Page 30 of Claimed By the Bratva Brothers

“And as Ivan just said, we need your father’s support, and you’re the only one who can get it,” Max cuts in. “Think about it this way, Polina. You fucked up. Big time. And instead of owning up to it, you turned around and poisoned the fountain. You lied to your father about us, fully aware that if we told him the truth, we’d expose our intimate life in the process. But what’s coming next is a war. If we don’t join forces, we will all suffer.”

“Or maybe we’ll profit even more,” Polina says, raising a devious eyebrow.

“Or maybe you’ve forgotten that we still have a monopoly on sixty-five percent of all high-end properties in and around Chicago,” Max shoots back. “Your father may have his hold on a small percentage of luxury apartments and condos, including White Plains, but they’re useless without our support, without our sway in the local councils. He is better off selling to us and supporting our mission. With a little bit of luck, our books will be so clean, the Feds will die of old age before they find something incriminating.”

“We’ve got our own forensic accountants working every fucking registry,” I add. “We’re working with retired white collar crime investigators. It’s time for the Larionov’s to join us.”

“Listen, I will talk to Papa about this, but I’m not making any promises,” Polina says, then gives Max another sweet smile. “What’s in it for me, though?”

“You’ll survive,” Ivan states, his tone flat and deadly.

Polina sneers. “Is that a threat?”

“You haven’t dealt with anyone from the FBI’s Chicago field office, have you?” I ask her.

She shakes her head slowly. “Am I supposed to be afraid of them? Or that Bowman schmuck? Word on the street is you had him and you let him go. Terrible business decision. What were you thinking? If anything, I reckon the other families will hold the three of you responsible if things go tits up for any of us. How will I convince my father to work with you on White Plains then?”

“You’ll think of something,” Max replies. “We’re making a good offer here. He won’t get anything better; I guarantee it.”

“Fine, I’ll talk to him and see what he says,” Polina concedes. For a moment, her gaze lingers on my lips, but then she quickly shifts back into her party-girl mood. “Come on guys, let’s go do some shots at the bar. Like old times.”

“You go ahead,” Max says.

She doesn’t appear too happy by being slighted, but she nods and obliges anyway. I can’t wait to never see her again—a feeling I wasn’t sure I would ever experience, especially in the months after the breakup. Yet seeing Polina now, I’ve realized I have nothing left in my heart for her. Not love, not affection, not any kind of longing. No respect whatsoever.

The only reason she is still walking and breathing is because of her last name. Because we couldn’t afford to go to war with her father and the entire Larionov clan. For better or worse, their presence in Chicago has been useful.

We need to make sure it stays that way.

“That did not go as planned,” I say as soon as we’re alone.

“No shit,” Ivan scoffs, pouring himself another drink.

Max takes a deep breath. “How much do you think Lyric heard downstairs?”

“Ah, the billion-dollar question,” I say bitterly. “Pretty sure she heard every drop of poisoned honey coming out of Polina’s mouth. We’re just lucky Polina didn’t see her.”

“What the fuck are we going to do?” Ivan asks, looking at his brother, then at me before taking a seat on the sofa by the closed door. “We can’t take our eyes off Lyric. We obviously can’t stay away from her. We need Polina and her father, and you know Polina’s going to try and spin this in her favor, one way or another.”

It’s a disaster already and we haven’t even gotten to the worst part. The Larionov’s have been an important part of the Bratva ever since the Russians came to Chicago centuries ago. When the Feds were combing through Al Capone’s IRS documents, the Larionov’s were buying up properties, including White Plains, bribing local councilors and pushing deeper into Italian territory with veritable impunity on behalf of the Bratva.

Max and Ivan’s father never considered buying White Plains from Larionov—then again, he never had to deal with our current shitstorm. For some reason, the Feds kept things slightly more civil with the old man.

With us, it’s different.

“We know that Smith and Bowman are pissed off because we’ve been cutting our proxy ties to the local Feds’ office,” I say. “It’s why they’re so determined to nail us. By taking our businesses out of the gutter and into the public domain, we cut off a major money supply for their dirty operations.”

“That makes Larionov vulnerable too at the end of the day,” Max surmises.

“Not if he decides to work with them,” I warn him. “He’s always vied for the top spot of the Bratva. What stops him from selling us out to the Feds to get it? We go down, and he gets to step in and take over, despite your father’s wishes. If he were alive today, he’d—”

“He’s not,” Ivan cuts me off. “We’re on our own. We’ve been on our own for years now.”

“And Larionov knows it. So does his daughter,” I grumble.

“Which means she will try to use it against us,” Max says, lowering his gaze. “As if we didn’t have enough on our plate already.”

I nod in agreement and decide to focus on the only aspect that we can control. “Whatever happens next, we can’t lose Lyric.”

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