By the time I get to my office, Cyrus, Cyril, and Ignat are all there. Cyrus is standing off to one side of the room while his brother leans on the corner of my desk, picking at his nails. Ignat is seated in the chair on the farthest corner. As soon as I walk in, Cyril stands and steps to the side, near his brother.
“You called us, sir?” Cyrus is the one who speaks up. He usually is. He’s always been better at speaking up for the both of them.
“I did,” I tell him as I sit at my desk. Both men stand before me, shoulder to shoulder. “I think there’s something we need to talk about regarding your recent activities in the Bratva.”
I see the brothers exchange a silent glance, a telepathic message of sorts to one another. “What activities, sir?” Cyrus asks.
“Word has been floating around that the two of you are displeased with my performance. I’ve heard the unfortunate rumor that you two seem to think that I’ve gone soft.”
“That is not true,” said Cyrus. “We would never suggest something like that.”
“Never,” Cyril echoed.
I look at them both carefully. Interesting that they don’t admit it directly. “So, you’re telling me that the two of you haven’t been spreading rumors about me? Sowing the seeds of dissent?”
“You know how brigadiers andboevikstalk,” Cyrus says with a chuckle. “Sometimes, they gossip like schoolgirls. It doesn’t mean that any of it has a shred of truth.”
“I see,” I say.
“But,” Cyril added, “if there are rumors about your performance, sir, maybe we could make a suggestion or two to improve your image?”
I narrow my eyes at him as Ignat bristles in his spot by the door. I offer a smile. “I’d love to hear your suggestion.”
They exchange a glance, then Cyrus speaks up. “Well, I would imagine the root of such rumors, if they existed, would probably have to do with the decision to hold the Aristov children hostage instead of disposing of them as you did their father and the other members of their family and the Penza.”
“Right,” Cyril adds. “Most Pakhans make those sorts of things a clean sweep. Wipe them all out from head to tail. It’s a little weird that you didn’t decide to take that route.”
“Is it?” I cock my head at them. “Was Adam Aristov not tortured for his short time in captivity? Or did I imagine that?”
“H-He was,” Cyril says, then his brother jumps in.
“But you gave no order to kill him. Or his sister, for that matter. She is still alive, isn’t she?”
“She is.”
Cyrus nods and Cyril goes stock still. The bruises on his face are starting to fade again, but they still give a sinister shadow to his eyes as he stares at me, jaw clenched.
“If we may ask why, sir?” Cyrus asks. “She is the enemy’s daughter and she’s been living in your home for all this time. Eating your food. Sleeping in luxury?—”
“And who told you she was sleeping in luxury?” I ask him. “You think she’s just lying around with her feet up on my furniture? Is that how you think this goes?”
Neither man speaks, knowing that Cyrus has stepped over the line.
“You think that she’s more than just my plaything. That’s what this is about, right? You’ve decided that I’ve been running around after some tail like a horny teenager and that’s influencing my decisions now.”
“We didn’t mean any disrespect,” Cyrus says, lowering his eyes.
“And yet, you certainly spoke it.”
“Sir,” Cyril speaks up. “I think that there is an easy way to dissuade a rumor like that. You could lend her out to the brotherhood.”
“Excuse me?”
“She doesn’t mean anything to you, right? She’s a glorified Fleshlight, for all intents and purposes. So, let the other brothers have a few turns with her. I mean, I can’t think of any better way to disgrace her family’s name than to become a whore for the Arkhangelskaya. Do that and no one will question your motives.”
I have to clench my jaw to keep from speaking out and force down the urge to leap over this desk and punch him in the face for that.
“It’s not a bad idea, sir,” Cyrus cosigns. “There’s no reason she should just be your whore when she could be everyone’s. It would bring us together as a Bratva.”