezes, one hand on his laptop. “What do you mean? You told me to keep digging for?—”

“I know what I told you. It doesn’t matter.” The frustration boils over and I jump up from my seat. “I’ve turned enough men away from Ihor, bought back enough loyalty. It’s time to stop digging into the small fries. We need to catch a big fish.”

“Are you talking about?—?”

“Denis,” I finish for him. “He’s been Ihor’s right hand for almost as long as Ihor was Dad’s.”

Osip’s face scrunches up. “The man is notoriously loyal. There’s no way you’re going to be able to convince him to defect to our side.”

Usually, it doesn’t bother me, but today, it rankles to know that I have to stage a coup just to gain control of my own Bratva.

It was a rookie mistake to ever allow Ihor a seat at the table.

My first move as pakhan should have been to give the bastard the boot and take control of my men before he could poison them against me.

“I’m aware of that. I don’t plan on convincing Denis of anything. He’s a lost cause; it’s time to take him out of the equation.”

Osip stares at me with that doofus “spell it out for me” expression on his face. Sometimes, I wonder how someone so brilliant with technology can be so dense about everything else.

“If we do that,” he starts slowly, “Ihor is going to know we’re coming after him next.”

“If he doesn’t already know that, he’s a bigger idiot than either one of us thought. Just dig up his whereabouts for me.”

“The dude is notoriously hard to pin down,” Osip protests. “He’s anti-tech, too, which means we can’t just track him down through his phone or?—”

“Will you stop making excuses and just fucking do what I’m asking you to do?”

It comes out harsher than I intended, but I’m tired of hearing about what we can’t do. I need solutions, not problems.

Osip’s mouth snaps shut. A second later, there’s a barely discernible creak coming from the door of my office.

Osip and I glance around at the same time and catch Vesper standing at the threshold, her hand still on the doorknob. She has that guilty look she gets when she’s been caught eavesdropping—not that I mind. I’ve told her she doesn’t need permission to enter my office.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not interrupting,” Osip replies huffily, shoving his laptop into his backpack. “I was just leaving.” He shoots me a dirty glare. “You know, to just ‘go fucking do’ what Kovan’s asking me to do.”

He breezes past Vesper, who steps aside to let him through before sidling into the room. She’s wearing a pale pink blouse that shows off her small bump—our son, growing inside her, safe and protected.

For now.

“I did knock,” she says, wincing slightly.

“You don’t have to apologize.” I wave her over, suddenly desperate to touch her, to ground myself in something real and good. “I was almost done here anyway.”

She walks into my arms and wraps her hands around my neck. Her skin smells like vanilla. I inhale her greedily.

“You seem stressed,” she says, studying my face. “You wanna talk about it?”

I glance at the time on my computer screen. “Aren’t we supposed to leave for dinner in ten minutes?”

“Charity is always late,” Vesper says dismissively. “And anyway, Pavel said he’d pick her up, so I doubt either one of them will notice if we’re a bit late.”

I kiss her hand and pull her toward the door. “Let’s go.”

She doesn’t say another word until we’re in the car, driving through the city toward the Italian restaurant that she and Charity swear is the best in San Francisco. I’ve never been impressed by the place, but Vesper loves it, and that’s enough for me.

“You can’t rush these things, Kovan,” she says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. “You’re doing the best you can. That’s all you can do.”

How does she always know exactly what I’m thinking? It should unnerve me, but instead, it’s comforting. Like she can see straight through to the parts of me that I try to keep hidden from everyone else.

“Ihor is planning something,” I mutter.

“So are you.”

I glance at her. She’s braided her hair to one side and added a blush matte lipstick that looks perfect with her skin tone. The pregnancy glow is real and it’s clinging to Vesper with everything it’s got. She’s never looked more beautiful.

“Did I mention that you look breathtaking tonight?”

Her cheeks turn pink. “You’re changing the subject.”

“Only because there’s nothing to tell you. Which is frustrating as hell, but it’s the truth.”

“And it has nothing to do with the conversation we’re about to have with Charity and Pavel?” she asks, her tone carefully neutral.

“You mean the conversation where we ask them to take care of our children if we kick the bucket prematurely?” I try to keep my tone light, but even I can hear the tension underneath. “That’s a conversation everyone has with their friends at some point, right?”

