“The Novikov compound, then.”
“No,” I corrected him. “I need to meet him somewhere else.” After my mother’s performance last night, I wasn’t comfortable carrying out family business in close proximity to her. “The Vieux Carre.”
“Yes, sir.”
If I was going to take back what belonged to the Novikovs I needed to reacquaint myself with the territory Amara had stolen.
Every part of her had seeped into my skin and worked its way right back to my soul. I pulled out my phone to give Vicktor the meeting update, but quickly shot off a text to Amara first.
I want you in red tomorrow night.
My jaw tightened as I watched the little bubbles dance back and forth on the screen.
I don’t think I asked you to dress me.
She was testing me. Pushing me.
I will dress you and undress you how I like. Wear the red.
The bubbles began and then disappeared. I growled at the phone just as Nikoli called.
“Yes,” I answered. I couldn’t ignore my Sovietnik no matter how much I wanted Amara.
“There’s a situation in France. I just got off the phone with Roman.”
“I’ll be at the Vieux Carre in twenty minutes. Meet me there,” I explained.
“The Vieux Carre?” He sounded surprised.
I sucked air through my teeth. “Yes. Unless you have something more important to do, Nik.”
“I’ll be there.”
He hung up and I stared at the phone. No response from Amara. She was trying my patience. That would only last for so long. She had agreed to dinner tomorrow night. If not for an emergency she was called away for, we’d still be in that bedroom. Fuck. I stared at the ceiling.
Ichose a table in the corner of the Vieux Carre’s bar. The curved bench was tufted in velvet. Each accent was lush. Rich. Nik arrived first.
“I ordered bourbon,” I explained.
“Thank you.”
The waitress brought our drinks and moved to serve a nearby table where three ladies were having evening cocktails. The boutique hotel was everything it should be. Amara had left no detail overlooked. It was stunning. Perfect. I didn’t want to admit my father wouldn’t have been able to come close to renovating it to this level. His only ambition was to capture what was beneath our feet—the tunnels.
“What’s the problem in France?” I asked.
Nik leaned back in his seat swishing the bourbon over a few ice cubes in the glass. “It seems since you left there has been unrest amongst the recruits. There is uncertainty.”
“Uncertainty? I don’t understand. They are there to train. To become Bratva.”
“It’s not with the men. It’s Roman.”
“What the fuck does Roman want?” He was my brigadier in France. The other three remained in New Orleans. It was a system my father used, and I planned to continue as long as it produced the men we needed.
I wasn’t under the impression things couldn’t change. If I found one crack in the armor, I would rebuild and reconstruct it the way I wanted it. I swallowed the bourbon, realizing that was exactly what Amara had done while I was away. She had created her own system brick by brick until she designed what suited her interests.
My father had failed to adjust or adapt while I was gone. It was why we were in this fucking mess. I would not follow in his footsteps. I would not fail the family the way he had done.
If Nikoli was concerned about Roman, I would listen. I trusted him. He had taken care of Amara and pledged her safety to me. For that, I would always trust him. I had never regretted seeking justice for Ivan’s death. What I had done to Amara, however, haunted me with nearly every breath.