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Oleg inclines his head, but he’s watching the casino as though he doesn’t want to meet my eye. I need to make him understand. I need to rewrite the code of our life so that I can get my hands on Nikolai without ruining everything. That means taking a risk. Oleg doesn’t want to be honest with me because he can tell I’m not being honest with him.
“Mila is never marrying my brother,” I say.
Oleg turns to me sharply. “I did not hear that, Mikhail.”
“Yes, you did,” I growl, leaning close and looking him in the eye, letting him see how deadly serious I am. “She’s not marrying my brother … because she’s my woman.”
Oleg massages his forehead. “Mikhail, I cannot hear this.”
“You can. You will.” My tone gets low and dark and murderous—the tone of a man ready to do what it takes for his woman. “Mila doesn’t belong to her father. She doesn’t belong to my brother. She belongs tome. She’s told me what her father did to her. I can’t let that stand.”
“You’re talking about war.”
“No, I’m talking aboutsacrifice.”
Even Oleg flinches away from me. I can feel the dark side of me trying to push through, the person trained in the ways of this life, the coldness, the rage, the ruthless violence.
“My father’s time is past. Nikolai has no backing. He has no right to pretend to be in charge when I know, for a fact, you don’t respect him. His men don’t respect him. You don’t have to be afraid, Oleg.”
“That is a very foolish thing to say,” he replies. “In this life, fear is the only way we survive.”
“Then you should fear what’ll happen if Nikolai stays in charge,” I growl. “I won’t stand by and let him hurt his son and torture his daughter by holding her brother prisoner. One way or another, I’m taking that bastard out, Oleg. The only question is, are you with me or against me?”
“I have heard nothing,” he replies.
“You will hear it, goddamn you,” I growl. “It’s this … or war.”
Oleg takes another sip of his whiskey.
“We both know you would’ve walked away the second I started talking if you were going to say no. Cut the crap.”
Oleg pauses, then says, “How would it work?”
“You’ll become the new leader. I’ll take care of Nikolai. Life goes on but better than before. No more trafficking.”
“I’ve never enjoyed that business,” Oleg says, sighing.
“Would your men follow you?” I ask. “Be honest … with yourself and me.”
“The men are keen for an official alliance between the Petrovs and the Sokolovs. You’re right. The Sokolovs are richer and more powerful. Legitimate business has many avenues we cannot explore. Many defenses. Many benefits. If Mila and Dimitry were to marry still, then yes, the men would support me.”
“You said an official alliance,” I tell him, “between Petrov and Sokolov. Last time I checked, I had the same last name as my brother.”
“That could work,” he replies, “but officially, Mikhail, this conversation never happened.”
“However, if the time came, and the chance was presented to you, would you stand with a woman-beating, child-abusing, sex-trafficking sadist or the richest Bratva in America?”
Oleg allows himself a rare smile. “When you phrase it like that, it seems obvious.”
“Be ready,” I tell him.
“There has to be a marriage—Sokolov and Petrov. I empathize with your feelings. We all have feelings, even me, but the marriage has to come before feelings.”
My mind burns with images of the future, with my woman looking up at me, our hands intertwined, the future beckoning to us. Nobody is ever going to hurt her again.
“Give me your word that you’ll be ready,” I tell him.
Oleg takes another drink, reaches into his pocket, and takes out a small blade. Holding eye contact with me, he keeps his hand out of sight as he makes a short cut in his palm, not flinching. “I swear by blood, Mikhail. I’ll be ready.”
