Taken By the Bratva Boss by Sarina Hart

Chapter Thirteen

Leon

My gut aches. My head is pounding, and when I think of what I could’ve lost tonight, I’m sick. Aleks has arrived and is surveying the crowd, checking for the watchers versus the actors. He’s angry and anxious.

“Max is dead.”

Maxim? Fuck!

“How?” Anger and guilt roll around my gut, one as strong as the other.

Aleks pulls me by the arm to the side. “Your car was wired.”

Oh God. What if I would’ve put Anna and Olivia in that fucking car? I would’ve lost them. Watched it happen and been powerless to stop it.

As quickly as I have the thought, I turn it off. There’s no room for emotion right now. I have a war to fight or stop. And I lost a man tonight. A good man. One I could count on in any situation. Maxim.

Fuck.

“Max went to move the car and when he put the key in the ignition…” Aleks shakes his head. Max was his friend, and I drop my hand onto his shoulder, give a consolation squeeze. “It’s McGrath. His MO.”

Connor fucking McGrath has crossed a goddamned line, and I’m tired of this shit. I’m tired of the back and forth, the tit for tat, the eye for a fucking eye. But Connor killed a good man. A father. A son. My man.

If Max wouldn’t have started the car to move it—a precaution we take ten or fifteen times if ever I’m out for more than a few minutes—it would’ve been Anna and Olivia in the car with Maxim. Maybe even Adrian. I would’ve lost my entire family and one of my best men.

And this bullshit cut my meeting with Flinn short. Or maybe the reason Flinn was late was because he had a car bomb to plant. All those years with McGrath must’ve left some residual urges—stupid Irish urges—embedded in his psyche. Once I’m finished with what I need from him, I’ll end him because those urges will eventually rear their ugly head. His loyalties to his family will return, and I can’t have him close. I’ll never trust him.

But I will use him to get McGrath. I’ll do whatever I have to do to even the score with McGrath. To take ten of his men for the one of mine he took tonight.

Before I can make a move to end the war, by either annihilation or by his giving me ten men to kill for Maxim’s life, I have to tell Max’s wife. His parents. His children.

Maxim was a good man. He deserves the full honor of the Bratva.

Max isn’t the first man we’ve lost. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to go to a family with sympathy and payment for a life well lived. But I’ve met Max’s wife. She’s fierce. Fiery. I want to be able to tell her we’re going to get McGrath. I need to show her his death is being avenged.

I’m Pakhan, and there are things my people expect. I will be the one who goes to Natasha. I will be the one who promises her vengeance will be served. I am the one who will bring her Connor McGrath’s severed head.

I glance at Aleks. Then at the cops. Since my car was the device used, I’ll need to be interviewed. They’ll want to know my enemies. This isn’t my first car bomb. My man on the inside will handle the biggest part of the investigation for me, but we have to keep up appearances.

“Call Sergei. Tell him to go to the house and stay with Anna and Olivia. I need Adrian with us when we talk to Natasha.” Aleks makes his call while I pull out my phone. I need to get ahold of Larry. He needs to meet me at the station.

“Mr. Krilov?” Cop. If it wasn’t his arrogant, higher than mighty tone and the warehouse store suit jacket, the badge would’ve given him way.

“Yes.” For him, I put more accent into my voice. They all expect me to be old school Russia. The stereotypical kind anyway, the guy from the movie with the fighter. They expect me to want to break them, but I don’t. They have jobs. And if I do mine well, theirs doesn’t matter to me. Tonight, I was off guard. Too confident. Lazy. It will cost me hours at the police station.

“I’m Detective Jeremy Roby. Can you come to the station with me? We need to take your statement about the car.”

I nod to Aleks. He knows what to do. “I don’t know how I can help you. I was inside the gallery.”

I look back at the building as the medical examiner lays a sheet over Del’s body. The license plate—mine—that’s still sticking out just below his collarbone makes it look as if they’ve tented the sheet over his body, but the news crews have arrived, and no one needs to see Del this way. Certainly not the entirety of the Chicago viewing area.

