I am seeing red. “What do Mav and Baron have to do with anything?”
“Please, Ransome. Your cousin is a solid kid, but Maverick has been a loose cannon ever since I took him in against my better judgement. He stirs things up, starts fights, and doesn’t listen to instruction. Cut him out, and Tristan will be none the wiser.”
I slam my fist down on his desk hard enough to rattle the vodka bottles. “Maverick is not the problem! The problem is that the Chadovichs are waging war on us! They want one Bratva family, onepakhan,and they’ll stop at nothing to make that happen. It started with them murdering Nikky and it’s going to end with them overtaking the El Paso deal. But you’re too decrepit and senile to see that!”
My dad stops and tugs the cigar from his lips. He locks his hazy eyes on mine. “I can see just fine, son. I have been in charge for a very long time. You weren’t even supposed to bepakhan, or have you forgotten that? Nik was a much better fit for the job. He knew when to react and when to sit still. He knew?—”
“He was fifteen fucking years old when he was killed.”
“When he died,” he tries to correct me, but fuck that noise. “He wasn’t killed.”
“He was murdered.” I my voice is lethally low. “You just don’t want to admit that. Because that would mean you have to do something. Something more than just calling a truce between families by way of arranged marriage. But I don’t work that way. I don’t care about traditions and sweeping shit under the rug. Fucking Dmitry Chadovich’s daughter on a regular basis doesn’t just glaze over the fact that Nik’s death was a calculated murder at the hands of the Chadovichs.”
“You don’t have proof!” he snaps, emotion brimming his words for the first time.
“This is the Bratva. We don’t need proof. Only truth. And we both have always known what that is. And if you’re not going to take action to stop Tristan, then I will.”
I stand up and turn my back to my father. I can feel his angry, hot breath on my collar.
“You can’t just do whatever you want,” he booms. “You’re notpakhan!”
I walk to the doorway and slowly look back. “The way you’re running things? Neither are you.”
I leave his office and make my way for the front door. My mom is standing in the foyer, concern hiding in the tips of her downward lips.
“You need to be careful,” she tells me.
“I know how to handle dad,” I reply. “He’s annoyed, but he’s not going to do anything about it. And I will bepakhansoon whether he likes it or not. And then, he won’t have a say.”
“I don’t mean with your father,” she says, her voice low and careful. “You’re right about Tristan. He’s a bad egg. And a dangerous one too.”
Tears brim her eyes, though she doesn’t let them spill. She hasn’t cried since Nik’s funeral. She got all her grief out over the death of her baby boy and hasn’t let it or anything else get to her since.
“There’s no place in the Bratva for weakness, even in mourning mothers.”
Her words sounded harsh when she first said them all those years ago. But now I know she was just trying to survive. And it still stands.
“I know.” I cup her cheek in my hand. “And I’m going to stop him.”
58
AMARA
“Where the fuck have you been?!”
I tell myself that I am going to be cool as a cucumber when Ransome finally walks through the penthouse door. But right now, I think I’m more of a Flamin’ Hot Cheeto. Though I feel like I have every right to be.
“Goddammit, woman, I’m busy!” he barks out as he throws his keys aside.
It’s a very not Ransome thing to do. Mr. OCD always hangs them on the hook. Then he takes his shoes off, tucks them neatly in the closet by the door, loosens his tie, and heads to the kitchen for two fingers of whiskey.
He’s still wearing shoes and he’s drinking the whiskey straight from the bottle. I think that about says where we’re at.
Not to mention the fact he just spoke to me like a caveman.
But I don’t care. His archnemesis is threatening all of us via my little brother, and to say that I am Mama Bear-ing right now is an understatement.
“Yeah, well, while you were out being busy, I was with my siblings.”
