Page 48 of Scars He Gave Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 2)

“It’s like the seasonal flu.” I’m straining to remember the analogy Corrie used while she was sitting on my lap and grinding that perfect ass against my dick. “Each time we come up with a vaccination, it develops another strain.”

“Flu, virus, doorways—I don’t fucking care about none of that. We’re losing money. A lot of goddamn money. I want this fixed.” My father glares at me. “Or do I need to find someone else?”

I snarl, “I’ll fix it. Like I said I would.”

He nods, then waves me out. But before I can make my escape, he calls my name. “Tomas.”

So close. I almost made it.

I turn to face him. “What?”

“You haven’t called Katerina in a while.”

I can’t lie to him. Bogan knows everything. And any excuse I make will further incite the issue. I grit my teeth and nod slowly.

“Call her today,” he says in a low voice.

I nod. He’s right. I agreed to the wedding. Having Corrie at home can’t change anything.

“Better yet: I’ll arrange a dinner tonight. You will come.” It’s not a question. He looks down at his desk. His final dismissal.

Thank God, because I have a thousand more important things to do than sit in his office and listen to him bitch and moan about all the things he thinks I haven’t done.

* * *

When I walk out, Aleksey is still sulking. He’s been in a mood for three days. “Hey.” I nod as I walk out of my father’s office.

Aleksey looks up and nods then goes back to scrolling through his phone. But the sigh is why I stop walking.

“You look like shit,” I tell him. That’s man code for‘is everything alright?’

“I’m fine.” That’s code for‘shut the fuck up and mind your own business.’

“Let’s go.” As we walk out to the car, I watch him. Shoulders slumped. Face drawn. Head down. I didn’t think he was taking his wife’s departure quite so hard. Either way, we don’t have time to hash it out. “If you don’t tell me soon, I’m probably going to stop asking.”

He nods. “Good.”

Fine. I have enough problems of my own. Alek can handle his own business.

Through the rest of the day, we don’t speak about more than left- and right-hand turns. I don’t know what his deal is but he’s making the day drag and every mile seems like ten.

We’re picking up a shipment of “supplies” from a “distributor” in Newark. The company truck I’m driving says we’re a paper supply company so our “delivery” passes easily in and out of New Jersey. But today, I almost wish for a traffic stop, just for the excitement of it.

By the time we get back, I don’t have a spare minute to go home and change, but I send Corinne a text message as the car drives me to my father’s house where my dinner is about to begin.

Working late. Demetri will be parked outside.

When the car rounds the circle drive and stops at the steps, I climb out. I might as well be heading to the gallows. No way am I coming out of this dinner alive.

Because this afternoon, while I was riding in silence with Alek, I decided I can’t marry Katerina.

I know what that choice means for the Bratva. I know what it’ll do to my father. And I know what it will do to my position in the business.

It means I’m out.

So fucking be it.

* * *

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