Page 86 of Immaculate Corruption (Romanoff Bratva)

“Plus, we still don’t know where Lukas is. If I kill him, there’s no reason for anyone to ever give him back to us.”

“And you think if you win, he’ll just hand him over?” I ask.

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” he says. “But if I reclaim my role as don, I’ll have enough power to find Lukas myself or strong-arm Ilyasov into returning him. If we can’t find Lukas ourselves, that’s our best chance.”

Again, I know he’s right, but I wish he wasn’t. I wish there was an easier, more simple answer.

Too much hangs in the balance.

“Look.” Dima leans forward across the desk, resting on his elbows, blue gray eyes focused on mine. “I know I’ve fucked up with you too many times. But when it comes to this situation, I know I’m making the right call. I’m sure of it. Going through the Trials is the only way to ensure Ilyasov is out of the picture forever. My men will trust me soon enough. I just need you to trust me, too.”

Dima’s face is flat, but I can see the turbulent emotions beneath it.

I nod shakily. “I trust you, Dima. Of course I do. Even when I haven’t, I have. I know that doesn’t make sense, but it’s the only way I know how to put it.”

Obvious relief crosses his face. “Thank you.”

“And I’ve fucked up, too,” I admit. “I shouldn’t have trusted Brigitte. When we first parted ways in Chicago, I’d only known you a few days, but I felt in my gut that I wanted to stay with you. I didn’t want to leave. And I ignored that feeling. That was my fault.”

“She was your best friend. You couldn’t have known.”

I reach across the desk and lay my hand over his. “And he was your brother. Youcouldn’t have known.”

He gives me a tight, sad smile. “We both fucked up. We lost our son twice to people who we thought loved us. What are the odds?”

The pang of Lukas’s absence hurts. It never seems to lessen or soften with time. Every time I think about it, my breath is stolen away by the pain.

“Pretty good, apparently.” He drops back down into his chair and runs a hand down his face. He hasn’t shaved in a few days. His stubble is dark and thicker than usual. I can’t say I don’t mind the rugged caveman look.

“What’s next?”

“Killing a don,” he growls. “But hell if I know how I’m going to do that. After all the recent assassinations, everyone is laying low. They don’t know what’s going on, but they know it’s bad. Everyone is underground right now.”

Suddenly, I realize I might not be so useless after all. “So you need to know where a boss might spend his down time?”

Dima frowns. “Explain.”

“Okay, so when I was talking to—” Arnie Fleishman’s name almost rolls off my tongue, but I stop myself before it can. I made a promise to him that I wouldn’t mention his involvement to anyone. I intend to keep my word. “Well, I was talking to someone who has good information. It seemed useless at the time, but he mentioned that the leader of the Aryan Brotherhood had a mistress.”

“That’s not as helpful as you think it is,” Dima says, sagging down in his chair. “I’d love to take out Richard Solomon, but I’d need an address.”

“And I have one. Sort of.”

“Go on.”

“Well, what my… contact said? It jogged my memory. Something I’d forgotten about altogether. When I was dating Jorik, he and Richard Solomon were acquaintances. They shared drugs on the cheap, and one time, Jorik called Richard about a pickup. We ended up outside of the Kingsroot Apartments.”

“I know where those are,” Dima says.

“Jorik asked Richard when he moved, and he said he hadn’t. It was his girl’s place, and he made a crack about how it was his, though, since he paid for it. Can’t promise they’re still there, of course—it’s been years. But you never know...”

Dima twists his lips to the side, thinking.

“I know it’s not the most to go on, but—”

“No, it’s not,” he says. “But it’s a place to start. Better than I had before.”

“Okay,” I mutter.

---