My hands curl into fists under the table. Bratva men bleed for him. Kill for him. Yet he’s cutting them out, giving away territory, fucking us over and spitting in the face of every man who's ever been loyal to him.
I force my hands to relax. I can’t be like my father, letting anger control me, losing sight of what’s important. This girl in front of me is my focus. She’s telling me the things I need to hear. I regain focus, suddenly remembering I was supposed to check her foot. I stand and head to the bathroom, grabbing the first-aid kit from last night. When I kneel in front of her again, she doesn’t pull away this time.
"Let me see if it’s healing."
I unwrap the bandage and see that the cut doesn’t look as bad as it did before. I spray it again.
She draws in a breath. I look up to see her watching me. “Better?”
She nods, her shoulders relaxing as the antiseptic’s sting wears off. I re-bandage it and stand.
“Thanks,” she whispers, her voice still damaged.
“You’re welcome.”
I put the kit away again and go back out to find her moving toward the living room. I grab my phone off the table, checking the time.
Shit.
I almost forgot I have to meet Lev and play the game of ignorance.
“I have to go out for a while.”
She stiffens, looking nervous as I head to the door. “You’ll be fine,” I tell her, grabbing my keys. “Make sure to eat something. Use the microwave.” I don’t know why, but I feel the need to pause at the door, reminding her, “I’ll be back later.”
Half an hour later, I’m at Stary Dvor. Lev’s already there, standing by his car. We don’t bother going inside. Some conversations are better done walking.
“What the hell’s all this about losing something?”
Lev pulls a ski cap down over his low-cut hair. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear before me.”
I shrug. “Right. Because I monitor everything the Pakhan does.
“Someone should,” Lev mutters.
I haven’t shared my plans with him yet, but I know without a doubt, Lev will be on board when it’s time to bring my father down. Not because he hates the Pakhan. No, Lev isn’t emotional like that. It’s because he knows Volchya won’t survive if my father keeps running it this way.
"I talked to a few guys who were there early this morning,” Lev continues. “Someone had to talk him out of killing Belova right in the middle of the street.”
Pity.
"Why Belova? What did she do?"
"She was in charge. I’m guessing that makes it her fault.” He stops, tapping a finger to his chin. “That’s the strange partI can’t wrap my mind around. The Pakhan isn’t saying what was stolen. And Belova isn’t talking either. Why the tight lips if he wants this thing found?”
"As long as he doesn’t expect us to work as private investigators, I couldn’t care less."
Lev watches me, in that quiet, assessing way of his. “You don’t think it’s strange he’s this worked up?”
I shrug again. "No. Because odds are, not a damn thing was stolen. This is a distraction from all the shit he’s doing with the Albanians. Think about it, in the slim chance something was taken, so what? It was inside a fucking brothel. How important could it be? Money? Jewelry? A golden-pussy whore?” I scoff. “None of that affects Volchya. That’s my father’s personal mess.”
Lev slips a hand inside his jacket pocket. "I don’t know, Roman. I have a feeling it's going to become all of our business.”
“Then we’ll hear about it when he calls a meeting.” I glance down the street. “Until then, I’ve got bigger problems."
"Like what?"
"Dimitri.”
