Page 18 of Bound By the Bratva

10

ROLAN

Stepan calls just past dawn. I don’t hear it at first. I’m in the gym, deep in the basement of the estate. The sun hasn’t fully cracked the tree line yet. I’m already slick with sweat, my fists pounding the heavy bag. Each strike echoes off the concrete walls. My gloves creak with each hit of leather on leather. My breath comes sharp. This is the only thing that keeps the noise in my head under control.

The phone vibrates across the bench near the water cooler. It buzzes again, dancing close to the edge. I yank off the gloves, let them fall to the floor, and cross to it. Sweat drips from my jaw onto the tile.

Stepan’s name lights up the screen as I lift it and swipe to answer, pressing it to my ear. "Speak," I say. My voice is hoarse from exertion and my shoulders rise and fall with each breath.

"It’s Pyotr," he says with no hesitation. There’s a hard edge under the words. I already know it won’t be good. I stop pacing and narrow my eyes. The muscles in my arms still twitch from the workout.

"One of our street contacts saw him near Khovrino last night," Stepan continues. "He showed up at a backroom pokertable drunk. He was barely able to walk straight. He was bleeding—split lip. We think someone roughed him up before he got there."

I grab the water bottle and twist the cap as I listen. My pulse doesn’t budge from the heightened rhythm despite my body coming down from the workout. "Go on," I tell him with frustration lacing my tone.

"He told a couple Zharov goons he would call in favors from you to reduce his debt because the boy is yours. Said you'd never allow them to lay a finger on him."

I stare across the room, eyes fixed on the far wall. My jaw locks tight as my mind starts racing. "He used Nikolai’s name?" I bite the words out. "He told them the boy is mine?"

"Used those words exactly. 'He won’t let anything happen to that kid. He’d kill you first.'" Now even Stepan sounds annoyed and irritated by Pyotr's obtuse behavior. My jaw is sore from clenching. I massage it for a moment while I think.

"They laughed at him," he continues, "told him he was full of shit. But they passed it around anyway. You know how they operate."

I run a hand down my face, dragging sweat and frustration with it. My palm comes away damp. "Who heard? And are they moving?" My mind, as well as my feet, are already moving—formulating a plan and heading toward the stairs.

"Two reliable sources confirmed it. Zharov men have already started whispering that you’ve got a secret heir in Mytishchi. They’re curious and starting to take an interest."

I flex my fingers and crack the knuckles one by one. I taste blood in my mouth. I must have bitten the inside of my cheek. Pyotr's despicable behavior is going to get the boy killed, and I won't stand back and watch it happen. "Where is the boy now?" I ask, taking the stairs two at a time.

"He’s still at school. He was dropped off on time this morning. Nothing unusual has happened. We’ve got eyes on him now, Boss." A horn honks in the background, and I believe him that he's parked at the school where he should be.

"Get him out of there without making noise. Do it today. I want him here before anyone else has the chance to act." I'm thinking five steps ahead now, to when Anya discovers Nikolai has been taken. She will be furious, but she will have no choice. I may not have the confirmation from my fixer yet, but I know that boy is mine. If I do nothing, far worse men than me will take him.

"Yes, Boss." Stepan's voice is clipped before he hangs up.

I end the call and keep climbing until I reach the second floor and head straight to the master suite. Inside, I strip off my damp shirt and toss it into the hamper, then head for the shower. The water hits me hard and hot. I scrub down fast, washing off sweat and blood from where my glove split my knuckles. Then I towel off and move to the walk-in closet.

I pull on a pair of tailored slacks and a black dress shirt, the fabric still crisp from the dry cleaner’s. I leave the collar open, no tie. After fastening the last button, I glance at my watch. Stepan won’t take long if he's already at the school now.

When I return to the hall, I alert the estate staff and have the north wing prepped. Mara will prepare a room for him and the rest of the staff will ensure he is welcomed and comfortable while Misha and Renat ensure security is put on high alert for the time being. This will draw unwanted attention to my home, but we'll be ready.

Stepan: 9:43 AM: I’ve got the kid. Everything went clean—no attention, no tail.

Rolan: 9:44 AM: Good. Send the school my number. She'll want it.

I wait by the second-floor balcony as the SUV pulls in past the main gate. I watch the car roll to a stop by the front door where my view is obscured before I make my way down the stairs. The guards on rotation didn't ask questions, though the gate gets tightly locked once Nikolai is safely inside.

Standing by the front door, I watch as Stepan steps out first, gives me a short nod, then opens the rear passenger door as I step onto the stoop. Nikolai climbs out slowly. His backpack hangs off one shoulder. His shirt is rumpled. His shoelaces are uneven. His hair is flattened on one side. He looks worried—with large wide eyes and a trembling lower lip.

He raises his arm to block the sun and looks up at the mansion, unimpressed or too young to realize its importance. His face is pale and tense. He glances around quickly, lower lip trembling again. His eyes flick up to mine, wide and uncertain, waiting for someone to tell him whether this is safe or not.

I walk out to meet them and notice him cower slightly by Stepan's side. The gravel shifts under my shoes as I walk, but before I address my son, I turn to my right-hand man. "Everything smooth?" I ask Stepan while my eyes scan the tree line. I fully expect those assholes to try something.

"There were no problems. The school didn’t raise any questions, and the boy assumed it was something arranged ahead of time." Stepan shrugs, still alert and watching the edges of the property like me, which means he believes they'll pull shit too.

Nikolai watches me and clutches his backpack strap, but he still looks intimidated and afraid—and just like me. I don't know how Anya ever thought she was going to keep this from me. I was content enough to let her leave Moscow and live her life, but once she set foot on my territory again, she had to know I'd find out.

Stepan crouches next to the boy and touches his hand softly. He'd be a good father, if he had a wife. "Your mommy will come after a while, okay? You're going to hang out here until she comes." His voice softens to a paternal tone before Nikolai nods and brushes hair out of his face.

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