Page 163 of Cashmere Cruelty

50

MATVEY

“Blyat’,” Petra curses after Yuri’s filled her in.

My thoughts exactly. This could bust everything wide open: the operation, our dreams, all of it. That’s the only reason I had Yuri call her in. Unbearable or not, she’s still my business partner. If I lose, she loses.

And neither of us can afford to lose.

“Grisha, call thevory,” I order him. “Yuri, help him.”

Yuri looks like he’s on the verge of arguing again, but Grisha puts a firm hand on his shoulder. “We’re on it.” Then he steers my brother out of the room.

“I don’t get it.” Petra stops pacing. “Can’t we just buy somewhere else?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because we can’t.”

“Butwhy?”

“Because I fucking said so!” I snap.

Petra stares at me. “Matvey Groza, I swear to God, if you don’t tell me what’s going on right now, I’m going to marry the next guy that comes through that fucking door and take my army with me.”

I ball up my fists. “I don’t enjoy being threatened, Petra.”

“And I don’t enjoy going in blind, so how about we cut the shit and start being honest with each other?”

I take a deep breath. As much as it pains me to admit it, Yuri hasn’t been completely wrong all this time. Clearly, keeping people in the dark hasn’t been working as well as I’d hoped.

So I swallow my pride and spit out the truth. “It’s because of the Bonaccorsi family.”

Petra blinks. “The what now?”

“Bonaccorsi,” I repeat, my patience thinning. “Italian mafia. Their HQ is in the building right across from the one we’ve been trying to buy.” I unfold my plans in my mind: the maps, the schemes, all of it. “With it, we could’ve brought the war to them before they even realized what was happening. It would’ve been an absolute victory. Now, we’ve got nothing.”

“Right,” Petra mutters. “That makes perfect sense. Just one thing: why in the living hell are we picking a fight withthe D.C. Italian mafia?”

“Because their boss took something from me,” I snarl. “Something important. And now, he has to pay.”

“So this… all of this…” she says. “It was for a personal vendetta all along?”

Her words rub me the wrong way. “Is there a problem?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Petra snarks. “How about…you could’ve fucking told me?!”

“And if I had?” I retort. “Would that have changed the fact that your goals were just as fucking personal? Let’s not be hypocrites—we were both in this for ourselves. So get off your high horse and start thinking about how to save this.”

“‘Save’?! There’s no saving?—”

“Because make no mistake,” I roar over her protests, “if I go down, so do you. And don’t you ever fucking forget that.”

That finally shuts her up.

For a long moment, silence reigns in the room. Then: “What’s the first thing that needs fixing?”

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