Page 18 of Reign of Four

“Be careful with what you say next, Mr. Mastiff, or I might mistake your tone for censure.”

Riot takes the initiative to move closer, all two-hundred-something pounds of muscle stepping out from the shadows to stand behind Henry. His arms remain crossed over his broad chest, but I’m sure if he wanted to, he could reach out and crush the older man’s skull with his bare hands.

It turns out, I chose the biggest guard in the house, and he gives off insane alpha vibes.

The mayor clearly notices, his body tensing at the sudden realization that he can’t move without touching either Riot or me, and neither would end well for him. “Not at all,” he says quickly, a bead of sweat collecting on his shiny forehead. “If anyone knows about getting in bed with people in high places to get ahead, why, it’s me.” He laughs, but it’s stilted. “I was the one who approached your father, after all—the man didn’t want anything to do with me, at first.”

I catch the note of bitterness in his voice. He stares at the framed photo of my father and himself, his smile frozen into place just as well as mine. He’s used to staying in character, too.

“Took some convincing, but we managed to build a prosperous relationship by the end of it, I assure you. Andrei, on the other hand—” he scoffs—“boy doesn’t know how to respect tradition, unlike your Dolohov lad. At least he’s keeping in line with our contracts. Leonov would sooner rip his own teeth out than stick to your father’s agreements?—”

I stare at the mayor as pleasantly as possible, but it’s hard when he’s glaring at your dead father’s picture and digging a groove into the top of his desk with his fingernail. Agitated doesn’t begin to describe his change in demeanor. It’s no wonder the man’s never been married; anyone would be crazy to chain themselves to someone holding that much resentment in his blood.

It’s probably why Andrei tried to get out of my father’s contracts—if they involved the mayor in any way, he probably saw him for what he is. A bitter, old man trying to be something and someone he’s not.

“But I convinced your father to back my election, and I’ve been in office ever since. There’s power with you Baranovas, you know. Your entire organization, it’s . . .” his forehead pinches as he considers the proper word to use, “interminable, Miss Baranova. Everything about you Bratva folk is carved into the marrow of this city. Nothing will ever remove that mark. Nothing.”

My gaze wanders around the room as the mayor speaks, the strange note of reverence in his voice catching on the glint of a gold-plated globe, the impressive four-foot long print of the city skyline at dusk, the shiny brass buttons on the faux antique chaise lounge set. I’ve seen mirrors of these items in my father’s office, and the resemblance of the room throws me off balance. I catch myself on the desk and stare at Henry Mastiff with new eyes.

He doesn’t just work with our Bratva, he worships it. The idea clicks at the same time he turns to face me, his cheeks ruddied and hazel eyes swimming with a hint of mania. “If there’s anything you want, Valentina, anything I could give you . . .” His hand brushes the outside of my arm, and before I can react, Riot intercepts.

The snap of bone as he bends Henry’s fingers back too far is followed by a scream.

“Do not touch her,” Riot grumbles beneath his mask, “or I will break off more than your fingers. Nod if you understand.”

Henry’s eyes are wide in horror, his face sweaty and pale, as he stares at his hand in Riot’s grasp.

I wasn’t expecting more violence after Liam’s unexpected murder two days ago, but here we are again. Nothing speaks to the soul quite like pain does, apparently.

I snap my fingers in front of Henry’s face to get his attention. “You may think you have power in this city, Henry, but I promise you, I can bury you so deep that your own mother forgets your name. That is what it means to be a Baranova. None of this—” I gesture at all the trinkets around the room, a new level of disgust curling in my chest—“means shit to this Bratva or this city. You’re a pathetic excuse of a person if you think you can charm your way into my good graces, or into any actual power within this city. In fact, I think a little demonstration is in order.” I point to the red lounge chair on the other side of the room. “Have a seat, Mr. Mayor.”

Riot grabs Henry by the back of the neck and hauls him to the chair, forcing him to sit.

I take my time crossing to the door and turning the lock, making a show of checking that it’s secure before spinning around to face our guest. “My father’s office is soundproof. I assume that, as a proper replica, yours is, too?”

When Henry doesn’t answer, Riot squeezes his fingers, making the older man scream. “Yes! Yes, dear god, it’s soundproof, I promise.”

I pop up onto the desk and cross my ankles, smoothing out my skirt and humming to myself. “That’s good to know, Henry. We’re going to be here a while. I have a lot of questions about a lot of things, and I’d prefer if we kept this conversation a secret among friends. You understand, of course.” I take another look around the room, checking it with fresh eyes. “Are there any cameras in here, Henry? Be honest.”

He points out four cameras, tells me how to turn them off, and where to find the hidden monitor to erase the footage from the past hour. Once that’s done, I give him a genuine smile. “Thank you for your honesty. Now, let’s start with an easy question.” I pull a small notepad and metal pen from Henry’s belongings. “Where exactly are we within the city, and who knows about this house?”

Chapter 7

Ezra

Although the elevator to the mayor’s penthouse is large enough to fit twenty people, the box is stifling with only the three of us inside. Mikhail is pacing the six-foot mirror at the back, and Andrei’s mask of passivity radiates a cold I haven’t seen from him since Tolkotsky was alive.

Mikhail’s anxiety is too abundant to keep hidden, while Andrei is determined to bottle up his emotions and bury them as deep as possible. The center of the earth wouldn’t be deep enough. Mikhail, on the other hand, looks ready to shout from the rooftops if it means finding Valentina.

It’s enough to add another painful throb to my constant headache.

As the elevator dings with each floor we pass, I thumb the pill bottle in my pocket. My brothers know I keep a stash of uppers for emergencies, but I’ve been so high up that a crash is coming soon. A big one.

Unless I stave it off a little longer.

I pop the cap and mouth two pills, swallowing them dry.

Andrei’s mask slips as he frowns, but he doesn’t say anything. Mikhail’s the one who shoves my shoulder from behind. “You’re gonna kill yourself with those things.”

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