Page 43 of The Russian's Forced Bride
My eyes skimmed over the papers on his table that were spread all over, and a part of me was tempted to go over to his desk to rummage through them for anything relevant I could find about what Joaquin had claimed Matvey and Oskar were hiding.
But as much as I was tempted, I could never allow myself to become desperate for anything.
Desperation was like a cloak of stupidity—and I wasn’t too keen on wearing it.
I leaned back against the sofa, briefly closing my eyes as the shuffling of footsteps on the marble floors echoed through the room. Without opening my eyes, I could tell it was Matvey because the metallic smell of blood washed over him in waves.
“I’m busy, Rafael, so make it quick.”
My eyes opened to find him in his crimson-stained tuxedo—what had once been white. His fists were also bloodied, but he kept using a hand towel to wipe the blood off. When he finished, he threw the towel on the glass table between us and crossed one leg over the other, draping an arm over the sofa as his bored eyes stared into mine.
“I want the whole story about Jaxon Whitmore. Not the watered-down version you gave to me.”
Matvey’s brow rose. “What makes you think I didn’t already give you the whole story?”
I leaned forward on the sofa, looking him right in the eye. His gaze was strong, but I remained unflinching.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
I then dropped a file of documents I had carried onto the table. The files contained all the losses we had incurred since Joaquin’s incident. And even though it wasn’t directly affecting the Bratva yet, it was only a matter of time before our empire sank.
That was the bastard’s plan. He was strategic and knew just how to play us.
I tapped the documents. “I didn’t want to admit it, but Joaquin’s way more formidable than I’d given him credit for. He’s been able to drain us of over two million dollars in weeks.”
Matvey nodded slowly in response. “I heard. But this is something you can fix, Rafael. And what does this have to do with Jaxon Whitmore’s bullshit story?”
“It has everything to do with the Whitmores. You and Uncle made me marry Arlette with this story of her life being indanger and our business being threatened. But you didn’t tell me everything—or just how messed up that bastard was.”
Sliding the documents closer, Matvey began to take a look at all the reports, one by one.
“He’s got intel, Matvey, and—” I pinched the bridge of my nose, exhausted. “I know you think I can be reckless, and I know you and Uncle don’t even think I’m good enough to be one of us, but this isn’t just about the Bratva anymore, Matvey.”
Joaquin had his eyes set on Arlette, too.
And I needed to know. I needed to know everything.
“When did you become so serious, Rafael?” Matvey mused with a smirk, dumping the documents back onto the table. “You were always the happy-go-lucky one.”
I never was. My mind had always been like this—but whatever everyone knew me as was just a facade. And these days, maintaining that façade wasn’t as easy as it used to be. It was the first time in a long while I’d been pushed to a point where I couldn’t control things.
And I hated that feeling.
Matvey then sighed. “We didn’t hide anything from you, Rafael. Whatever Joaquin must’ve put into your head was just a load of bullshit. On the day I asked you to marry Whitmore’s daughter, I pointed out the fact that Joaquin had been the one to kill Jaxon, right?”
I nodded.
“Well, Jaxon Whitmore wasn’t exactly innocent either. He knew right from the bat the kind of man Joaquin was, yet he agreed and helped him launder money. You see, Rafael, those two go way back.” Matvey chuckled. “Way before his daughter was born. Joaquin once had a share in Whitmore’s company and believed he had as much right to it as Jaxon did. But Whitmore blindsided him.”
“So he killed Whitmore for revenge?”
Or?
“No.” Matvey shook his finger. “He killed Joaquin’s wife as revenge—but Jaxon had no idea he was behind his wife’s death. Joaquin only killed Jaxon to prove a point. Jaxon wasn’t playing by his rules anymore, and with his alliance with the Bratva, Joaquin realized that Whitmore was no longer his puppet.”
Joaquin never saw Whitmore as a friend in the first place. No, neither of them did. But Joaquin was way more cunning, and he didn’t mind getting his hands dirty.
“When I asked you to marry Whitmore’s daughter, it wasn’t just out of loyalty to him. For full-on protection of his daughter’s life, Whitmore was ready to give the Bratva all he had worked for. He was a piece of shit—but he truly did love his daughter.”
