Page 68 of The Arrangement

“Nicoli said she pointed at her chest,” Anton said, voice turning into a whisper as his hand raised to his own chest and fingers splayed wide open. “Right where her little heart beat and repeated it, just like that. It stuck her whole life. I gave her that name. I fucking marked that girl as mine when she was just two years old in my own way. She’s always been mine.”

Ivan cleared his throat, his foot tapping a nervous beat to the floor before he asked, “What’s bothering you right now. I mean, this is a good thing, yeah?”

“Yeah, so good. Spending the rest of my life with her seems like the most natural thing next to breathing. It’s absolutely fucking terrifying to hand that feeling over like it’s nothing. Loving her every day; watching her live; holding her hand when she gives me children; weaving together through this life … I want that so badly and it would be the easiest thing to do because she’s already got my goddamn heart and soul right there in her hands. No one has ever had that from me.”

“But?”

But his heart was aching and his soul was ripping. Strings were pulled taut as something plucked a painful rhythm to the beats. Anton felt guilty as fuck. Shame was eating him alive and he never felt like that about anything he’d ever done before. He didn’t have the right to share those feelings and have those profound expectations for her and him if she didn’t know what he did.

“I have to tell her, Ivan. I need to.”

“Shit.”

Apparently his friend had decided their conversation was no longer appropriate to be had in the presence of others, because Ivan cussed harshly again before looking over his shoulder. With a jerk of his head, both men slipped through an employee only door that led to the kitchen. The club didn’t offer a huge variety of items on the menu when it was open, but it made a few easy things and there was a cook who worked only in the daytime for Anton and his business associates.

“Out,” Anton snapped at the chef who peeked up over the metal stove. “Now.”

“Uh … kind of busy—”

“Get the fuck out,” Ivan hissed.

The man rolled his eyes before turning a burner off and taking his sweet time wiping his hands on a hanging towel. When he was finally gone from the kitchen, Anton snapped the lock on the swinging door, effectively preventing anyone from coming inside before locking the other swinging door as well.

“I know you’re rolling right now,” Ivan said quietly. “It’s not like you roll often and when you do, you get all thoughtful and whatnot. So, is this your heart talking or the boss talking? Because it’s important for me to know the difference and right now, Anton, I can’t tell.”

“Maybe both.”

“What do you need from me? Tell me what you need from me. I can’t do this if you don’t.”

Anton chewed on the inside of his cheek, refusing to meet the other man’s stare. It was times like this when he was glad Nicoli had given him the insight he had before his unexpected death. His step-grandfather could have just as well let Anton slip and stumble through finding the right Sovietnik to guide him, to be his partner and friend, but instead, Ivan had all but been placed at his feet.

Sure, Ivan was five years older with a wife he loved and two little girls, and another on the way, who were his whole world … the men were leaps and bounds apart from each other in the world at times. But when it counted—when it really fucking counted—Ivan just knew Anton. He knew what to say or what to do, he knew how to ask or when to back off. They were brothers beyond the Bratva, beyond the titles, and beyond DNA. They just were.

They were one hell of a pair. Unstoppable when they wanted something. Anton and Ivan respectively held the two highest titles in their organization and some thought it wouldn’t be a good match, but they were fucking brilliant together. It was yet another one of Nicoli’s gold in the dirt findings.

“Fuck … just be my friend, okay?”

Ivan made a noise under his breath. “I don’t think I can. Not if we’re talking about what I think we’re talking about. I have to be yours and Nicoli’s lawyer. I have to be the Sovietnik. You have to be Boss. You know this. I have his wishes to carry out just like you do, Anton!”

“We are talking about that, and I know where your mind is going,” Anton murmured, swallowing hard and finally looking up. “If this was Eva, wouldn’t you want to tell her the truth?”

“Don’t bring my wife into this. It’s not the same. You gave him your word.”

“He’s dead. They’re all dead!”

“Lower your voice, man,” Ivan snapped, shooting a fleeting look at the doors. “Tell me why this is coming up now.”

Anton gave himself a moment to breathe, flexing his fingers into fists and cracking his knuckles before he felt able to speak. “This doesn’t make a difference to the will. The money Nicoli left for her isn’t mine to touch, and the prenuptial agreement keeps it safe. She’ll always be taken care of in that regard. It doesn’t hurt the brotherhood. If anything, the ones that know respect her more because of who she is and the rest would think the same. It won’t affect Nicoli because he’s gone, and her mother, may she rest in peace, no longer needs to be protected from the secret getting out. Roman is six feet underground and Sonny is a breath away from losing his life. Who does this really hurt, Ivan?”

“Viviana,” Ivan whispered, almost pleadingly. “You know that. It would hurt her.”

“I know. I know it would, but I think … I think she deserves to know. Vine could see from the start that we were hiding something and she asked. She asked, okay? I told him if she found out, I would tell her, and I said that never would I tell her directly before she figured it all out, but I also told him—”

“That you wouldn’t lie if she asked,” Ivan interjected. “Yeah, I remember.”

“I don’t want to lie to her anymore. I never want her to find out that I kept on lying when I could have told her the truth. She talked about Roman today, and I could hear it in her voice—she loved that man. I just … shit, why can’t she have the chance to love the one she didn’t know, too?”

“Anton—”