Page 40 of Bratva Bastard

“Hey, babygirl. I just wanted to let you know that I’m back in Russia now.”

She let out a long breath, clearly nervous from the flight, even though I was the one that was on the plane. I rolled my eyes at the absurdity, a stupid smile that wouldn’t let up plastered onto my face.

“I’m glad you made it safely. What are you guys doing now?” she asked. The background noise stopped, and I could hear the ding from her car, followed by the door shutting.

“We’re still at the airport,” I said, watching Dimitry order a pretzel in the distance. “I wish I was getting off at the airport in Brazil, instead of this shithole.” There was nothing wrong with the airport here. In fact, it was a decent airport—but I wasn’t with Crissy, so it sucked.

She giggled at my statement. “Me too.”

In the background, Dimitry was waving to me, motioning it was time to go.Not already.“I have to go now, but I’ll call you soon. Okay?”

“I’ll be waiting,” she answered, her tone cheery.

“That’s my girl.” She chuckled at the other end, and I smiled into the receiver, knowing that she couldn’t see it, but hoping that if I smiled hard enough, it would reach her somehow. In a daring move, I mumbled, “I miss you, solnechnyy svet.”

“I miss you too,” she said, her voice soft and feminine. I could hear her beauty without even seeing her face. My heart jumped for joy hearing her say it back. I felt foolish walking through that airport with a dopey grin, but I couldn’t help it.

Dimitry’s driver in Moscow met us at the airport, escorting us to Misha’s home before we went to Sorokin’s for another meeting.Because the last one went so fucking well.

“Alright, guys, listen up,” Misha said once we were seated in his office. “We’re going to Sorokin’s nightclub, to his own private chamber to meet with him. I’ve been speaking with Sorokin, trying to find some middle ground we could base a truce on, but so far, my progress has been zero.”

“Well, that’s fucking great,” I grumbled from my seat. “You bring me all the way back to Russia to meet up with a guy who still wants me dead?”

“Fuck you!” Misha snapped, standing from his chair and pointing a finger at my chest. “Sorry if I interrupted all your sex, but my family’s lives are at stake, you fucking prick. So why don’t you quit the whiney bullshit, and man the fuck up.”

When I said Crissy was the only one to put me in my place, I was wrong. Misha had a way of making me feel small as shit, but he was right. His wife and kids were in danger, and there was no time to feel sorry for myself.

“Alright, alright. No need to be an asshole,” I said, smacking his finger away.

He shot me a scolding glare, but his lips curled into a smirk, so I knew he wasn’t pissed anymore. “We’re going to meet Sorokin at a nightclub,” he said, back in business mode. “We’ll be on common ground, which means we need to be discreet. Understood?”

“In other words,” Dimitry said, pouring himself a drink from the same bottle he always drank from. “You want Maxim to shut the fuck up and behave.”

“Ha-ha,” I said with a dry laugh.

* * *

We arrived at the nightclub,heading to the private room to meet with Sorokin.

“Boys, boys,” he said, gesturing his hands to the curved couches around the room that formed a big circle. “Have a seat.”

Misha sat in the middle, Dimitry to his side. I opted for my own couch, appreciating the distance from everyone else. A servant stood close by, bringing us each a drink. I swished the glass, watching the liquid swirl, and wondering if it was poisoned.

“Before we begin, let’s all place our weapons on the table. Maybe this time we can get out of here without anyone being shot,” Sorokin said with a light chuckle that held a hint of resentment.

I glanced at Misha, confused by Sorokin’s charming humor when he was demanding my head on a platter only weeks ago. Misha looked back, the look in his eyes telling me that he was just as confused.

Still, we emptied ourselves of our weapons, the three of us putting at least six guns on the table, and Sorokin with his men adding another dozen. You’d think we were smuggling weapons with the way that table looked.

“Now, the reason we’re all here is to call a truce, is that correct?” Sorokin asked. “You’ve killed mine, I’ve killed yours. We want to end that. My proposition to you is to unite the families by blood.”

I cocked my head to the side, wondering what he meant by blood. Was this an ambush? Sensing my dissatisfaction and confusion, he added, “And by blood, I mean in a union that binds two families together.”

“What? You mean, like, marriage?” Dimitry asked.

“Precisely,” he said, his fingers tapping together, and pointed to Dimitry. “Maxim, you are the only unmarried Koslov, is that correct?”

I sighed, already annoyed with his bullshit. “For the last fucking time, I’m a Chernoff.” My gaze shifted to Misha, who had a scolding glare on his face, so I added, “Excuse my profanity.”

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