This is not good.
Not to mention that Lauren thinks I’m dead.
Guilt stabs through my chest at the thought of turning her simple life upside down. The last thing I want is to make things complicated for her and Hannah. They deserve their peace… but they also deserve to live.
This is exactly the reason I’ve been staying away from them. It posed too much of a risk for them to know that I survived Aslanov’s attempt to kill me. I couldn’t expose them to a secret that would threaten their lives. And now that Aslanov knows I’m alive and well, they’re no longer safe.
Blyad!
Chert Voz’mi!
I rake a hand through my hair as I turn back to Elias. This is seriously fucked up. I cannot take on Aslanov the wayI am now. I am a fallen Bratva leader, a lone wolf without his pack. Even Elias can see that. He called me a fucking vigilante the other day, which I took great offense to. I am Rogov royalty, not some fucking self-proclaimed Batman wandering the streets after dark.
The Rogov name will always be a part of me.
But that doesn’t change the fact that, after the showdown at Aslanov’s warehouse complex, themudakbecame an all-powerfulpakhanby merging my empire into his. Sometimes, it boils my blood to the point where I feel literal steam evaporating off the surface of my skin…
Until I remind myself why I signed that goddamn dotted line.
For Lauren and Hannah.
To protect them and keep them alive.
And now that my secret has been exposed… Whether I like it or not, this has flipped everything on its head.
It means I must take action.
Right fucking now.
I exhale a breath and cross my arms over my chest. “What gave me away?” I ask Elias.
“Hey,” he says with an edge to his voice. “This piece of information was hard enough to get. You’re lucky I managed to pull a few strings. Aslanov is a resourceful guy. You know that. This is all I got.”
Pizdets.
“Fine,” is all I say, turning away to walk back to my car. I am done here.
“Let me give you a word of advice, Niko,” Elias adds.
I stop and turn back. “What?”
“You’ll need a friend if you’re going up against him.”
“I don’t have friends.”
“Don’t be so sure. Give old Popov a call.”
“Popov?” I frown. “Why would he want to help me?”
Elias takes a step closer. “He wants Aslanov dead, too. The man killed his brother, remember?”
I turn back and stare at Elias, considering his suggestion. Sergio Popov is the leader of his own organization; therefore, we are not friends. If anything, we’re competition. Or were. Then again, our shared interest in seeing Aslanov dead could indeed unite us. For a while, that is. Maybe Elias’ idea is worth considering.
I give him a curt nod, then stride back to my parked car without saying goodbye.
I unlock the vehicle, pop the car door, and collapse into the driver’s seat, hands clutching the leather steering wheel. I heave a breath, trying to contain my bubbling anger, and force my mind to think logically about this.
Come on, mudak, think straight.
