Page 9 of The Brutal Arrangement

She nodded once, studying me. “You’re welcome.” Backpedaling away from me, as if that confrontation didn’t bother her much, she furrowed her brow. “Try to avoid this wing when they’re here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” Rolling her eyes, she looked like that much more of a badass. Cool. Confident. Knowing her place and worth.

“Just call me Katerina.”

“I’m Lucy,” I replied, then wondered if a curtsy would be a mistake or a good move.

She lifted her hand in a wave as she left me there, walking away as suddenly as she’d come.

It wasn’t much of a conversation, but it gave me the impression that unlike her uncle, she was nice.

I could use someone nice in my life. Because just seeing her so boldly come to my defense like that, I was reminded of how I’d never have a place or worth somewhere like here.

4

DAMON

Ispent all day checking in with the men I’d assigned to hunting down my brother. Nik was nowhere to be found, and because of that, I had to really wonder if he was trying to stay hidden. If he was still awake and with it to send us those proof-of-life kind of messages with the code only we knew, it was as though he was checking in but not checking out. I didn’t want to assume anything, but for him to use his phone at all, he had to be conscious and not near death’s door.

Aggravated by a lack of intel, I drove back home in the evening. It had taken hours to meet with all the leaders and spies I’d delegated to search for Nik, and it was exhausting and daunting to be out like this. Usually, I did my “work” in the basement with anyone we brought in for questioning and torture.

The problem with this case—much like the case of someone poisoning my father—was that there were no leads, no one to question. Having this little to go on was strange, and it reinforced the thought that had come to me this morning that none of our enemies had taken Nik. They’d hired out the kidnappers. Plenty of independent contractors were availablefor hire, and by acting as lone operatives, they were much harder to track down.

Summoned home for a family meeting, I hoped I could catch up with Maxim before it. He’d been gone earlier, off to the hospital for what sounded like a pregnancy scare with Sloane. Because of his needing to, and insisting on, being with her during this check-up, Saul and I had handled everything for him.

That was how we worked as brothers. As a family. Fortunately, I caught up with Maxim in the hallway toward the elevator and had a chance to speak with him more like he was the boss and I was an employee.

“Nothing?” he guessed preemptively as he pressed the button for us to go upstairs to our father’s apartment. Each of us had our own floor to the building as our own apartments and private homes. Tonight, apparently, Grandmother wanted us to speak near Father.

“Nothing,” I confirmed with my older brother. “I’m convinced Nik will try to stay captive for intel.”

He nodded as we rode up.

“And I also have been considering whether independent contractors are the ones who took him.”

Again, he nodded. “And then they handed him over to the enemy.”

But which one?The Kozlovs and the Romanos were the highest suspects if we had to identify anyone by name. Those two families had been at odds with us for the last few years. As the most powerful Bratva family in New York, though, we had many enemies who’d be envious of our power, reach, and wealth.

“We’ll come on it,” he said as we arrived on Father’s floor.

“Is Sloane all right?” I asked, regretting that I hadn’t started with that question. I knew my brother cared for her, and he had to have his priorities with her.

“She is. She’s resting. It was just a scare, something to watch for.”

“Does she need to be on bed rest or anything else now?” I asked, clueless about pregnancies. Maxim and Sloane were the first ones to start the next generation.

“No. She’s tired from the stress of it all, I think. She’s resting now but with no restrictions.” Slowing as he entered our father’s lounge, he sighed and glanced at me. “Thank you for asking.”

I huffed a rough laugh. “She’s going to be my sister. Of course, I would ask.”

“Sister?” Father asked from where he was seated and underneath a blanket despite it being the end of summer.

Like the other times since he’d woken, his voice was scratchy and rough from unuse. Slurred and sloppy, his tone wobbled and gave the impression of a long way to go with recovery. He wasn’t half the man he used to be, but he was alive and with us. Personality changes were already evident as he tried to join us when he could, but it was the overall cognitive disruption that would take the most therapy to overcome.

“Sloane,” Maxim said, not for the first time this week as Father had more lucid spells. “Sloane, my fiancée.”

---