Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (85)

“Not because I was his son. Only because he would have lost his successor.”

“Which makes me what—the insurance policy?”

I snort with laughter, and Bogdan joins in. But it doesn’t last long. The silence claws its way back to the forefront.

“He wanted to go back to Scotland this year,” I muse quietly. “He hadn’t been in a few years. Felt guilty about it.”

Bogdan sighs and sinks into an armchair. “Don’t go there, Isaak. Don’t put that shit in your head.”

“He didn’t go because of all this shit with Maxim,” I remind him. “He said things were too volatile.”

“He made the decision, not you.”

“I didn’t exactly insist on his behalf.”

“Why would you? He’s a grown man who made a decision.”

“A decision based on loyalty.”

Bogdan sighs again. “There’s no denying that. Lachlan was loyal. The man never faltered.”

Loyalty. Still one of the highest compliments a man of the Vorobev Bratva can lay at someone’s feet. Ironic, really, that the man who carved those words into our skin was guilty of betrayal on all the most fundamental levels.

“You’re going, aren’t you?” Bogdan says after a pause. He’s eyeing me warily.

“I have to,” I say. “I’m not going to let anyone else hand Lachlan’s body over to his family. I’ll set them up with an account. Lachlan’s salary will be transferred directly to them in perpetuity.”

“That’s generous.”

“I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”

“Not even me?”

“Especially not you.”

Again, we both chuckle, but it too dies quickly.

I look up at my brother and for the first time I can remember, I feel like the desk is a huge separator between us. A gulf that needs crossing. The office has been set up like that since Otets first took power. No doubt it’s intentional, to remind visitors of who wears the crown.

But today, I don’t like it. I decide to break tradition.

I walk around my desk and take the seat next to him.

He doesn’t comment, but I know he understands the gesture. Maybe that’s what encourages him to broad the topic in the first place.

He turns to me and says, “Sobrat… why didn’t you kill Maxim when you had the chance? You had the fucker.”

I know he’s not blaming me. He’s genuinely trying to understand the frame of mind I was in. The wire I’d been wearing didn’t just transmit directly to my team; it also recorded the whole conversation I’d had with Maxim that day. I’m sure he’s listened to it again and again, just like I have.

And wondered what the fuck happened, just like I have.

“Our father killed his, Bogdan,” I explain. “I was trying to even out the scales. Now, I can take him on without feeling any sense of guilt.”

“You were willing to broker a peace deal with him,” Bogdan points out.

“I was giving him scraps and he knew it. A smarter man would have taken that offer, though. I’ve never made one like it before. I don’t intend to do it again.”

“Then why do it once?”

“Because, at the end of the day, we’re family. And that loyalty to our shared blood is something I can’t ignore, even if I wish I could. But I said my peace and made my offer. He rejected it all. So be it. Going forward, my conscience is clear.”

“So it’s war then?”

“It’s war,” I agree.

He nods grimly. “Good.”

I glance at him with a curious smile. “I’ve never seen you so ready for a fight before.”

“I was born fucking ready,” he snaps. Then he exhales and relaxes. “But this is a unique circumstance, of course. Maxim is a threat to the Vorobev Bratva. More importantly, he’s a threat to you and Camila.”

Something occurs to him. His eyes find mine. “Are you taking her to Scotland with you?”

I don’t like the tiny edge of smugness in his tone. “I’m not going to give Maxim the chance to get to her. I need to keep her close.”

“Right,” he laughs. “That’s definitely the primary reason you’re taking her.”

I shoot him a glare. “Are you really going to be a little shit today of all days?”

“Are you going to keep denying that your feelings for her are real?”

“Bogdan.”

“Listen to me: I heard the entirety of your conversation with Maxim. It was good; you were in control the entire time—or at least, that’s what anyone who doesn’t know you would think. But I’m your brother. I do know you. And that’s how I clocked it.”

“Clocked what, exactly?”

“The subtext. You care about Camila. Hell, maybe you’re even in love with her—if a cold-hearted son of a bitch like you is capable of something like that.”

I play off my sudden stiffening. “She’s a tool, Bogdan. She’s the trump card I’m keeping up my sleeve until the right time to deploy. Nothing more.”

He rolls his eyes. “That’s not the reason you approached her that night in the restaurant.”

I grit my teeth. “I’ll admit there was something about her. I couldn’t walk away. But now, I wish I had.”