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“Put what into writing?” I say, voice dark.
“Nikolai Petrov and I have agreed that if Mila Petrov doesn’t become a Sokolov by the fall, he will have free reign to take over all our off-the-books operations. Several of my key men have also been notified of this.”
I grit my teeth, my head feeling light. “Do you have any idea what that means?” I growl. “If we let the Petrovs take over this town, within weeks, they’d flood it with their dirty drugs and God knows what else. We’ve kept this city clean?—”
“I don’t care what they do,” he cuts in. “I won’t be around for much longer. I would’ve sold all that myself if I had their connections and if our other businesses weren’t so lucrative. Mila will arrive tomorrow. Would you prefer her to stay at the family home or your apartment?”
“The family home,” I say straight away.
The family home is a big compound outside the city, with enough food for several weeks, safe rooms, pools, and lots of luxury. It’s where I grew up, a place I’m not fond of. Right now, I think Ania, my half-sister, is the only one staying there.
“So if I don’t marry Mila, you’re going to kill dozens, if not hundreds of people.”
Another man might deny this. My father might say I’m twisting his words, but he just smiles, lays his pipe down, and leans forward in his chair. Suddenly, he looks like the man I’ve always known, the towering giant who always gets his way.
“Yes, that’s right. Don’t look so upset. You look like a woman when you pout like that. It’s easy, anyway. Just marry the bitch. You can still screw whatever you like on the side.”
My father disgusts me.
“Is there anything else?” I say.
“Maybe a hug, my dear son, for a dying father?”
I stand up and hurry from the room. My father’s security watches me as I leave. The Sokolovs are supposed to be one cohesive unit, but my father has men who would do anything he says.
Getting into my car, I drive through Vegas, avoiding the strip, my head thumping. I’ve spent my life keeping my head down: working, working out, trying to keep the legal business and the family going, and trying to stop Mikhail and our father from killing each other.
Speaking of my little brother, my cell phone rings, and I quickly switch to speaker to answer. “Yeah?”
Mikhail laughs, sounding lighthearted as usual. I wonder if I’m the only one who can see through that shield. “Hello to you too, brother.”
“I just met with Father,” I tell him point-blank.
“Not good, I’m guessing?”
“I’m getting married.”
“Ah,” Mikhail sighs. “We both knew this day might come.”
He’s right. We’ve talked about the idea before.
“You always said it didn’t matter,” Mikhail goes on. “Our procreators ruined marriage for you anyway, so who cares, right?”
“Yeah, but that was before it was real, and I had to think about walking down the aisle, trying to be a good husband, and trying to care when I know I can’t.”
“So, so grim,” Mikhail says. “Maybe you’ll like her.”
“Hmm. Maybe.”
But I’ve neverlikedanyone. I’ve been cold and distant, the way a Sokolov man is supposed to be.
“Did you know about the cancer?”
Mikhail grunts. “No, and I don’t give a damn.”
It’s sad, maybe, two sons who are mostly indifferent about their father’s passing, but it’s not like he ever gave us much reason to care.
“I need you,” I tell him, “in the office as my righthand man.”
