Page 3 of Lord of the Underworld

"Joints creaking already, old man?" I ask, watching the service techs go over the trucks.

"I'm a year younger than you are, my Vor," he says crossly. Ivan's nearly as tall as I am, but leaner and hunched slightly over, like an angular crow.

"Any problems with the local police?"

"Not yet," he says. "It's one of the reasons that setting up in Chicago is genius. This is a police force that we can work with. They understand money."

I nod. "I assume the Feds will be a bigger problem."

"Thus far, I haven't heard even a whisper about the project," he says. "My contacts in the ATF and the National Security Agency set alerts as you instructed, to flag anything that could be related to our operation. If anything pops up in their systems, we'll know first."

"That's good work," I say. We walk outside and the sun hits my skin with a blaze of light. I feel the same powerful sense of freedom as I did the day when they dragged me out of that pit.

"So, Avarr?" Ivan continues. "He's a cousin on your mother's side. There might be some… consternation."

"My mother is almost more savage than grandfather," I say. "If anyone complains to her, she'll shoot them herself."

My phone lights up with my father's name on the screen. "Zdravstvuy, Otets."

"Zdravstvuy, Vadim," he says warmly. "How goes opening day?"

"I made my expectations clear," I say.

He starts laughing as I pinch the bridge of my nose. "In other words, you killed some people."

"I only shot one man," I correct him politely.

"There's always one," he sighs. "One fool where even the threat of torture and death is not enough to keep them quiet. Good to get that out of the way."

"Everyone was then extremely attentive," I agree.

"I know this week is quite busy," he says. "I'm certain you've been working eighteen-hour days, but I must ask you to come home this Sunday."

"More investors to placate?" I ask.

Next to me, Ivan subtly rolls his eyes as my father bursts into laughter again. "O bozhe, oh god, no! As if I'd ever let you or your grandfather into a delicate meeting. I can't afford any more wealthy allies having a heart attack when you're in the room."

"That happened once," I say sourly.

"That was enough," he says, controlling his mirth. "Now, every time I schedule a meeting, they always ask if you'll be there."

"What is required of me when I return to Moscow?"

I hear him shift in his seat; he takes a moment to answer. "We've come across an ideal alliance with another of the Six Families," he says carefully. "It would require a marriage between our families."

Stepping away from Ivan, I stare out over the empty fields, the crops already stripped away. "I am assuming that you do not mean between Stepan and whatever Bratva princess this might be."

Otets snorts inelegantly. "Your little brother? We intend to create an alliance here, not a never-ending feud between the families."

"That might still happen with me as the groom," I say. My throat is tight, getting the words out takes some effort. Marriage. Someone clinging to me, whining. Or fearful and hiding whenever I came home.

The latter would be ideal.

"I have faith in your ability to handle it," he says. "You knew this was a possibility."

"Yes." The word tastes like poison on my tongue.

"Then I will see you on Sunday," he says kindly, as if he knows this is painful to hear.