Page 45 of Vitaly

“I’m definitely not on your side.” Vitaly walks until he’s next to me. “But I do understand where you’re coming from. And if I have to kill you today, you’ll die with dignity and honor. I hope that’s enough for you because if you think you’re helping the people on your street, you’re not. You’re harming them. If you’re sacrificing yourself for some greater cause, you’re dying in vain.”

The man scoffs, clearly unconvinced. “If there’s no flour, you can’t bake bread. The mobs are gonna learn that if they bully us,there won’t be anyone left to pay their tax. Either make it fair or you can take nothing at all.”

Vitaly nods like he understands. “If every man were like you, it could work. And if every leader were reasonable, you’d definitely stand a shot. But you’ve been around for a long time, haven’t you? You’ve seen this bullying as you call it? That’s why you’re fed up, especially now with how severe it’s gotten, and you’re encouraging people to take a stand with you. But not all of them were around to see the others who’ve tried to do what you’re doing. They’re naive, some of them are weak. Most have families they want to protect. Even you…” He motions to the picture on the wall.

Color drains from the man’s face. “Don’t you dare threaten?—”

“I wouldn’tdreamof threatening you, sir,” Vitaly interrupts, his expression serious. I’m in a trance, watching him. I don’t know when he officially took over, but I’m not sure my presence registers to either of them anymore. “Ihave been around a long time too, despite what you may think, but I’ve been watching from the other side of things. I remember the Pakhan before the current one, how he dealt with situations like this. Every timeanyonegave him trouble, the masses paid for it. He would raise the rent over and over too, as a punishment until every person fell in line. The more they fought, the worse it got. Not just for the troublemakers, but for everyone. The previous Pakhan was a sick, vindictive man who I’m certain took pleasure in the suffering of others.”

Vitaly lets that sit only for a moment before continuing.

“Youcannotwin this way against a man who enjoys being challenged. Die if you must but do it with the knowledge that the people you’ve organized your little strike with will die with you, and those who are left will have their rent increased in another few months. I promise you, that will be the outcome.”

Vitaly pulls his gun from his waistband and holds it at his side while he waits for the old man to make his move.

The man’s eyes shift, his jaw working as he thinks. He doesn’t look angry anymore or hardly even bitter. He looks apprehensive, maybe even regretful.

He smacks his lips and looks at Vitaly. “Who are you?”

“Vitaly Petrov.”

I don’t know if the man recognizes the first name, but he obviously knows the last. He stares at Vitaly for a few uncertain seconds before turning and walking to the backroom. Vitaly doesn’t put his gun away until the man returns with a handful of cash and hands it to him without making eye contact.

“Which place you goin’ next?” the man asks.

Vitaly looks at me.

“Mitchell's Bakery,” I answer.

The man’s jaw works. “Wait ten minutes before carrying on. I’ll make a few calls.”

Vitaly and I don’t say a word about what took place in the barbershop, and he lets me take the lead on the rest of the pickups. Everyone looks resentful. But no one gives us any trouble.

When we’re driving to the bar my papa is perched at to drop off the cash with him, I keep finding myself peeking at Vitaly. Trying to understand him. What he wants. What he’s thinking. It would be easy to ask, in theory, but I’d never trust the answer, so I don’t voice the question.

There’s a part of me, a small but significant part, that’s impressed by him and his ability to manipulate people into doing what he wants. And a larger part of me that’s terrified he’s somehow manipulating me without my knowledge, even though I can’t think of a single thing I’ve done that he’s suggested I do. Especiallyleave the Bratva,as if I’d ever.

Vitaly parks the SUV in front of the bar then starts to get out, making my eyebrows raise.

“You’re coming in?” I ask with surprise that seems to confuse him.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“My father’s in there.”

His eyes narrow. “Yeah, I put that together. He’s the one we’re bringing the money to, right?”

I open my mouth, ready to warn him about my father’s hatred toward Vitaly, but then I close it. He doesn’t deserve the warning, and if he’s too stupid not to already know, then … not my problem.

I climb out and follow Vitaly inside the low-lit bar, my father’s loud, Russian accent immediately reaching my ears from a booth to the right.

But he isn’t the first person I see. The first person I see is the very last person Vitaly should be around. Far more dangerous than my father. Maybe even more dangerous than Nikita.

Olive… Alik’s wife, sitting alone at the bar.

“You must be Vitaly,” my brother, Leo, says, coming up to us with a smile that shouldn’t be there for his enemy. “I’m Leo. Mila’s brother.”

Vitaly lifts his chin in greeting. “Pleasure.”

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