“We believe you were the target, since the prelim reports indicate your car was the one with the bomb.” He’s staring at me as he delivers the news, measuring me. “We need a list of enemies, people who might want to hurt you.”

Not going to happen, but I nod and look appropriately disheartened because it’s what I need to do, and it isn’t hard to fake. Del was a friend. Max was an ally. Anna and Olivia are innocents.

“I can meet you at the police station.”

The detective smiles like he knows I won’t come straight there. Of course, he’s right. I would drive around and wait for my attorney because as long as he’s there, I’m covered. If they take me alone and ask casual questions, I can’t lawyer up without looking guilty.

“It’s no problem. We can give you a ride. No parking to worry about that way.”

I nod. The right to remain silent is mine. And since this isn’t my first trip to the PD, I’m well aware of how to use it.

Before we leave, I send Aleks inside to make arrangements for all of the paintings to be delivered to the house, then we go. The night air is cool on my skin as I loosen my tie and unfasten the buttons to my shirt. I need a minute to pull myself together because, not for the first time, I think of Anna and Olivia, how close I came to losing them. Now, because of it, I’m too close to losing my shit.

The drive to the station is Detective Roby and his partner talking to me but disguising it as talking to each other.

Roby starts. “You know, I’ve heard a lot’s been going down at the docks by that new warehouse owned by McGrath Industries.”

“McGrath. Slippery fucker.” The partner shakes his head.

Not great actors, these two.

“If we could get him…” Roby clicks his tongue against his teeth. “It would clean up a lot of Chicago.”

They can’t honestly believe I would tell them anything when there’s no satisfaction to seeing McGrath behind bars. My satisfaction will only come when I put him down for good.

Roby turns to face me. “Couple of McGrath’s guys showed up in a dumpster. Found another one floating in the lake. The one who lived”—the fuck?—“said it was some Russians.”

I blow out a breath, loud and windy. “You got any leads?”

“Just the witness.” He chuckled. “Said it was a tall blonde guy.”

Adrian doesn’t usually make mistakes like leaving witnesses alive.

I shrug like I have no idea. “Can’t help you.”

“Wasn’t your guys?”

“You mean my colleagues? The men I run my business with?” I chuckle. “I wouldn’t think so. We’re money men. We run clubs and shops, a casino, a golf course.” Legitimate and very public businesses. Also, all good for cleaning Bratva money.

“You own them all.”

I nod. “My corporate interests are vast. Varied.”

“All money makers.”

I chuckle now because if this is the best they can do, I could commit the murders myself in front of them and walk out of court as free as I am now.

“I don’t know of anyone who goes into business to lose money.” I smile because I know what’s coming. “I pay my taxes, officer. My businesses are all above and beyond reproach.”

He nods and turns toward the front then back again. “But you have to admit, they’re all businesses that it would be easy to run drugs through and clean money through.”

I sigh. “Sounds shady”

Four or five times a year, they drag me into the police station for questioning, and I haul out a story from the old country. One about my father who came to this country for a better life, safer life, a place where he could raise his children without fear of Russian police or KGB. Tonight, I’m not in the mood. “But it isn’t me.”

I pull out my phone and shoot a text to Adrian. My stay at the police station won’t be as long as I previously planned. I don’t have time for cat and mouse. So tonight, I’ll let Larry handle the questions, and I want Adrian ready with the car out front so I can speak to Maxim’s wife before the news reaches her another way. She deserves the courtesy and respect of hearing it from me.

The partner who hasn’t been introduced pulls the car into the lot at the station, and they lead me inside through a door at the north corner. A private entrance. A private elevator. Secluded corridor. Basement room. Fuck.

“Mr. Krilov, have a seat.” Roby shoves me into a room with a heavy steel door, a single table in the center and one chair. He pulls the door shut, and the bolt lock outside slides with the shrill grind of metal on metal.

Fuck. And I’m in a basement where… I pull out my phone. No signal. Of course.

Serves me right, really. I’m the idiot who hopped in their car. Same idiot who followed them to the basement.

