Page 48 of Kingmakers, Year Four

I will admit, the alliance with Marko Moroz has come at a cost. It’s a deal with the devil, and the devil always takes his due.

I knew from the beginning he would not be an obedient lieutenant. We agreed to work as partners, neither of us in authority over the other. I take control of St. Petersburg, and he takes a hefty portion of the profits, so that when he returns to Kyiv, he’ll be flush with cash for his own takeover.

I’m beginning to think it’s time for him to go.

The more I learn of Marko, the more I see that he is a coin with two sides. A coin that can be flipped by the slightest breath of air.

His warmth and humor are a real part of his personality. Equally real is the demon that lives behind his eyes. Sometimes the demon sleeps . . . and sometimes it wakes.

My methods are brutal, but they are never emotional. I do only what is necessary to secure my business, nothing more.

Marko behaves as if everyone in this world has personally offended him. His punishments are out of proportion—unpredictable and cruel in a way that will certainly come back to haunt us.

I rein him in when I can, understanding that he is no attack dog on a leash. I don’t have control of him.

I’m certain that’s what Dominik wants to discuss with me tonight—the consequences if we continue to partner with someone who is, at his core, irrational and violent.

I meet my brother in the War Room at precisely the agreed-upon time. Dominik is already waiting, sitting on the edge of the vast meeting table, running his fingertips repetitively over the deeply-carved scrolls in the woodwork, as is his way when he’s stressed or nervous.

We don’t resemble one another, not really. I’m dark and he’s fair, I’m broad where he’s lean. I take after my father’s side of the family, he after our mother’s. Dom is young—not fully grown. Still, he’s thoughtful and focused. He’s never let me down. I trust his judgment. Whatever he tells me tonight, I’ll listen.

“Privetek, brat,”he says.Hello, brother.

“You look serious,” I say.

He smiles slightly. “This from the man whose face is only capable of one expression.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” I say. “I’ve got at least two.”

I’m trying to put him at ease, but Dominik runs his hands through his sandy hair, taking a long inhale.

“Brother,” he says. “We have to end our partnership with Moroz.”

“Time will do that for us,” I say. “He intends to return to Kyiv within the year.”

“He should go now,” Dom says flatly.

I can tell from his pallor and the nervous energy in his hands that this is no idle conversation.

“What happened?” I demand.

“We went to see Isay Chaykovsky. He had our stolen guns in the freezer of his restaurant, just as you said.”

“Yes.” I nod, already knowing this from Efrem.

“He knew he was fucked,” Dom says. “He was crying and begging. I told him he would have to hand over the title on the property, just as you ordered.”

I wait, arms crossed over my chest.

“But then . . .” Dom says, “his daughter came running out of the office. She threw herself on top of her father. She thought we were going to kill him.”

I frown.

“I told her to go back to the office. Moroz stopped her. He tilted up her chin. And said she could save her father right then if she stripped naked and got down on her knees.”

I’m opening my mouth to speak, but Dom holds up his hand to forestall me.

“I told Moroz, that’s not how we do business. I sent her back to the office. I made Chaykovsky sign over the title while the men were loading the guns back in the truck. Then I heard screaming coming from the office.”

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