Page 33 of Brutal Secrets

The whirl of the bath towel reaches my ears. Lev stands in the center of the room, working the air. My shoulders and forehead burn as the steam rains down like fire. Let it rinse away all the bad ideas and leave me clear enough to figure out a way out of this mess. The only other sound is the heavy breathing of men alone with their thoughts in the stillness as the heat encloses us.

“Ice pool,” Sasha says as the door opens and the other two men file out.

We walk straight to the freezing water, and I hold my nose and jump straight in. A hand pushes down on my head, and I look up and see Sasha standing over me, holding me down. I try to slow my heartbeat and wait him out, but he keeps his hands on my shoulders, pushing me lower. A muffled string of curses cuts through the water.

Sasha’s mean when his temper is up, but he won’t kill me. Without me, there’s no one who actually knows the boy from the orphanage in Russia—no one to keep him real as the money, hookers, and private jets bend him out of shape. Without him, there is no one who will have my back in the Night Governor’s world.

But when you can’t breathe, the body starts to override the mind. I start by counting the seconds and focusing on the tiles lining the plunge pool. After what feels like minutes but may only be seconds, my lungs burn and I start to claw at Sasha’s arm. He pulls his hand away, and I burst out of the icy water.

“What the hell? That wasn’t funny.”

After clambering out of the pool, I stagger to a bench outside the sauna, bent double and coughing like an old man. I let the heat from the open door fan my aching and icy muscles, and I keep my eyes on the floor until I can gather myself together to face whatever Sasha is ready to dish up.

“What makes you think I’m trying to be funny? Did that look like stand-up comedy to you?” Sasha glowers at me. I’ve known him too long not to engage when he’s spoiling for a fight like this.

“Clearly not.” I raise my head to meet his eyes, which are bright with anger. “I didn’t think you’d be so pissed off about her finding me. It’s not ideal timing, I’ll admit, and there are some complications you should know about.”

Sasha grasps the towel slung around his waist as he looks at the murals above us. “God, give me strength. Are you in even more shit than I thought? Who the hell found you?”

I balance my forearms on my thighs and scrub my face. I’ll have to tell Sasha there’s a kid, and he’s not going to like it. “The pop star. The one I banged in the old dacha in Moscow.”

“You motherfucking idiot. You mean that we have to deal with not one, but two women that you’ve dragged into our business right as I was about to pull us out of drugs and into tax fraud where the real money is?”

Shocked, I look up at him. “How did you know about the kid?”

“What kid?” Sasha spreads his hands. “The girl you rescued from the brothel? This savior complex of yours is going to get us all killed or torpedo the business.”

Sasha still thinks he can go solo and pull away from the Night Governor, but I’m doubtful. Guelman has eyes and ears everywhere.

“I haven’t rescued any kid.” I meet his narrowed eyes with a blank look.

“Sure you did, Prince Charming. You went into one of that psycho Spataro’s brothels to talk with the Italians and picked up a red-haired teenager who asked you sweetly for help.”

“Oh, her.” I’d been so focused on the fact that I’m a father that I haven’t been thinking about all the other pieces on the chessboard.

“Yes, her, asswipe. That pretty little thing is Spataro’s daughter. He was going to marry her off to the Night Governor. Daddy sent her to the brothel so she’d know that there are worse things than an arranged marriage.”

Then it clicks. “Spataro? The 'Ndrangheta don?”

“The very one. So now the boss is pissed off and the Italians will be baying for your blood.”

“She looked like...” I stumble over the name.

“I know who she looked like, okay? Polina was my sister, but picking up teenagers in brothels and taking them home won’t bring her back. Do you think I don’t know that? Who knows that better than me?” Sasha’s fists clench and he’s pawing the wet tiles as if he wants to charge at me.

“No one. Which is why I was going to ask you for help with the other kid before you tried to drown me.” I throw the words back at him. Sasha might be angry with me, but he’s my brother in other ways than blood.

He throws his hands in the air. “What other damn kid?

“My daughter.”

Sasha stands for a moment and looks at me like I’ve stunned him with a blow to the head before turning his back on me and walking toward the door. Slinging a towel around his waist, he heads for the stairs to the rooftop restaurant.

“My god. How big is this clusterfuck, and what have you dragged us into? We’re going to need beer for this,” he mumbles as he walks away.

By the time I’ve pulled on a robe and staggered up to the rooftop, Sasha is eyeing me warily over a steaming plate of Russian dumplings, a bowl of pickles, and a couple of pints.

“Ten years.” He shakes his head. “Ten years of work and just as I’m pulling the threads together, you decide to pick up a teenager who looks like my dead sister and kick off a mafia war.”

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