Page 3 of Crowned

Kirill jerks his chin at me standing by our table. “My friend is calling to you.”

Vasily

stares and hasno choice but to turn around.

I put down the empty glasses I’m holding and spread my arms, smiling broadly. “What the fuck are you doing here? Kirill, Konstantin, this is my friend, Vasily. I have not seen him since I left my last job.”

Vasily, the lowliest of Ivan Kalashnik’s men. The one who cleaned the scene after I beat a man to death on the first night I joined their crew. The one Ivan never invited to dinner. The man who told me that Lilia had been the one to betray Ivan to the feds and showed me the photos that apparently proved it.

Vasily’s eyes fill with fear as he forces a smile. He waves and tries once more to head for the exit, but Kirill uses his shoulder to shove him toward our table.

I reach out and grab his hand, pulling him toward me and clapping him on the back. “My old friend. I cannot fucking believe this. You must have a drink with us.”

As I grin, I study every terrified emotion flickering on his rat-like face.

Sweat has broken out on his brow. “Elyah, sorry I have to—”

Kirill puts the glasses on the table and forces Vasily into the booth. “Sit,korotyshka. You’re being invited to drink. Do not insult ourPakhan. I will get a bottle and another glass.” He heads for the bar once more.

I get into the booth after Vasily and trap him against the wall. Konstantin gazes with heavy-lidded eyes at Vasily and cracks another knuckle. Vasily turns even paler.

I’m the only one who’s smiling. “We have got so much to catch up on.Vashe zdorov’ye.” I hold up my glass of vodka and press another into Vasily’s hand.

“Vashe zdorov’ye,” he mutters, toasting me and automatically taking a drink.

“This man,” I say to Konstantin, clenching Vasily’s shoulder so hard that he winces, “saved my life.”

Konstantin’s expression doesn’t change. “Is that so?”

Vasily gives him a weak smile. “It was nothing. A long time ago.”

I scoff at that. “A long time? Barely two years. What have you been up to since that bitch betrayed us?”

Vasily relaxes a little at my words. “Oh, you know. This and that. I heard you left the country.”

“Da. I fell in with these two.” I point at Konstantin, and then at Kirill as he sits down with a full bottle of vodka and pours himself a glass. “You are drinking with thePakhanof the London Vanavora Bratva, Konstantin Zhukov.”

Vasily doesn’t seem to know if he should be impressed or not, and I doubt he knows anything about the Bratva anywhere else in the world but here, but he nods respectfully. “I’m honored to meet you, Konstantin Zhukov.”

I jerk my chin at Kirill. “Him, I was in prison with back in Russia. I served fucking years, while this asshole was in and out in a matter of months.”

Kirill rolls his vodka around his mouth and then swallows. “You ever been to prison?”

Vasily shakes his head and takes another drink.

“You should smell the inside of a Russian prison. Piss, blood, and fear.” He lifts his T-shirt and twists in his seat to reveal his broad, muscled back. There is a Russian palace floating in the clouds inked across his shoulders, and five towers crowned with cupolas. “Five kills on the inside.” He nods at me. “Three of them I shared with Pushka. This man is a machine.”

“Pushka?” Vasily asks, his eyes shining like a little boy hearing tales of cowboys and Indians. I never shared my prison nickname with my new crew.

Kirill turns back and toasts me with his glass. “Pushka the living weapon. I still breathe because of him.”

It’s inked across my ribs, but I hate that nickname. I was barely human in that place, and with each kill I felt closer and closer to a feral animal. I killed because I had to, so I would survive, but I know what my fellow inmates thought of me. That I was a cold-blooded psycho.

Vasily nods eagerly, his earlier wariness evaporating as he’s excited to share stories of his own with the table. “This guy. You are so fucking lucky to have this guy with you now. First night I met him, this fucker barely speaks a word of English, but he doesn’t have to. He let a baseball bat do the talking.” Vasily mimes swinging a bat, and laughs.

“His English seems good to me,” Konstantin observes.

Vasily affects a cheesy Russian accent. “I am Elyah. I am new driver.”

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