Page 2 of Immaculate Corruption (Romanoff Bratva)

“That’s becoming a trademark of yours, isn’t it?”

My blood runs cold. “What are you talking about?”

Ilyasov laughs again. “You think I wouldn’t catch wind of what you did here? Chicago is my city, Dima. I know everything that happens here.”

He’s talking about Taras Kreshnik’s house. After I saved Arya from that fucking beast, we turned the Albanian’s house into a funeral pyre. In retrospect, it’s obvious that Ilyasov would learn about that kind of thing quickly. But I don’t like the idea that he’s keeping such a close watch on my movements.

“Fine. Whatever. I don’t give a fuck what you do or don’t know. That shit’s all irrelevant anyway. I only care how you’re going to act. Where’s my army, brother?”

“Oh, Dima, Dima, Dima…” Ilyasov sighs, like I’m some stupid little kid who isn’t understanding the conversation. “This ‘shit,’ as you called it, is all extremely relevant. I can’t give you your army.”

I freeze. “What did you just say?”

“Listen to yourself, brother. Think about what you’ve done. Are these the actions of a careful man? You killed an Albanian underboss in his own home, kidnapped one of his whores, and burned down the house with his body still inside it. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, you went and did the same thing to another one! What kind of killer starts a bonfire to let the whole world know what he’s done?”

“I didn’t—”

“You’ve made a mess of things. A big fucking mess.” Ilyasov’s tone grows frigid and sharp. “And just like always, Big Brother Ilyasov has to come clean it all up. So no, you don’t get a fucking army right now. You have to wait until all this ‘shit’ is sorted out.”

“I can’t fucking believe what I’m hearing. Tell me this is a joke.”

Ilyasov barks out a harsh laugh. “There’s no joke here. Every single one of my men is busy putting out the fires you started. Tending to things to make sure the Albanians don’t come slaughtering every Russian man, woman, and child they can find. You think I’m going to divert them all to come fixyourpetty little problems? The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

“This is your problem, too,” I snarl.

“How so?”

“You’re a Romanoff just like I am. We share a heritage, a name, the same blood in our veins. If I go down in New York, you don’t think they’ll come for you?”

“I’m safe. I’m protected. I take care of the snakes in my garden. You should’ve done the same.”

“This is fucking bullshit, Ilya.”

“No, this is how the world works. It’s time you started to understand that. My answer is no. Not now.”

Fuck.

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. I’m parked outside of a lowkey motel where I’ve been staying the past few days, coordinating things and slowly trying to stockpile ammunition.

But has it all been for nothing? Is this a death blow? Everything Gennady and I have been planning revolved around Ilyasov’s army. If he pulls the offer—even after everything I’ve done for him…

We’re fucked.

“I can feel the brotherly love, Ilyasov.”

He laughs. “We haven’t been brothers in a long time. The first time I saw you in ten years was when you needed my help. If your Bratva hadn’t been taken out from under your nose, you wouldn’t have even thought twice about me.”

“I don’t remember getting a Christmas card from you, either.”

“There’s no room for love in our world, Dima. You know that better than anyone.”

I sigh. Ilyasov isn’t there anymore. The brother I knew? The brother I grew up alongside? The brother I learned the ropes of this world with?

He’s dead.

Now, I’m dealing with a cold-blooded mob boss. I’m working on his terms with no special treatment. If I want his help, I have to follow his damned rules.

“Surely something can change your mind.”

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