The room smells like old cheese kept in a shoe and the only chair in the room is broken. One leg shorter than the others. There’s a camera in the corner, so I sit on the table.

Time crawls by while I wait. And wait.

And wait.

After a while, I cross my legs and pretend to meditate. No point in letting them see me bothered by the delay and the deception. Instead, I am the personification of calm.

Finally, Roby opens the door and comes in. “Sorry about that. Had some paperwork.”

I nod, unbothered and seething. Calm and as ready to kill a man as I’ve ever been. My voice is steady. “You guys need a cleaning service. I could recommend one.”

“I’ll bet you have a company for such a thing on speed dial.” His tone says he finds it criminal.

It is. But they also clean my offices and my clubs. “They’re very good.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” He smiles, motions behind me. “Maybe you’d like to sit in the chair.”

“Broken, you go ahead.” I spring off the table and land a couple inches from him. If I puff my chest out, we’ll bump into one another. He gasps and I smile. “Sorry.” And I brush some imaginary lint from his shoulder before I step back. “They should really pay you enough to afford a good suit if they’re going to make you wear them.”

He isn’t messing with just anyone. I’m Pakhan. Head of the Bratva. I’m the man who will kill him in his sleep before his wife can manage a gasp if he screws me around much longer. That’s why I am Pakhan.

“Just a couple questions.”

I nod. “Why are we down here instead of an interrogation room?”

He shrugs. “This isn’t an interrogation.” And he squares up. “If I didn’t need your help, I would kill you right now.”

“You could try.” I’m unbothered. Not my first threat. Not even my first by the police. I laugh. “I’ve been trying to form a list of my enemies for you to check.”

Now he smiles. “Don’t bother. I have a phone book.” His face is blank when he shakes his head. “I need your help.”

“So you said. And might I add this isn’t the way to get it.”

He nods. “I know.” It shows his desperation. “I need a favor. I can pay.” I cross my arms and wait. “My wife is… her boyfriend…” He shakes his head and reaches around me to put a folder on the table. Then he walks to the door and leaves.

Because two men on the inside is better than one, I take the folder and find the elevator, leave by the unmonitored door they brought me in through.

When I climb into the SUV Adrian drove to pick me up, I set the folder on the console.

“What’s that?”

“Check into it.” I haven’t looked inside. “Make sure it isn’t a trap. Then I’ll decide what to do.” I’m aware that police officers aren’t always the most honest people. This could be a trick. A plot to trap me. “Also, find out about the partner.” I want to know who I’m dealing with. It’s not only good business, but it’s also vital to my continued safety and freedom.

And it’s a distraction so I don’t have to think about how I’m going to tell a woman—a mother and her children—that Maxim is never coming home again. I don’t have to plan the words I need to say to Natasha. I’ve said them before.

Adrian drives through Chicago. “What do you want to do about McGrath?”

I have a plan. It’s not much. Won’t take much. But it’s enough for now. “I want to know what’s in that file. Then I’ll decide how to deal with McGrath.”

Adrian nods. “I’ll take care of it.” He pulls into the driveway at Maxim’s house.

The house is one story and brick with a small garage. It sits on a quiet street where kids play outside, and parents sit on the porch in the evening. There are block parties and weekend barbecues I keep… kept Maxim too busy to attend.

I sit for a minute before I open the door. I’m not here for a visit, and she’ll know it as soon as I knock. I want to give her a couple more minutes of happiness before I destroy her world, before I have to go into her house and give her the worst news I can.

Finally, I climb out and walk to the small porch with Adrian. I don’t need him there, but he’s better at dealing with the fallout than I am. He knows how to show compassion where I am less adept at dealing with the feelings of others.

It’s late and Maxim’s children should be in bed, but I can hear them inside. I don’t remember how old they are, and I’m sorry for that. A man gave his life tonight for me, and I don’t know the ages of his kids. My father would’ve known. My mother would’ve remembered not only their names, but their birthdays, their favorite toys, and the colors of their eyes.

I will do better, but it’s too late now.

