Page 23 of Ruthless Vow

A man unfolds his tall frame from the car and saunters toward me. His dark hair is tousled, worn long enough to touch his collar. In the moonlight, his eyes appear more silver than blue as he watches me warily.

“Leonardo,” he says.

“Nikolai,” I say.

We are not friends. He is Nikolai Ivanov, the son of Mikhail Ivanov, the man who hired Enzo Bianchi to kill my father. Despite that, I do not quite consider Nikolai my enemy. My father thought he had potential, that he would one day lead the Ivanov syndicate with honor and intelligence, and my father was never wrong about such things.

On the other hand, Nikolai’s father is a man with many enemies and no friends. A man whose cruelty and lack of care for his underlings is legendary. Where my father ruled using loyalty, the bonds of love, and a strong hand when needed, Mikhail rules with terror.

The thing is, the man who ruled the Ivanovs before him, his brother Vlasta, was a good man. My father respected him and they were able to maintain peace for decades. Hell, Vlasta would have been invited to Sabina’s engagement party.

Nikolai loved Vlasta as a father. Loved him as much as he hates his actual father.

And that is why we are here.

“I have some information I think will interest you,” I say.

“In exchange for what?” Nikolai asks.

“Information in return.”

“Go on,” he says.

I tip my head back and enjoy the view of the stars. “You mentioned when last we spoke that your uncle had had a full physical the week before he died. That there was nothing wrongwith his heart. Yet, a week later he was dead. From a heart attack.”

“He met with your father that morning and was dead that afternoon,” Nikolai says, and I hear the pain in his voice. He mourns his uncle still.

“You said that the last time I saw you,” I say. “And do you recall my reply?”

Nikolai snorts. “Yeah. You told me not look for a snake in your yard when I have a viper in my own. That was a strong accusation to make.”

“It is,” I agree. “And at the time, all I had was an accusation.”

“And now?” Nikolai says.

“Now I have a little more than just suspicion. But I don’t yet have definitive proof.” I pause and finally turn my face away from the sky and toward him. “Mikhail knows my father didn’t kill Vlasta. Because Mikhail is the one who did.”

Nikolai hisses out a breath but doesn’t argue the point.

“Does your father want others to believe the Russos iced your uncle Vlasta? Is that why he ordered the hit on my father?” I ask.

Nikolai jerks as if I slapped him. “What?”

“Your father hired Enzo Bianchi to kill my father. I have Bianchi’s confession on tape.”

“Fuck,” Nikolai snarls.

“So you didn’t know.” I had suspected as much. Mikhail is a secretive, suspicious fucker who trusts no one, not even his own son.

“I didn’t know,” he says and falls silent.

I know the thoughts spinning through his mind. He is calculating the fury I will rain down on the Ivanovs, wondering how bad the fallout will be. Wondering why I have not yet begun my campaign of vengeance.

“Do you know about the attack on my yacht?” I ask.

“I heard rumors,” he says. “Didn’t know for certain until right now. It wasn’t us.”

“I know.” I pause. “Your relationship with the Russian syndicate in Chicago is one of tense cooperation, yeah?”

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