“You’re one to talk.”
He sighs. “I’ll reconnect your phone line today,” he says. “Will that appease you?”
“Not by a long shot,” I snap. “But it’s a start.”
“That’s all I can give you right now.”
I shake my head and get to my feet. “That’s the frustrating part,” I tell him. “You’re offering me crumbs and I’m still grateful. I have to be, because hearing their voices… it gives me life on my bad days.”
“It won’t be forever,” Isaak says suddenly. “You’ll see them again one day.”
“Is that a promise?”
His face hardens into his normal cold, impassive mask. “Nothing is a promise.”
“You can’t even give me that, can you?”
“I’m a little preoccupied trying to take down a fucking psychopath, Cami.”
“What makes him the psychopath, and not you?”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah,” I say, “seriously. He wants the same thing you do.”
“Except I have a right to it. He doesn’t.”
“Why? Because you say so. I thought the Bratva is all about power, not birthright?”
His eyes flash with anger. I’m genuinely glad the desk is between us. Every time we get into it, I end up at his mercy in ways I crave and hate at the same time. He was right before—I can still feel his mark inside me.
“You’re right,” Isaak says acidly. “It is all about power. The strongest always wins. I guess we’ll see how this plays out.”
His tone is frigid. The easy back-and-forth we’d shared only moments ago has completely dissipated.
It’s what I wanted, though, right? I’d picked the fight that had squashed our temporary truce. So I’m not sure why I feel so disappointed. So lonely.
And not lonely in general. Lonely for… him.
Fuck.
“You should go,” Isaak says.
I bite down on my tongue, refusing to walk back the argument. It’s best this way. We have no future. How can we? I’m not his wife; I’m his prisoner.
So I nod. “I was just on my way out.”
27
Isaak
An hour later, Maxim calls again with the proposed details of our face-to-face meet.
I barely hear him. I’m distracted. Still trying to piece together the catalyst that flipped Cami’s switch so suddenly and viciously. Maxim’s voice is a dull drone in my ear.
“You catch all that, cousin?” he drawls.
I have no objection to any of it, but I change the location anyway. Just to control an element of the arrangement. To throw my weight, establish my power in all this.
Maxim balks, but eventually, he concedes. He knows who’s holding the cards.
We hang up. Bogdan, who’s been waiting on my couch since a few minutes after Cami stormed out, speaks up immediately.
“You’re really not taking anyone with you?” he demands.
“No,” I reply firmly. “It’s what I agreed to.”
“He’s not going to keep his word,” Vlad says from his position in the doorframe.
“Exactly!” Bogdan exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. “Finally, someone speaking sense around here.”
He’s always had a flare for the dramatics. He gets that from Mother. That’s how she used to be—before Otets slowly drained the enthusiasm from her personality.
“I’m not going to pretend I’m scared of him. I’m not.”
“That’s all well and good. But fearlessness isn’t exactly going to protect you from a whole army of backstabbing motherfuckers.”
“He’s not going to come with an army.”
“He doesn’t need to,” Vlad interjects. “All he needs is five good men.”
I sigh, looking at Lachlan for support. He’s usually more even-tempered than Bogdan and more strategic than Vlad.
“I agree it’s risky to go alone,” the Scotsman says. “But it’s been decided already. A don’s only as good as his word.”
“Thank you, Lachlan.”
“But I wouldn’t go in naked, either,” he adds.
I glance over at him. “What are you suggesting?”
“Probably the same thing that Maxim’s advisers have told him: take a small contingent of men. Give us about a mile’s berth. If something goes wrong, we come in fast.”
I glance towards Bogdan and Vlad. “You two happy with that?”
“Define ‘happy,’” Bogdan grumbles.
I smile. “Where’s this protective side coming from?” I ask. “I’m supposed to be the big brother.”
He glares at me. “Maxim killed Otets. What’s to stop him killing you, too?”
“You really think I’d let that zjelob kill me?”
“I just think that sometimes you underestimate Maxim. It’s been a long time since we were kids. He’s not the same person.”
“Your brother’s right about that.”
All four of us turn in the direction of the door to see who spoke. My mother stands there with a grim expression on her face.
“Sorry to interrupt the meeting, but I’d like a word with my sons, please.”
Vlad and Lachlan leave immediately. Lachlan closes the door on his way out.
“Was that necessary?” I ask, turning a stern glare on my mother.
She sighs. “Are you really meeting with Maxim?”
I roll my eyes. Fan-fucking-tastic. Another person with input I didn’t ask for.
“The decision has been made, Mama,” I say, trying to be patient. But between this meeting and Camila, I feel fully maxed out on patience.
“But what purpose does it serve?” she insists anyway. “Are you planning on changing your mind and calling a truce?”
“Not likely.”
“Then it stands to reason that he’ll be of the same mind.”
“I’m counting on it.”
“You’re spoiling for a fight?” she asks, sounding vaguely disappointed.
“No, but I am prepared for it.”
Bogdan takes a step forward, putting himself between the two of us. That’s been his default position over the years. “Mama,” he says, “I’m worried about this meeting just like you are. But even I know that putting an end to Maxim is essential to the future of the Bratva.”
“Must everything be about the Bratva?” she says with a sigh.
“We are Bratva,” I say firmly. “It’s in our blood. There’s no point in pretending that life encompasses more than that. Nor does it need to. The Bratva is enough. The Bratva is everything.”
She shakes her head. “He’d be proud of you.”
“Somehow, I don’t think you mean that as a compliment.”
A spark of regret flashes across her eyes. She’s always been an expert at hiding her feelings. Or maybe I’m just incapable of studying her objectively. When I look it her, all I see is the woman who used to sing and press kisses to Bogdan’s bruises when he was a clumsy toddler.
If she ever sang to me, I can’t remember it. I’m guessing Otets put a stop to that early on.
“He raised you to be a strong don,” she clarifies. “And that’s what you are.”
Something pricks at my attention. A shade in her expression, a slant in her posture. “Mama,” I say softly, “what aren’t you telling us?”
Bogdan looks at me with a frown. Then he turns the same expression on her. “What do you mean? What does he mean? You’re not keeping something from us, are you?”
She’s quiet at first. Contemplative. Then she looks up from the ground and meets my eye. “You remember the house you boys grew up in, don’t you?” she asks.
“Of course,” says Bogdan.