Page 2 of Prince of Control
“Hei Hei!” he calls out in his country’s greeting. “Baron is right here.”
Baron is Ben’s nickname, short for Baranov, and fitting for bratva royalty. My understanding is that Phoenix, Ben’s roommate freshman year, gave him the nickname.
Ben turns from where he’s giving instructions to Zoya–who goes by the Americanized Zoe–one of my hacker’s auburn-haired twins. She and her sister are sophomores this year. Both of them started in freshman dorms like Lili to make friends but ended up moving into Baranov House within the first month at Ben’s urging. He compulsively needs to protect his family, and it seems bratva ties are thicker than blood, even for the next generation.
“I’m on it,” she says to Ben and waves to us with a smile. Her twin, Anya, sits on the couch with a laptop on her thighs. Her repose reminds me of the way her father, Dima, used to lounge in my penthouse, his fingers clicking away on the keys as he hacked some governmental agency while watching an action flick with his brother. Our kids grew up together, along with my fixer’s son, Leo, and my gatekeeper’s sons, Alexei and Feliks, who are just sixteen months apart and both built like refrigerators. They now play football for Thornecroft University and will probably be picked up by the NFL.
The rest of our friends from our original bratva cell live in Los Angeles now. Dima’s twin, Nicholai, moved there because his wife is the public relations manager for the Grammy-winning band The Storytellers, who are friends of ours. He and my former enforcer and soldier run a legitimate real estate empire for me in Hollywood. Their children grew up in the limelight of fame and fortune through the Storytellers. My former soldier Pavel’s wife and 19-year-old daughter, Mila, are both famous actors now.
Anya and Zoe both come over to hug and kiss us.
The entire crew of our older children stayed in Whisper this summer to continue running their enterprises.
“Hey Ravil–hey Lucy.” Leo flashes me a grin as he walks over and hugs Lucy. He’s eighteen months younger than Ben, but the two are just as close in college as they were growing up.
I shake his hand.
“Are you guys taking off?” Ben asks. We had dinner with the entire gang last night, so we’ve already had time to visit him on this trip.
Lucy goes in for a hug from Ben, and he wraps her up in his arms. He’s taller than I am now, broad-shouldered with sandy blond hair and Lucy’s brown eyes. He kisses the top of her head, much like I do, and my chest tightens with pride.
I regret the seriousness of his gaze–the way his eyes look far older than his years. The watchful, controlled way he carries himself, ever-vigilant for anything in his world slipping out of his control.
It’s my fault. I tried to keep my family sheltered from the violence of my profession, but it still seeped through. Ben got blood on his hands at a young age under dire circumstances.
In order to control his world and avoid another incident, he became a leader. He learned to always know where people are coming from. To consider all angles to protect those around him.
I shake his hand, then pull him in for a man hug. “Watch out for your sister.” I thump him on the back, but there’s gravity in my voice.
Ben matches my tone. “I will.” His gaze is intense and serious. “I wish she would move in here.”
“I know, but she wants her freedom. I checked her dorm, and the security is tight. She’ll be okay if she stays vigilant.”
“I have her schedule, so I know where she is at all times and where the potential threats might be.” Ben glances at Anders. “I already took care of the one professor on campus known for preying on female students.”
I flick my eyebrows. This is the first I’ve heard of it. I suppress the sense of alarm that I should’ve known what happened and advised him on his course of action. I taught him a lot, but he may not know how to avoid all legal repercussions. Or where to dump a body in Whisper.
But he probably didn’t handle it that way. He can handle business on his own, in his own way. As much as I want to swoop in and help, I have to let him fly.
Still, I can’t help but remind him, “You know if you ever need help with anything at all, I can send someone out here or come myself. All it takes is one call.” I can’t say in front of Lucy what I mean–that I’ll send a fixer. Or an enforcer. A cleaner. Whatever he needs.
“I know.” Ben’s voice carries the authority of a leader. I see the weight of responsibility for his entire crew–everyone who lives in that house with him–and possibly the entire campus resting on his broad shoulders.
I know the event that made him this way. It haunts me as much as it still haunts him.
But he wears the mantle like a king. He has the strength and fortitude to hold up the leaden crown that rests on his head.
The young prince is all grown up.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text, and I glance at the screen. It’s my Moscow Pakhan Adrian Tergenov, with our code for an emergency.
“Excuse me,” I say to Lucy and Ben. “I need to make a call.” I walk through the house and out the French doors to the enormous, landscaped garden the Baranov House uses for its frequent campus parties.
I hit the call button for Adrian.
At one time, he was my best cleaner. Eighteen years ago, I sent him and his wife Kat to Moscow to take over and run our arm of the bratva there.
“What is it?”
