Page 139 of Sinful Blaze

“Of course.” His smile widens fractionally. “I’d offer my assistance in avenging him, but I hear you took care of that yourself.”

“You two were friends?”

He nods curtly. “When we were children. Before your grandfather decided to, as my own father put it, ‘podzhmi khvost i begi’.”

“It was the Cold War. I hardly call that ‘running away.’”

Arlo shrugs. “Either way, we grew apart after that. Distance and postage, you understand.”

I really don’t. This man is playing a game and I need to catch onto the rules. “Sure. But you’ve been here since then.”

“Sure.”

I hate this game. Pakhan versus pakhan, or as Sofi calls it, “The Dick-Measuring Contest.” Both of us standing here, sizing each other up, deciding who can be trusted and how far.

Arlo is testing the waters with me by combining compliment with insult and seeing which one I bite. More importantly, he’s checking my loyalty to my father.

Joke’s on him: I hated my father.

“What caused your delay this time?” I ask.

“Transition,” he answers without flinching. “I’ve stepped back from leadership to allow my son the opportunity to run things back home. It was time. He’s ready.”

“Is he? Sounds like I’ll need to schedule my own visit out that way to give my congratulations. Eventually, of course.”

“Of course.”

Hmm. He doesn’t take the bait to ask me about what could keep me from going right away. For the most part, in fact, he’s avoided asking me any invasive questions at all.

He’s up to something.

He wants something.

My best play is to appeal to his age. Given his childhood proximity to my father, that places Arlo somewhere in his mid-fifties. He’s old school, from the checkered suit to the thick Slavic beard. Reeking of money and latent violence, if only you know where to look.

“I must admit, I’m surprised to hear about your abdication.” I head for the minibar and pour us a round of shots. “You don’t seem ready for retirement.”

Arlo chuckles. “You’re too kind to my ego. It is true; I’ve still got many years left before I go. I’ve just decided I’d rather spend them doing things I actually enjoy.”

“I’m sure your son feels better knowing you’re around to guide him, too.”

“He shouldn’t need my guidance, but yes. That’s partly why I’m here as well. To give him the space to make his own decisions without me hovering like a mother hen.”

“And the other part?” I hand him one of the shot glasses.

He smirks and touches his glass to mine. “To liaison between Fedorov and Chekhov. With the new leadership, it’s important to my family that we remain valuable allies to you and yours.”

It’s a bit presumptuous of him to assume I’m looking for allies among Bratvas who haven’t bothered to so much as whisper their connection for the past decade. And yet, to my ever-increasing chagrin, I’m finding the allies I want—Brennan chief among them—aren’t playing ball.

Maybe it’s time to accept the allies I need.

We knock back our shots at the same time. “Well, since you’ve come such a long way,” I offer, “it’s only right I give you a tour myself.”

Arlo gestures for me to lead the way. His men don’t speak a word as they follow close behind, so neither do my siblings.

“We’re processing an import shipment right now.” I nod at the cargo plane currently being unloaded by our warehouse team. “I’m working on obtaining a new government contract that will allow for more domestic manufacturing. More revenue, guaranteed.”

“Government?” He frowns. “That sounds risky.”

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