Page 49 of Vendetta Crown

I rise slowly, not wanting the old fox to see me wince. The doctor says I'm healing remarkably well, but remarkable isn't perfect.

The door swings open, and there he stands, the godfather of the bratvas. And he looks distinctly unsettled.

His pristine pale suit can't hide how his eyes dart around the room, or the way his fingers drum against his cane. This is not the Gregor I know, the one who holds court with the confidence of a man who's spent thirty years building an empire of alliances.

"Ruslan Vitalyevich." He steps forward, hand extended.

I take it, noting how his grip lacks its usual crushing intensity. "This is a surprise, Gregor Iosifovich. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He doesn't sit, even when I gesture toward the chair. Another tell.

"I received a very interesting call from Potyomkin."

I don't respond, just pour two glasses of vodka and offer him one. My silence pushes him to continue.

"He mentioned an arrangement you've made. His men for your guns."

I take a slow sip, savoring the burn and the moment as I lower myself gingerly into my seat.

Gregor came to me. Not the other way around.

"That was a private business dealing."

Gregor's eyes narrow slightly. "When a pakhan makes moves that shift the balance of power within theVori, it becomes everyone's business."

"And is that what we've done?" I lean back against my desk, letting him stand like a supplicant. "Shifted the balance of power?"

"You know damned well what you've done." His composure cracks. "You've sought out Potyomkin while the rest of us are trying to hold theZapadniye Voritogether against Semyon."

"Funny." I smile, keeping my voice light. "How many of Semyon's bullets did you take in the last few weeks?"

Gregor finishes his vodka in one swift motion. "I know about the deal, Ruslan. What I want to know is why."

"My deal with Vyacheslav Petrovich violates nothing within theVori," I remind him, letting my voice carry the weight of my position. "You and I both know that."

Gregor doesn't dispute this. Instead, he finally lowers himself into the chair across from me, his knuckles tightening around his cane as he does so.

"He tells me that Semyon's men are becoming restless in Vegas." His voice drops lower. "And he presumes to make demands of me to help him shore up his own position. Backed by Dragunov guns."

I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. "How interesting."

"You find this amusing?"

"I do." I cut him off, enjoying the rare sight of Gregor Belov scrambling for control. "For the first time in thirty years, you're operating at a loss because you hold no cards."

His face tightens, those piercing blue eyes narrowing to slits. "I built theVori. I made the rules that keep us from slaughtering each other."

"Then why did you do nothing to stop the murder of my brother and nephew when everyone in theVoriknew Semyon wanted control of the Dragunov bratva?"

Gregor's face hardens, and his blue eyes turn to ice.

"There was no way to know Semyon would make such a move." He straightens his crimson shirt beneath his pale suit. "To suggest I had prior knowledge?—"

"Bullshit." The word cuts through his excuses like a blade. "Lev knew. My brother came to me the night before he was killed."

Gregor's fingers stop their nervous drumming on his cane. He's listening now.

"He told me that the jungle is tearing itself down and rebuilding into something different. Those were his exact words." I stand, ignoring the pull of stitches. "He asked me to increase weapons shipments. If Lev knew something was coming, you must have known as well."

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