Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (17)

She heaves a sigh so big that her whole body shivers.

“Mama, you should change,” he says gently. “You’ve got his blood on your hands.”

She glances down at her trembling fingers. “He coughed up so much blood,” she murmurs. “I thought I got it all off…”

“I’ll take you to your room,” Bogdan says, glancing at me for approval.

I nod.

They turn and approach the doorway I’m standing in. I try to summon up some words of comfort. Something to comfort a grieving old woman.

But I can’t find any that would make a difference now.

As she walks past me, her eyes flicker over my face. “Isaak…”

“It’s okay, Mama,” I say stiffly. “We can talk later.”

She swallows back something.

Grief?

Uncertainty?

Relief?

Fuck if I know. Those emotions have never meant much to me. Father made sure of that.

“I just want you to know that this Bratva is yours,” she says. “It’s what your father would have wanted. It was always meant to be.”

“Maxim disagrees.”

“Then prove him wrong,” she says with a nod that reminds me why she made such a fierce Bratva wife all these years.

She grazes my arm with her fingers. Then she allows Bogdan to usher her out of the living room.

I head straight for the cellar. It’s empty when I get there. Flicking on the lights, I pluck a wrought iron chair from its resting place along the back wall and drag it to the center of the room.

Then I wait.

The minutes tick by, and I wonder if the fucker managed to escape. I’m not upset by the prospect. In fact, the adrenaline pumping through my veins would relish the chance to chase him down and slit him open from balls to chin.

Then I hear the creek of the cellar door. Shuffling feet. Muffled protests.

Three pairs of legs appear on the staircase—Vlad and Nikolai, with Oleg caught between them. I notice that Oleg’s knees still seem to be in working order. So he didn’t try to flee. Perhaps he’s braver than I thought—or stupider.

As they come into view, I see that he’s been gagged. He’s struggling hard against the flexicuffs that bind his hands behind his back.

I pull out the custom-made blade that Otets gifted me on my thirteenth birthday. I tap the tip between my fingers as Vlad and Nikolai force Oleg into the empty space in front of me.

Then Nikolai kicks at him from behind, and Oleg collapses to a kneeling position at my feet.

“Remove the gag,” I order.

Vlad cuts it off immediately.

“Isaak, what is this?” Oleg gasps, his eyes bulging and whirling in their sockets.

“This is the day of judgement,” I tell him coldly. “It’s time to own up to your sins.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand…”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “You know how my uncle Yakov died, don’t you, Oleg?” I ask.

He just stares at me.

“Of course you do. You were there,” I continue. “It was heart failure. That’s the story.”

“Someone murdered him,” Oleg says. “It was just made to look like a congenital heart defect.”

I nod. “Correct. And who got the blame for it?”

Oleg’s expression wavers. He’s not sure whether to own up to his true allegiances or make me beat it out of him. “Isaak…”

“You will address me properly,” I interrupt harshly. “In the manner owed to your don and master.”

Don. That’s what I am now. It feels right.

His face falters. He’ll break sooner rather than later. He’s already on the cusp of falling to sobbing pieces. “Yes, Don Vorobev,” he murmurs.

“Good. Now, back to the story. My uncle’s widow Svetlana spread the lie that it was my father who killed Yakov. She—”

“She didn’t lie,” Oleg spits out, dropping the pretense.

I notice a shadow on the staircase. Bogdan emerges. He doesn’t announce his presence. Simply walks around Oleg, until he’s standing next to me, just behind my chair.

Oleg’s eyes flit between the two of us, wondering what this new appearance might mean for him. I know my brother had shared a friendship with the man.

But I also know Bogdan. Disloyalty is not a crime he will ever forgive.

If I hand him the knife, he’ll cut Oleg’s throat without so much as blinking.

That’s true loyalty.

“Your father wanted to be don,” Oleg snarls. “So he killed his own brother and took what was never meant to be his.”

“A strong don takes what he wants,” Bogdan intones.

“And a weak one bleats about what he feels he’s owed,” I add. “Claims mean nothing. Strength means everything. Svetlana filled Maxim’s head with lies.”

“She was the wife of the true don,” Oleg snaps. “And Maxim is Yakov’s heir. You’re sitting on his throne, mudak.”

“So this was his revenge?” I ask. “He wanted to murder our father and he used you to do it.”

Oleg’s lip curls. “Wrong.”

“Wrong?” I echo. I frown. I was so sure that that was the right analysis of the situation. Oleg swore his allegiance to Maxim. Maxim wants the Vorobev Bratva. Therefore, Oleg killed my father so Maxim could take it from me.