Page 4 of Ruinous Need
“Oh, I’m well aware, Semya.”
“Good. Then you know you owe me a thousand favors, cousin. I help with your mission, don’t I? I keep you entertained.”
I clench my fists at his silky, patronizing tone and remind myself that I do need my cousin.
“Surely you have more important things for me to do than protect some on-again, off-again fiancée of yours.”
That riles him. There’s nothing my cousin wants to project more than absolute control over everything. Even love. That’s normally how it works in the Bratva — a wife is another symbol of your power. Your ability to bend the world to your will.
“It’s not like that. She’s valuable.” His tone turns vicious. “That bitch and her father have kept me waiting. You’re the onlyone I trust to keep her out of harm’s way without sampling the merchandise yourself.”
This is the side of our Pakhan that people don’t normally see. He keeps it behind closed doors. Outwardly, he’s charming and friendly.
I’m his weapon of choice for the dirty work that doesn’t look so pretty.
It’s never involved a girl before. Not someone who didn’t deserve some kind of retribution, who seemed so far from our world.
I shake my head, brushing a strand of hair back from where it flops in front of my eyes. “I don’t like it. This isn’t what I do.”
He shrugs. “It’s not so different from what you normally do. Whatever it takes to keep her out of sight and out of danger, I want you to do it. Take her. Lock her up in the cells. Away from the Irish.”
“You want me to lock your fiancée in the cells? Sounds like you should keep your woman in line, not me.”
Suddenly Semyon’s leaning over me. I rise to my full height, reminding him of who will win if he tries to punch me again. It won’t be the one of us who sits inside at a desk half the time and attends lavish parties the other half of the time.
He grabs the neck of my t-shirt. “Don’t make me remind you what you owe me, Vitya. You’ll do as I ask.”
“Fine.” I spit the word in his face. He looks as though he wants to try something, but the anger fades from his face as he takes in my bunched up fists.
Semyon flinches when he sees the barely controlled rage in my eyes.
“Good.” He controls himself once again. “I need you to take this seriously.”
One thing about Semya is he’s always been able to read people. Ever since we were kids. He knows how to push me, butnot too far. Not over an edge. He used to play these elaborate games where he would see exactly how far he could goad me. He sits across the table from me and appears to content himself with the fact that I’ve agreed.
Semyon hands me a file with photos of Lisette and details of her schedule. I can’t stop a frown from stealing across my face as I absorb the information.
Where the hell did he find this girl? She’s… Wholesome. Her days consist of dance teaching and looking after her younger brother. She lives with her parents in New Jersey.
A delicate blonde thing. Normally wearing bright colors that speak of an exuberance Semyon will be sure to train out of her. Years younger than him, though that’s not so unusual in our circles. She’s not polished in the way Bratva wives normally are. In her photos, she doesn’t seem to wear much make-up, her soft pink lips and sea-green eyes the most vibrant things about her.
No connections. No name. Nothing to imply that she has any reason to enter the dark and twisted world of the Bratva.
“Why her?” I drop the photos on the table, disgusted at the thought of having to drag someone into this organization.
The Pakhan of the Russian Bratva — one of the most powerful organized crime associations in New York — could have literally anyone.It’s uncharacteristic of Semyon to choose someone without a power play attached.
Has he really fallen in love? Or does this girl have some kind of worth that I can’t see?
“She’s proof that I don’t need an arranged marriage.” He stops himself before saying more, like there’s something he’s not divulging.
“Really? You don’t think it would be helpful to have a new ally around the table?”
I can’t help but analyze how this will play with the rest of the Council. This kind of calculus is second nature. Marrying anobody with a French name is hardly going to help Semyon with his leadership of the Council.
The last Pakhan was paranoid. I wonder if Semyon’s going too far the other way.
“She looks young,” I comment. If I’m getting involved, I want to know more about her, how she came to be involved in all of this.
