Page 97 of Between Us

With those parting words, he turned around and headed for the exit. Oleg didn’t follow this time.

Roman knew that taking on Vitaly's right-hand came with its own set of perils. There were men within the Bratva who considered him too young and inexperienced to step into his father's shoes. Those men were undoubtedly loyal to Oleg and would remain so until Roman managed to cement his new position inside the organization.

But he also knew that letting go of what was rightfully his was not an option. Vitaly, for as much as he lacked as a parent, had compensated by being a strong influence on his eldest son's growth within the Bratva ranks. Everything Roman knew, Vitaly had taught him. And his father was an excellent teacher when he had a vested interest. Never, in a million years, would Vitaly Leskov riskhisorganization ending up under the rule of a man who didn’t come from his own family, no matter how greatly appreciated that manwas.

Outside, Roman found a dozen men standing in the parking lot, some smoking and others just conversing quietly. He stopped beside them, bumming a cigarette from the closest guy. He lit it up and held the smoke in his lungs for a long second.

He told them what he knew, which wasn’t that much to begin with. The shooters’ identity was still a mystery, and Vitaly’s recovery was uncertain since the doctors couldn’t even guarantee he would make it through the night.

The men wore somber expressions, but there was something else permeating the night air—a deep sense of uncertainty for what was to come.

Everyone knew that the right to rule the Bratva wasn’t gained by democratic vote. A Vor had to prove his worth, and only then, with the support of the right people, the strongest man in the brotherhood could claim his right.

Roman had had years to prove himself. He didn't care to have his life changed in such a dramatic turn of events when he hadn't even hit his twenty-ninth birthday yet, but there was no other way for him. It was either this, or a worse fate at the hand of Vitaly's ambitious lackey.

The men started talking among themselves again, and Stepan took the opportunity to get Roman alone. They moved away until they were out of earshot.

“I was able to get some new information. One of our guys saw a suspicious car speeding south on Ashland Avenue a few minutes after the shooting. He said the car was a black Lincoln, very similar to the ones the Italians are driving.”

Roman took another drag from his cigarette, the thick smoke forming an invisible knot in his throat. “Are we sure about this? Is the man trustworthy?”

“From what Sergey told me, he's always been a loyal soldier. Why would Sergey or his man lie?”

For many reasons, Roman thought,money being only one of them.

Then again, Nero Rossetti's fleet of carswasall black Lincolns. The Don and his family had been using the same type of car for years.

A conversation he'd had with his father-in-law emerged in his mind. Was it just a coincidence that Rossetti had declared his support for Roman taking over asPakhanbefore this happened? Or had it been his plan all along?

Maybe Matteo had run off to his father with what he'd seen, and this was revenge for Vitaly crossing the Italians. If that was the case, the entire situation was about to take an even uglier turn.

Blood turned to ice in Roman’s veins. If he had to declare war on Rossetti, Alessandra would suffer the most. She’d never again see her mother or her brother. Hell… Roman was liable to kill Matteo if the situation ever called for it.

“I need another man,” he told Stepan. “Someone I can trust with my wife's security.”

“Sure,” his friend said, not questioning his motives. “I’ll investigate further on the Lincoln.”

Roman gave a nod as a silent thank you. For now, he had to return to his family.

36

The police were a goddamn headache. Now more so than ever.

The two officers exchanging words too low for Roman to hear had arrived shortly after Vitaly was wheeled out of the OR. Alerted by the hospital staff, they had tried to question everyone present—even Tatyana who was still lethargic and apathetic after visiting their father in the ICU. Roman had to put his foot down at that and called in a favor with their connections in the Chicago PD. His sister was in no state to go through their interrogation.

Agitation had Roman clenching his hands into fists at his sides then relaxing his fingers before doing it all over again. It was almost four in the morning, and he was tired from the lack of sleep and cranky from having to deal with the police on top of everything else. His heartbeats maintained a rapid pace, the temporary tachycardia fueled by too much coffee and too little rest.

He glanced at his wife, sitting on a plastic chair, hergaze glued to the phone in her hand. She'd refused to go home with Vladik despite the yawns forcing their way past her lips every few minutes. He appreciated her concern, but seeing the tired lines around her eyes only served to piss him off further. The last thing he needed was to worry about her too.

Some moments later, one of the officers approached Roman again.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Leskov. I think we have everything we need for now. You will be contacted once we have more information on the case.”

Roman eyed the bald-headed man, not even bothering to hide his distrust. He was under no illusion they would be able to help with anything. Not that Roman needed the police's aid. No matter how grave the crime, no organization in the underworld would ever cooperate with the fucking police. It was a matter of principle and also safety. The least the cops knew about Bratva business, the better.

Vitaly had been under scrutiny some years prior due to another shooting that had resulted in the death of five people. Soldiers, to be more exact; four of which belonged to the Outfit. But being the smart man that he was, he’d covered his tracks well enough that no evidence could be found against him. The case had been dropped, but Roman knew the FBI already had their suspicions regarding Vitaly's nefarious line of business.

Roman, to his credit, had managed to steer clear of the law enforcement's radar so far. Apart from some minor altercations in his younger years, he was a model citizen—at least according to his criminal record. It was a huge advantage that his father had always praised. Having an almost spotless record meant that he couldfly under the radar undetected—and most importantly, unbothered—while conducting his affairs as Brigadier.

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