Page 32 of The Russian Retribution

It frustrates me that Viktor makes sense. I have no answer for why the Cartel would wait so long, but something in my gut tells me he’s wrong. It’s not often we disagree, but I can’t stop the frustration from bubbling over.

“Or maybe they got tired of waiting, huh? The Cartel could have waited for any number of reasons,” I snap as my mind races. “I mean, the Irish were tearing up the city for a while and the cops were on high alert looking for a murderer. If I were the Cartel, Iwouldn’t make a move until stuff has calmed down. And frankly, what is your problem? Again and again, I bring you things that suggest we’re looking in the wrong area, but you’re so hard focused on Anastasia. What do you know that I don’t?”

“Listen to yourself!” Viktor’s cigar falls from his lips and crumbles on the ground as he surges forward and grabs me by the collar. “You’ve fucking fallen for her, haven’t you?”

“No!” I grab Viktor’s wrist, attempting to wrestle free.

“You have! You’re blinded by her beauty, Son. I can see it clear as day!”

“That’s not what’s happening at all!”

“Bullshit!” He suddenly shoves me away, his face twisted with anger that melts quickly into a tired defeat. “Don’t you remember how much I sacrificed to raise you? Everything I did to keep you here under the safety of this family even when you tried to run away to the army? All I want is justice for my friend and I’m losing you to somebitch. No one sees her for what she really is, but I do.”

Viktor’s shoulders sag forward and guilt worms up amid my frustration. “Viktor… I’m not blinded. I don’t feel anything for her, I swear.” Lying is too easy.

“She’s on the brink of destroying everything Sergey and I spent decades building, Erik. Don’t you see? She’s dismantling everything we’ve worked for, shaking the stability of every family that serves under us and removing their safety nets. So you need to get your act together.” He turns to face me once more.

“I am. The Cartel?—”

“Enough with the damned Cartel! It’s these kinds of distractions that will ruin us, boy. How much longer are we going to do this? The world won’t wait forever, and before we know it, some other family will see how weak she makes us and rise up, wiping us out and taking our place at the top.”

My heart sinks. In some ways, he’s right. Not locating the killer of ourPakhanalready makes us look weak. Have I really been that blinded?

“We need proof, Son. Or a confession.” Viktor’s hand cups the side of my neck. “The sooner you get hard proof, the sooner we can present it to the other families and execute her, reminding everyone that we are on top. Do you understand, Son?”

12

ANASTASIA

Sleep escapes me tonight, much like it has each night since my father passed. Rest only comes when I’m so completely and utterly exhausted that not even my racing brain and anxious heart can keep me awake.

Tonight feels like one of those nights, and yet as I close my eyes and wait to drift off, nothing happens. I remain as awake and alert as ever, with my mind running over the family’s finances and the possible risks we face from the Cartel. They haven’t made contact, but the sum my father owed them verges on insanity. I can only imagine that he used the power in our name and his reputation to get away with not paying them for so long. That falls to me now, and I have no idea what I’m going to do. Between caring for the victims of the skin trade and getting the new construction investment off the ground, I don’t have enough for those debts.

For the first time since I stepped into this position, I feel the allure of easy money. Maybe Viktor was right. Maybe I should have kept some of the sex trade active for income purposes.

No sooner does that thought enter my mind than disgust worms its way through my gut and I sit up quickly, groaning.

I swore to be better. I won’t fall into that kind of trap.

And I’m not going to spend another night tossing and turning.

Throwing back the sheets, I slide from the bed and head barefoot down to the kitchen. The manor is deathly silent, and I enjoy it immensely. Times like these are rare, but they’re the only time I can pretend I’m just a normal woman walking through her house. There’s no Mafia responsibility, no guns and drugs, no security, and no threat against my life. Sometimes, I dream that I’m something important, like a lawyer or doctor. Other times, I imagine myself running a small grocery store with regular, elderly customers who always get my name wrong.

Although I’m not sure how long I would last in a customer service role. I sort of hate people.

The cold tile floor in the kitchen wakes me up a little more. I settle into a familiar routine of warming milk on the stove and grating chocolate onto a plate as I make hot chocolate. It’s a simple recipe taught to me by one of the various women who served as my nanny over the years. Each nanny I had was kind, but my father switched them out too often for me to grow a bond with any of them.

Suddenly, footsteps thump out in the hall. Erik sprints into the kitchen with his handgun raised. His thick, dark hair is messy like a bird’s nest, and he’s topless, wearing only black cotton joggers.

“Fucking hell,” he snaps. “Anastasia, what the hell are you doing?”

I casually glance up from stirring the milk. “What do you mean?”

He’s panting as he lowers the gun and rakes his fingers through his hair. “I thought we had an intruder.”

“In the kitchen?”

“I got an alert of movement in the kitchen, so yeah. Those doors lead right outside.” He indicates to the patio doors. “So of course, I thought it was an intruder.”

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