Page 29 of Scars He Gave Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 2)

“You let him live—because of her.” The accusation is loud, angry, dripping with that Russian accent that comes on strong when he’s pissed, and false. But he is still speaking and I wouldn’t dare correct him anyway. Not until his accent is faded and he’s calmer.

“Yes,” he continues, “I know about her. Who she is. What she means to you.” His gaze is a laser, and he’s daring me to deny it, daring me to speak at all.

I don’t. I’m also not surprised that he knows about Corinne. Bogan has eyes everywhere.

I focus on business. “I’m handling the witness.”

My father moves to sit behind his desk, a monstrosity of carved mahogany, shined until he can see his reflection. It is a desk designed for a king, the very vision Bogan Dubrovsky has of himself.

“See that you do. I don’t have time to worry about a witness pointing his finger at you when we have more important problems to solve.”

I don’t trust his sudden calm. My father has two moods: angry and angrier. Seeing him slump back in his chair, the picture of relaxation, makes me uneasy.

“The Italians have themselves a new little toy. He’s young and smart. Some little computer hackey.” I try not to roll my eyes as he bungles the twenty-first century terminology he refuses to learn. “He’s attacking our businesses through the cyberweb.”

My father is old-school Russian. Has no idea that the “cyberweb” could be an important weapon in our arsenal and it makes the Bratva vulnerable that we don’t actively use it.

“Which businesses?” Not that it matters. Any attack requires a swift answer. Something decisive. “What’s the damage?”

“Payroll misdirections. Deposits. Deliveries that are sent to the wrong warehouses.” He shakes his head and waves a hand. “Nothing more than pesky interruptions right now, but you know and I know, this is practice for Roberto. He’s ramping up. And this is his first pass. So far, we’ve lost six thousand today. Twenty-eight since Sunday.”

More than his money, the Italians have hit his pride. My father knows nothing about computers or how to protect himself against the use of them.

I’m not much better. I’m a hitman who never made it to college, not a computer scientist, so I don’t know what the hell he wants me to do with this information. I cock an eyebrow.

“I’m just a gun here, Father.”

“Not anymore.” He blows out a meaningful sigh I’d rather not analyze. “Veniamin is still in the hospital and even when he’s released, I’m sending him home.”

Veniamin, my father’s second-in-command, was shot by Roberto Totti’s son three weeks ago.

Father leans forward. “It’s time you take your place in the family.”

I nod because it is time. Veniamin never sat his ass in a cold car until all hours waiting for a mark to come out of a brothel or a strip club. It’s my turn. I’ve proven my worth to the Bratva.

“Thank you.” I will finally bederzhatel obschaka.

“We’ll make it official tonight.”

I hide a grin as he looks down at his paperwork. Finally, I’m his son, his heir, not merely his hired gun. Everyone will know I’m accepted now. Not that anyone questioned before—not out loud, anyway—but this leaves no doubt.

“Tomorrow, you’ll find and deal with the hackey messing with our money.”

“Yes, Father.”

Even though I have no idea how I’m supposed to make it happen, I nod and stand.

“Tomas? I know you are having some flashback to when you were young, and I don’t care if you fuck her around the world, but you will marry Katerina as soon as the time comes. And you will leave this girl behind when it does.”

He looks away and it means he neither expects nor wants an answer. I leave his office because now he’s picked up his gold pen.

I know when I’m being dismissed.

* * *

By dinner, Aleksey and I have celebrated until the edges of my sight are blurred. As soon as I’ve taken the sacred and secret vows of the Dubrovsky Bratva, dinner is served at Café St. Petersburg.

I’ve barely finished my lambshashlikwhen Katerina slides into the chair next to me.

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