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“That Volk Vault Bank has bought yet another financial institution?” I smile into my drink. “The public knows it’s been bought, just not who holds the deed.”
“And Artyom? He is not suspicious?”
“Artyom is a fool. He doesn’t even use an alias to transfer funds to the Yakuza mercenary.”
“He’s made a dangerous ally,” Ilya observes darkly.
“Who is more likely to kill him than continue a long-term relationship.”
Ilya sighs into the line. “Do we know what they want with this alliance?”
“No. But I can speculate.”
“And your speculations are?”
“To claim Volkov territory in America.” Sometimes, this game is exhausting.
Ilya considers. “But what of the Yakuza? What could they possibly want that Artyom has?”
“I don’t think they want something he has. I think they want something he’s promised to give, when he finally acquires it.” My office door opens and Dimitri walks in, making eye contact as he slides into the chair opposite my desk. “Our relations with the Yakuza are tense, at best. If Artyom has promised to work with them after he’s claimed Volkov territory, I can’t see why they wouldn’t consider the venture a profitable one.”
Ilya laughs darkly. It’s the laugh that precedes a vicious, horrific ending. My skin still crawls at the sound, but I show no visible weakness, even though my younger brother’s tactics of torture haunted my nights for years. Worse, he’d been the inspiration behind the crafting of my own monster. The ripper under my flesh.
His voice over the line would have any other man quaking. “But the Volkov territory is expanding.”
“It is.”
“Speaking of,” he pauses, sips his drink. I do the same. “How are our political friends?”
“Eager to invest.” I watch as Dimitri leans forward to pour a glass for himself. “Ground breaks this week.”
“When are you leaving?”
My gaze slides to the calendar. “We’ll be in Oregon by the second week in April.”
“And you’re taking your wife?”
I sigh. “Hopefully she likes me by then. Keeping her in her country might be difficult, otherwise.”
“You’ll manage.”
“Mmm,” I grunt. He doesn’t know my new wife.
Ilya’s voice is serious again. “Get the cat, brother.”
Fifteen
Ruby
I’ve been married to Kirill for two weeks, and he’s never not brushed my hair before bed. He’s never not been around, hovering, waiting to follow me into my room. Since marrying him, I’ve never slid between the sheets, alone.
Tonight is different. It should be a reprieve, but it’s not.
The bed feels empty. I miss the weight of him pressing my body into the mattress.
I miss the pleasure of the bristles as he runs the brush through my hair.
And I miss—I miss his kiss.
