That’s how far loyalty gets you when it’s paid for in cash.
The only currency that matters is blood.
The only men left standing, clasping their weapons stubbornly, are ones I recognize as true Bratva. The ones who wear the mark of their leader. Who would die for him.
I look at all of them in turn. How many in total? Fifteen, maybe twenty?
“I know who you are,” I tell them. “I respect it. But the man you follow is not your don. He stole the title from a man who was born to it.”
One of the men still standing speaks up. “Don Mikhailov picked Spartak Belov to lead us.”
He’s slight in comparison to the others. Fine-boned, almost delicate. But I can see the steely-eyed resolve in his face. He’s a man who’ll fight to the death for what he believes in.
“No, he didn’t,” I say, making sure to raise my voice just in case Belov is listening from his fortress upstairs. “He didn’t choose Belov. He was fooled by Belov. And by the time he knew better, it was too late.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know more than you think,” I say. “I wouldn’t be here today if I didn’t. Belov is not Bratva. You all know that. So why do you still follow him?”
“We follow Semyon Mikhailov.”
“Semyon is dead,” I say. “Killed by the man you claim he chose.”
A murmur goes up through the crowd. Confusion. Uncertainty. Good—I can use that.
“Don’t believe me?” I press. “Go inside. You’ll find him in his wheelchair with his throat slit.”
“Why would Belov kill him now?” the man asks.
“Because he has my wife,” I snarl. “He has Viktoria Mikhailov. And he believes you will follow him because of that. Is he right?”
The determined ferocity on their faces is starting to wane a little. They’re beginning to question the path they’re on, the leader they’ve chosen to follow.
“What’s the alternative?” the slight man asks. “Follow you instead?”
“I will not ask any of you to follow me,” I say. “If your loyalty calls you to follow Viktoria, then I will welcome you as brothers. If your loyalty compels you to walk away from the Bratva life completely, I will respect that.”
“Why should we believe you?”
“I am not the fraudulent don that Belov has pretended to be,” I say. “I have the loyalty of my men because I’ve earned it. Do you imagine that would have happened if I didn’t keep my promises?”
“I’m not making a decision until I see Don Semyon’s body,” one man shouts.
The others yell in agreement, and I nod. “Very well. But in order to give you proof, I’m going to need to enter the house.”
The slight man gestures towards the door. “None of us will stop you.”
I nod and jump down off the roof of the jeep. I land on my feet and straighten immediately. Jax and Gaiman approach from both sides.
As the three of us step through the bullet-marked doors of the Mikhailov compound, I listen for sounds.
The sounds of my wife.
The sounds of my son.
But all I can hear is the pumping of adrenaline through my body. It sounds like a drumbeat. It sounds like a dirge that’s playing me home.
“That had to be the shortest fight in history,” Jax complains.
“Disappointed?”
“Of course I am! We’ve been waiting for this moment for eight years. That was anticlimactic, to say the least.”
“Calm down, Jax,” I tell him. “It’s not over yet.”
37
WILLOW
Somehow, he’s not dead yet.
I stare at the old man. My grandfather, though it’s still hard to think of him as that. His eyes lull sightlessly in his head. Against all odds, he’s still in there.
I know he doesn’t deserve it. But in his last moments of life, I decide to do the only humane thing. I kneel down beside his wheelchair and take his hand.
“He would have married you off to a powerful fuck with a lot of money and the ambition to match,” Spartak says, watching me intently. “Be thankful I got rid of him for you.”
As if on cue, Semyon’s head slumps forward. His hand goes limp in mine.
He’s gone.
“Right,” I say, releasing the old man’s hand and stepping away from his body. “And in contrast, you’ve done so much for my benefit.”
He shrugs. “In a way, I have. I’ve restored a crumbling Bratva. And one day, I will deliver it to your son. He will have my name, but what will it matter?”
In a way, I’m relieved. He is planning on keeping Pasha alive.
I glance towards the woman who killed Semyon. I’d always thought she had a kind face. Guess I was wrong.
“You took care of him for years,” I say softly. “Why waste your time keeping him alive only to kill him in the end?”
She looks at me with a bewildered expression, like the question simply does not compute. “I was hired to obey.”
Spartak laughs and moves forward. “You see, my beauty? That’s how you survive in my Bratva. You obey.”
There’s so much more I want to say to him, but I bite down on my tongue until the combative words retreat. I didn’t come here to argue with him or prove myself.
I came here for one reason only: to protect my son.
“I did obey,” I point out. “I came here. I accepted your deal. I will obey. But only so long as my son stays safe.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’ve already promised that.”
“I want to see him.”
“Jesus,” he mutters. “Fine. You can see him. Come on.”
I head to the door as Belov gives the killer nurse instructions on what to do with Semyon’s body. In the hallway, he takes the lead.
The house is a labyrinth. The last time I was here, I spent a week trapped in one dank, dark little room with no one but a blonde nightmare for company.
It’s strange that I find myself back here now, longing for that blonde nightmare to be at my side again.
When he finally stops at a door, I rush forward. But Spartak throws out a hand and stops me before I can even touch the handle.
“Not so fast, my pretty girl,” he says with a sickening smile that makes my insides twist with disgust. “After you finish squealing over your fat baby, I expect to see you in my… our bedroom. Is that understood?”
I stiffen immediately, as much as I try to avoid it.
“Did you or did you not promise to obey?”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want to fuck Leo Solovev’s wife.” His eyes spark with cruelty. “The next time I see him, I want to be able to tell him how you felt clenched around my cock. I want to tell him how you tasted.”
I now perfectly understand the expression “made my skin crawl.” Because standing in front of Belov now, I feel like I’d rather skin myself alive than be touched by him. My entire body revolts at the fact that I’m even standing next to him, let alone discussing having sex with him.
“I said I’d obey. I never said I’d make you happy.”
The smile slides off his face, and his expression turns intense. He takes a step forward until we’re nose to nose. I want to back away, but I know that if I do, he’ll make me pay for it.
My son is on the other side of this door. If I can hold my ground for long enough, I just might see him.