Piotr Ilyin
Raphael Mirabaud
He knew everything.
Raphael and Valerian met Piotr Ilyin in a private room in a restaurant.
The Russian minders had flanked Raphael all day, every day, so he hadn’t been able to find or procure anything like a weapon. Unarmed and surrounded, he was walking into a locked-room meeting with an old enemy who had stated he would like nothingless than Raphael’s cold body lying at his feet.
He straightened.
These might be his last few moments. He wasn’t going to spend them sniveling and crawling.
When Piotr had last seen Raphael, he’d been a seventeen-year-old boy who’d been half in love with death.
Now, he had everything to live for.
At night, Raphael’s head barely touched the pillow before Flicka’s hand crawled through the sheetsto him. He didn’t have to pretend to be asleep anymore. He reached for her, cradled her, and felt her warmth seep into his soul. He could wrap his arms around her and whisper to her, feeling her soft skin and the silk of her hair in his hands.
And Alina, his baby, his heart. She was talking more every day, beginning to hold real conversations with French words salted into her sentences, and wasso earnest about everything. Flicka had managed to keep taking her to the park to be with other kids, and when he came home and saw the two of them playing on the floor together, he couldn’t imagine anything closer to Heaven.
He’d kissed them both good-bye when he’d left, having gone back to the house to shower and change before supper.
He prayed it wasn’t for the last time.
When he’d toldFlicka not to take Alina if she had to run, it was because if Flicka was alone, she might stand a chance to survive. If she had Alina with her, the chance of both of them escaping dropped to cold, absolute zero.
He knew he’d told Flicka to save herself.
He just hoped she didn’t figure it out because he suspected she wouldn’t do it.
His body felt like he was composed of nothing but bitter smoke.
Heavy footsteps fell around him as they walked through the dim hallways to the private room at the back of the restaurant.
One of the restaurant staff opened the door at the end of the hallway as they approached. She scooted out of the way as they neared the rectangle of light.
Inside, one man was seated at a round table set with four settings. More bodyguards stood against the walls.
Raphaelwould have instantly recognized Piotr Ilyin in a crowd or a line-up.
Piotr Ilyin, now the head of the Ilyin Bratva, was a slim, tall man, obviously athletic. His black hair had gained a bit of ash smudged at the temples, but his blue eyes were as lively as ever. He was around forty now, when a man’s youthful face becomes rugged and mature. Laugh lines radiated from his eyes. He must have shaveda second time that day, too, because he and Raphael had used to compare their hearty five o’clock shadows. Raphael’s had been dark gold and less visible than Piotr’s black scruff, but they both grew brooms on their chins.
Piotr Ilyin smiled and stood when Raphael entered the room ahead of Valerian, extending his hand over the table. “Ah, so this is our mystery man who managed the Savona shipment.I should have known that your prodigal son had returned, Valerian. It’s been, what ten years? Twelve?”
As always, his accent was a crisp British affect with essentially no Russian growl remaining at all.
Raphael shook Piotr’s warm, dry palm. “Almost fifteen years.”
“Shocking, where the time has gone. We were so young, then. So young, so strong, and with so much hair.” He touched his dark hairline,which Raphael didn’t think had receded in the slightest.
“You look like you haven’t aged a day,” Raphael said. “Must be all that clean living.”
Piotr laughed. “More like well-preserved because I am constantly, thoroughly pickled. Wine?” He held up a blue bottle with the cork crammed back in at a rakish angle.
“Please,” Raphael said, sitting at Piotr’s right hand. His father sat across fromhim.
Raphael didn’t mistake Piotr’s affable demeanor as meaning he was safe. It was quite possible that they might have a lovely supper, discuss old friends and family, affirm Raphael’s place in Piotr’s organization as one of his favored captains, and Piotr might shake his hand heartily or embrace him. Then, as soon as Raphael and Valerian walked through the door, while finishing his dessert,Piotr Ilyin might offhandedly tell his men to put a bullet in the back of Raphael’s head, and to do the same to Valerian, Flicka, and Alina to send a message about Piotr Ilyin’s unwillingness to forgive treason.