“I already know what Charity is going to say,” Vesper says confidently. “And you know what Pavel is going to say, too. This is just a formality.”

“I know that.” The frustration builds again, different this time. More personal. “It’s just…”

“Yes?”

“It’s bad juju, okay?” The admission makes me feel like an idiot, but there it is.

Vesper’s eyebrows go up. “I’m sorry, did you say juju ?”

“Shut up.”

She starts laughing—really laughing, holding her sides as she rocks back and forth in the passenger seat. The sound fills the car and despite my embarrassment, I find myself fighting a smile.

“I thought you didn’t believe in that stuff,” she manages between giggles.

“I don’t.”

“And yet here we are.”

I park on the side of the road and turn the engine off. The sudden quiet is making me claustrophobic.

“Superstitions are stupid and unscientific and completely ludicrous,” I say, doubling down on my rationality. “But… Vitalii asked me to take care of Luka, and then three weeks later, he was dead.”

Vesper stops laughing immediately. Her hand reaches across the console to touch my arm, her fingers gentle and warm against my skin.

“Don’t worry, my love,” she whispers. “You and I are going to raise our boys. Together. I promise you that.”

“How can you be so sure?”

She shrugs, then tilts her head back to look up at the darkening sky through the sunroof. “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.”

I’m not a superstitious man. I don’t believe in predestiny or fate or any of that nonsense. I believe in preparation, strategy, and superior firepower.

And yet, when Vesper assures me that it’s just a “feeling,” somehow it makes me feel better.

“Guess what?” Vesper squeals, ambushing me on my way back from the restroom.

I glance around the restaurant’s narrow hallway. “Can we play this guessing game back at the table? Pavel and Charity are waiting for us.”

“I can’t very well talk about Pavel and Charity in front of Pavel and Charity, can I?”

“Is that what we’re doing?”

“Charity just told me that she and Pavel have been secretly seeing each other for three weeks now,” she confesses in a rush. “They just didn’t want to tell us until they knew what it was between them.”

I pause, processing this information. Pavel hasn’t said a word to me about dating anyone, let alone Vesper’s best friend. “They’ve figured it out in three weeks? That seems unlikely.”

“Why?”

“Because I know my brother, and he’s not the type who commits in three weeks. Or ever, really.”

Vesper crosses her arms, giving me a look that clearly says I’m being obtuse. “That was probably true of you at one point, too.”

She has me there. Three months ago, the idea of planning a future with anyone would have sent me running. Now, I’m discussing guardianship arrangements and shopping for cribs. Life moves fast.

“What exactly did Charity say to you?”

“That they really want to make this work. That they’re falling for each other. That they want to spend every waking moment together.” She’s quivering with excitement.

“When did she tell you all this? We haven’t even gotten our main courses yet.”

“We were texting under the table while you and Pavel were being all snooty about the wine selection.” She sees me scowling and grabs my arm.

“This is a good thing, Kovan. The only thing better than Charity and Pavel taking care of our kids is if they are a couple taking care of our kids. And now, they are.”

She stills the moment she sees the expression on my face. Her smile falters.

“I know this isn’t the best-case scenario, Kovan. Of course, I want to be the one to raise the boys. And we will be the ones raising them.” She takes a breath. “This is just insurance, okay?”

I nod and force a smile onto my face, but it feels brittle.

The whole time we walk back to the table together, weaving between other diners and waitstaff, I’m thinking, How is she so much better at this than I am?

How does she manage to plan for the worst while still believing in the best? How does she face the possibility of our deaths with such calm acceptance while I’m over here worried about jinxing us by even having the conversation?

Pavel and Charity are sitting closer together than they were when we left, I notice. His arm is draped casually across the back of her chair, and she’s leaning into him while she scrolls through something on her phone. They look comfortable. Natural.

Like they belong together.

“Everything okay?” Pavel asks as we sit down, his gaze moving between Vesper and me.

“Perfect,” Vesper says.

I pick up my wine glass and take a sip, buying myself time to get my head on straight. We’re here to have dinner with our loved ones and to discuss practical matters that responsible adults discuss.

Nothing more, nothing less.

No juju involved.