Page 35 of Savage Boss

“I will give you my seat at the table.”

It was the only thing Petrov had left to give.

“I already have your seat at the table,” Vlad drawled, the devil in him grinning maliciously at the look of shock on Petrov’s face. He fell silent, allowing the moment to sink in.

“But you can’t!” Petrov protested. “For you to have the Petrov seat… it would have to mean that there were no more Petrovs to fill it. The Bratva would have to reward it to you.”

“Da.” Vlad waited for the moment of understanding to flare to life in Petrov’s eyes, followed closely by despair as the older man realized that the Bratva had sanctioned his death. Which meant there could be no reversal. He was finished.

He tried one more plea. “What about our blood debt? I owe you for saving my life all those years ago. You can take anything you want.”

“Da.” Vlad nodded carefully. “Your debt will be paid once your blood has been spilled.”

There was nothing left to say and Petrov knew it. His face twisted into a sneer as he realized he had nothing left to lose since he’d already lost everything. “You are the same ungrateful whelp I pulled from the gutter all those years ago.”

“You had my loyalty,” Vlad contradicted. “But you wanted more. You wanted what I’d built for myself over here in America. If you hadn’t sent your son after me, you would now be safe at home, your family helping you maintain a sizeable chunk of Moscow. You chose this path, not I.”

Vlad was done playing with his food, it was time to purge the world of this cowering piece of shit. He straightened, pulling his knife from his pocket. “You ever heard of the necktie? The Italians popularized the method here in America and I have adopted it as a signature. Perhaps not original, but I find it still makes an effective message.”

He leaned down, pressing the knife against Petrov’s throat.

Before he could make the first slice, Petrov snarled his bitter last words, “She will betray you one day. If not her, then your son. Loyalty means nothing; life is betrayal.”

“You know the difference between you and me?” Vlad slammed the knife into Petrov’s throat, avoiding the carotid artery so he could prolong the suffering as long as possible. He waited for Petrov’s gurgling screams to die down before continuing, “I can feel love and I can inspire love in those I care about.”

Petrov gasped like a fish on dry land, fighting the bonds at his back as blood trickled down his neck, soaking into his dressing gown. Vlad set to work, digging into the freshly sliced flesh for the tongue.

“And if there’s one thing my wife has taught me, it’s that love can grow into loyalty.”

Chapter Eighteen

Two months later

“Are we sure about this?” Jane asked for about the dozenth time since they got on the road. “It’s not too late to turn around.”

Vlad reached across the console to squeeze Jane’s hand. “Relax, malysh. Everything will be fine.”

“So you keep saying, but you didn’t grow up with them,” she argued. “I had to learn how to shovel out horse stalls by the time I was three. I was helping my mother with the washing before I could walk. My hands were permanently chapped by the time I was five. These people are monsters!”

Vlad chuckled and glanced in the rearview mirror at their slumbering son, tucked safely in his car seat. He was peacefully unaware of the conflict going on with his mother. “Joseph is six months old; I doubt your parents will ask him to help with harvest yet.”

“You don’t know what they’re capable of,” Jane said darkly, narrowing her eyes on the road.

They were heading to the Miller farm, which was tucked into a beautiful green rolling valley, surrounded by farmers’ fields and stables. Jane’s parents were Amish and continued to live in their community, despite losing both of their daughters to the outside world. Rather than banishing Lucy and Jane, their parents chose to reluctantly accept their daughters’ choices so they could continue being part of their lives. Jane’s father in particular wrote often, asking them to bring baby Joseph out to the farm.

Finally, after weeks of discussion they agreed that the baby would stay with his grandparents for a week while Vlad and Jane went to Russia. Vlad was being called to his birth country to accept his position among his Bratva brethren. Boris had systematically removed any barriers in Russia to Vlad’s assumption of the Petrov position at the table while Vlad was in communication with the head of the other crime families to ensure a smooth transition of power. Jane would accompany him so she could see his homeland and get a feel for the country and customs that shaped her husband.

“You know, when I was growing up, I was expected to know how to use a gun by age seven, to kill by age eleven and run the entire family and our business interests by sixteen.” He glanced at his son again, his gaze softening. “I don’t think anything your parents might do with Joseph can be worse.”

“Tomato, tom-ah-to,” she said with a shrug. “We’re comparing the same thing. We both had rough childhoods.”

Vlad wanted to argue that growing up on an Amish farm, away from the evils of society, surrounded by fresh air and a loving family was not the same as growing up on the streets of Moscow as an enforcer for his family. But he and Jane had enjoyed a long stretch of peace. He refused to rock the boat, no matter how skewed his wife’s version of reality was.

“We’re here,” Vlad announced, pulling into the long winding road that would lead his Jaguar up to the house.

“Oh god,” Jane mumbled.

“You shouldn’t take the lord’s name in vain, malysh. Your parents won’t like it,” Vlad chided gently, laughing when she punched him in the arm.

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