Natasha opens the door, and she knows, but she steps back to allow us inside. “Let me get you drinks.” We aren’t here for drinks, but she probably needs a minute, so I nod, and she moves through to the kitchen as her kids, boys, come in together.

“I’m Kostya.” He holds out his hand like a small man.

His brother steps beside him as I shake Kostya’s hand. “I’m Egor.”

My head snaps up, and I’m transported back to the minute my father told me my brother died. He’d been stern, expected me to hold myself together. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. He was my brother. My twin brother.

But now I have to tell these boys about Maxim. Their father.

So much death. My brother. My mother. My father. Countless men who gave their lives for my family. And now Maxim.

“How old are you?” I ask because it’s too quiet, and I need sound.

“Seven.” Egor nods at Kostya’s answer.

“I was seven when my mom died.”

Egor’s eyes widen and Kostya’s mouth falls open. “Our dad died?”

Fuck. I sure as hell… Fuck.

But Natasha stands in the doorway. “Come here.” Her sons go to her, crying, and she bends to gather them against her before she looks up at me. “You tell my children before you tell me?”

Adrian breathes out, loud over the sound of two boys crying. “He didn’t.”

Kostya looks back at me, and my gut drops. I have to fix this. “Come here.” The boys walk slowly toward me, like they’re approaching a monster. And in their side of this story, I am.

When they’re both seated on a coffee table in front of me, I look at them. Really look. Kostya is the strong one. He has determined eyes, and his nostrils are flared. If there’s one thing I recognize, it’s anger, and he has enough for both of them. He’s like my brother Igor. Volatile, and it’s going to serve him well in his life, as long as he can control it. His brother, the other Egor, is crying, sad. He is me in this situation. The one who, twenty years later, will have night terrors, who will relive every painful moment until he figures out how not to relive them.

I’ll keep the methods I use to myself. They can discover the benefits of alcohol, drugs, and sex without my help.

But now, I owe them the truth because I owe Maxim the truth. “Your father died tonight doing his…” No. “He died protecting me. Making sure I was safe because he was my… my most loyal and courageous bodyguard.” Kostya holds his head up, and I see the strength behind his anger, but I have to finish this. Have to say it all. “Not because I paid him. Your father protected me because he had honor in his life and in his job. Because we believe in something—family and loyalty.”

“Was he scared?” Egor blinks back tears, and maybe there is strength in there I didn’t see.

“No.” Maybe he would’ve been if he’d known, but I doubt it. Maxim wasn’t the kind to fear much.

“I want to see him.” Natasha moves into the room to stand behind her boys, not touching them because if she does, they’re all going to fall apart.

I shake my head. “No, you don’t.” This I can say with certainty. Seeing what happened to my mother, which wasn’t an explosion, has ruined every memory I’ve ever had. “You want to think of Max the way you know him best. Father. Husband. A live, breathing man who loved you and the kids.”

She shakes her head. “No. He loved you. He tolerated us.” Though they only came here recently, they speak English like they were native born Americans. “He only cared about you, Leon Krilov.” Her eyes flash but not with sadness. Anger.

I nod. “I loved Maxim, too.” These men, the ones who guard me, work with me, stand with me in a line against our enemies, they’re my brothers. I would die for them much the same as Maxim died for me.

“No. You used him.” She shakes her head, and I pull my temper back. “He let you, but you used him.” She ends on a whisper like she’s afraid of what I’ll do. And if it wasn’t Maxim and Maxim’s family, I might’ve done the thing she expected—take her boys away. Ordered them into working for me. Showed them the kind of things they need to know to become valuable in Bratva ranks. And I will. Eventually. But now they get to mourn their father. They get to grieve.

“Maxim believed in the things I believe in. And those things got him killed. I’m sorry.”

Kostya nods, stands, and holds out his hand again to shake mine. I stand, towering over him, but he doesn’t back away, doesn’t back down. His brother runs to their mother.

There’s nothing more to do here. I can’t console them or make this better. No one knows that better than I do. I will provide for them, make sure the boys are prepared for their lives whether they choose Bratva or not. And unlike me, unlike my brother, even unlike Maxim, the choice will be theirs.