Page 78 of Scarlet Promise
“You understand why I reacted as I did?” I say carefully.
“I do.”
“I was wrong.”
“You need my help.”
“That,” I say, “hasn’t changed. We can still help each other.”
He’s silent, and in that quiet, I can hear all the things he wants to say. All of it would be true, from not having Demyan’s support to being too naïve.
Maybe he doesn’t say it, because in the end, there’s a line between making alliances and grudges. He’s choosing the former.
I hope.
“I’m happy to help. More than happy,” he says. “Whatever assistance you need, I’ll provide. For a price.”
“Which is?”
“A portion of the Belov Bratva’s territory and weapon production operation.”
“The last part is in Russia, and that’ll mean a meeting with that faction,” I say.
“You’re the pakhan, both here and there. They do what you say. It’s how it works. Like I’m the don.”
I knew it’d cost me. I just never imagined it would cost this much to ask for help. Perhaps there’s room for negotiation over the territory, a sharing, or a reduced amount. I don’t know. We aren’t hammering that out here.
But it’s still a huge price tag.
The only other choice is to let Simonov and Melor tear me to the ground when they make their move. Even if I kill Melor, Simonov is big. Too big. If I kill him, his second would step in with severe retribution.
“If I agree—and the terms are still to be set—then I’ll do so on the condition that this repays my previous debt.”
“Of course,” Santo says, “but only because I’m such a nice guy.”
We hang up.
And I can’t help but think that I may have signed my soul to the devil.
Chapter Eighteen
ALINA
I didn’t expectto see packages on my bed.
Somehow, I don’t think Ilya went shopping and bought me these things. That’s more of a soft Demyan move. A normal Demyan move is just snatch, grab, and be unreasonable?—
I make myself breathe, trying to stop the uncharitable thoughts toward my brother, whom I do love, very much.
“I’m just angry with you for not trusting me or your best friend,” I mutter to the biggest box.
It has the name of a high-end designer on it, one I’d never buy for myself, but one I’m secretly thrilled to see.
I don’t pull the ribbon or open it. Not yet. I want to savor it.
Ilya’s still my brother’s best friend, and deep down, Demyan knows that. He loves Ilya, which is why he’s mad. But I’m not a prize or an object to be owned or traded, and Demyan should know better than to even think that.
But ultimately, I can’t let go of the idea that Demyan may be scared of losing me.
