Page 21 of Forbidden Vows

He gives me a startled look. “I knew it,” he hisses. “You do have something going on with Eileen.”

“Keep your trap shut.”

Our conversation ends when Sergei Kuznetsov comes in, accompanied by one of his associates. The conference table is now fully occupied, twelve heads and their appropriate partners are present.

“Since when do you bring Americans to the table?” Oleg Aronov asks Sergei.

“Here we go,” my brother mumbles. “There’s always a loudmouth Aronov at the ready.”

“Ladies, gentlemen, I’m sure you all remember Paul Mattis, my business associate,” Sergei replies with a flat smile as he loosens the button on his grey suit jacket. “His mother is Elena Kuznetsov, my cousin.”

“Eat crow,” Max Abramovic chuckles while his associate gives the Aronov boys quite the stink eye.

“Thank you all for coming,” I say loudly, sitting at the head of the table. “I’m glad we’re able to do this once a month without whipping out our semi-autos like the old days.”

“Or the glory days,” Ivan Fedorov grumbles.

“What was glorious about the Bratva being fractured, families slaughtering families for a slice of Chicago pie?” Andrei retorts. “We’re all stronger together, and you know it.”

Sergei smiles broadly. “That doesn’t mean we have to like each other, right?”

“Anyway, I understand congratulations are in order,” I say, raising my voice ever so slightly. I don’t need much to command the room. The day they speak over me is the day my reign will end. “Sergei, I understand we’re going to be family.”

“I suppose marrying a Donovan does have its disadvantages,” he sneers.

Good. I want him to hate me. I look forward to making his life miserable. A prick like Sergei Kuznetsov should never be allowed anywhere near Eileen. The mere thought of them building a family together makes my stomach turn.

“It does help with unifying the Bratva for generations to come,” I say. “Someday, our last names won’t matter anymore.”

“Yes, we’ll all be one big happy family, all of us bowing before—let me guess—your children, not mine,” Sergei says.

Andrei raises a hand. “Gentlemen, come on. These engagements are a cause for celebration. Bringing the Irish into the fold was asmart move.”

“I’mthe one bringing the Irish into the fold, just likeI’mthe one enticing the Italians with more lucrative offers,” Sergei shoots back. “All while you go off kidnapping their kids out of sheer spite. You’re lucky the Benedetto family was willing to sit down and talk to me about the entire incident, Andrei.”

“You’re exaggerating,” I reply. “It was a delicate situation, but we handled it.”

“The only reason you didn’t wake up next to a pig’s head in your bed this morning is because I talked Tony Benedetto off the ledge,” Sergei says. “And frankly, we’re all getting a bit tired of these Karpov messes. We’re the ones who have to clean up after you, it seems.”

I shake my head slowly as I look at him. “Now, you’re just being dramatic. Tommy was at fault. Granted, our reaction could’ve been more tempered, but we talked things through and sorted everything out. Whatever meeting you had with Tony was your business, not ours.”

“I secured their support if the Puerto Ricans decide to move in on the waterfront businesses,” Sergei says. He gets a nod of approval and confirmation from Paul Mattis, his trusted sidekick.

“The Puerto Ricans have grown brazen,” Paul says. “Rumor has it, they’re working with the Colombians to gang up on us. They’ve had emissaries visiting the Triads and the Yakuza, too, though I’m not sure how those conversations went.”

Peter Popov grunts with displeasure as he pours whiskey into his coffee from a gold-plated flask he keeps in his jacket pocket. “This is it, boys. End of days. If the Chinese and the Japaneseline up for the South Americans, we’ll need proper leadership.”

“What do you mean, proper leadership?” I calmly ask.

“Someone who doesn’t have us wasting time patching shit up with the Italians or the Irish. We need both on our side,” Ilinka Aslanova interjects, her cold gray eyes cutting right through me. She may be in her sixties, but the woman can make any man quiver with a lift of her eyebrow. “In fact, I think it’s time we send emissaries of our own. The Mexicans might need our support, and the Polish need to be brought up to speed as well.”

I look across the table, noticing a change in sympathies. Andrei and I have suspected it for a while now, but it’s becoming visible. Sergei has been lobbying for support behind the scenes, and it appears it has paid off. It leaves my brother and me in a relatively delicate position. Reasserting ourselves at the top of the pack is imperative, but we can’t just whip our dicks out on the table, figuratively speaking.

“What are you saying, Mrs. Aslanova?” I reply, narrowing my eyes at her.

“What I’m saying is I wouldn’t send you or your brother. Andrei’s got a short temper, and you… we all know how you negotiate, Anton. What we need for the months and years to come is diplomacy and a sly tongue.”

“Let me guess; Sergei Kuznetsov should be our emissary,” my brother laughs. “The man is naturally unlikeable. Look at Paul, practically recoiling whenever Sergei opens his mouth.”

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