Page 19 of Claimed By the Bratva Brothers

“Which, again, is why we have Bowman. They leave us alone, they get Bowman back. It’s that simple. Our men are ready to release him as soon as Smith confirms that they’ve put an end to their investigations.”

Artur nods slowly. “Still no word from him though.”

“Not yet.”

“In the meantime, Phelps is out there screaming against the Bratva on every possible screen,” Ivan says. “He’s got a televised debate Sunday night. You know it’s going to be one of his main talking points.”

“He’s dropping in the polls. He can’t afford not to talk about us,” Artur says. “I swear, Max, when you first suggested that we go legit with the family business, I thought it was doable.”

“It is,” I insist. “We just have a few more hurdles to cross.”

“These aren’t hurdles, they’re fucking behemoths, and they’ve got money and guns aplenty,” he shoots back. “We need the rest of the families’ support.”

Ivan nods in agreement. “Let’s talk to Petrov, first. He seemed the most enthusiastic about a chain of casinos instead of, well, instead of what he’s been doing for the past thirty years.”

“What about Lyric?” Artur asks, looking first at Ivan, then at me. “What are we going to do about her? We agreed to see her again. Tonight.”

“It’ll have to wait until we get a firmer grip on Phelps,” I say, though it pains me to the fucking bone. I was looking forward to tonight. I was downright excited to bury myself deep inside of her, to breathe her in and feel myself become a new man, nestled between her creamy thighs. But the fact that she’s a Phelps has made it all the more difficult. And more dangerous. We’ve got too much to lose at this point. “We need to play it safe, at least until we get what we need from Smith. Until we release Bowman.”

“I wonder what Smith was playing at,” Ivan cuts in. “He already had the ransom demand when he spoke to Lyric. He never mentioned it to her.”

“Of course,” I say, a smirk on my lips. “It would’ve been self-incrimination. Any defense attorney worth their salt would be able to describe a decades-long relationship between the local feds and the Bratva based solely on our list of demands. We drafted it precisely for that purpose.”

An hour later, Imani Petrov walks into our office.

The air is thick between my brother, Artur, and me. It’s been this way since we agreed to keep our distance from Lyric. We’ve gone back and forth on it so many times, it’s starting to feel ridiculous. But that is the situation before us. There are greater issues to resolve first, because the last thing any of us wants is to bring the Bratva’s war with the feds to Lyric’s door.

Petrov has brought tension of his own, judging by the tightness of his rugged, scarred jaw. He straightens his tie as he takes a seat across from my desk, while Artur and Ivan stand near the guest sofa by the window, their shadows growing long across the hardwood floor. Once Petrov is settled, they sit down.

“My birdies have been singing all sorts of scandalous songs lately,” Petrov says, his accent thick. “What have you boys been up to? Kidnapping? Extortion? I thought we were trying to go legit here.”

“We are,” I reply. “We just need to get the dirty Feds off our backs. Bowman was our surest and fastest bet.”

“The multibillionaire who controls half of the private security market in the United States?” Petrov laughs. “Well played, boys. I see the Sokolov genius is at its peak.”

“I really hope you didn’t come all the way here just to insult us,” Ivan grumbles.

“No, I’m merely pointing out the obvious.”

I lean forward, keeping my focus on Petrov. “It’ll work. Smith will come through, and Bowman will get to go home in one piece by the end of the week. Once that’s done, we’ll be able to go ahead with our original plan. It’s why we called you here, Imani.”

“Go on,” he says, leaning farther back into his chair, as if to keep some sort of distance between us. I’m aware that I make a lot of people uncomfortable. It’s in my nature to be intimidating, and I have never tried to suppress it.

“Those birdies of yours, can you train them to look into the south side?” I ask. “There are several properties there that have stirred our interest.”

“If you’re talking about the White Plains neighborhood, you’ll need to get cozy with Larionov again,” Petrov chuckles dryly. “That’s his turf. But I should warn you, ever since you broke up with his precious Polina, he’s made it a point of not dealing with you or anyone aligned with you, Maksim.”

I wonder what old man Larionov would do if he learned about the kind of relationship that Polina had with me. With us. She was the only woman who was seemingly interested in building something intimate in the long term with Ivan, Artur, and me.

We shared her in every possible way, and she preferred it. Then, she turned around and almost stabbed us in the back, but we kept things civil to avoid a war with the Larionov’s. It’s been bitter and quiet between us ever since.

To hear that we may have to deal with Polina’s father again makes me feel uneasy on top of everything else. Especially now that we have Lyric rising like the sun on our horizon. Dammit, the timing on all of this couldn’t be worse.

“Larionov owns White Plains,” I mutter.

Ivan curses under his breath. “That’s going to be a huge fucking problem.”

“We need White Plains,” Artur replies, looking at Petrov. “Why can’t you deal with him? He won’t say no to an offer from you.”

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