Chapter 54 Episode 54

I change direction and stride to my office. The door is locked. In my anger, it takes a minute to get it open. Which doesn’t exactly improve my mood. “Is anyone gonna tell me what happened?” Yulian stage-whispers to Lev. Wisely, Lev doesn’t answer. The three of us walk in and Lev closes the door behind us. I ignore my desk and go straight for the armchair by the fire. It’s the only piece of furniture of my father’s that I kept. It reminds me of him—in that it’s a massive f*****g pain in my ass. I sit down in it and raise my eyes to face Yulian and Lev. I growl my explanation in one word. “Rodion.” “f**k. What did he do now?” Lev asks. “He’s being passive aggressive as f**k, that’s what he’s doing,” I snap. “He’s pulling his capital on The Black Cat.” Yulian frowns. “So we’re losing a ten million dollar investment?” “That’s not my concern,” I say. “I can find the money elsewhere. My issue is the way this looks. Pulling his cash is another way of slowly peeling away his support. He’s feeding into the rumors that I murdered his daughter.” “He gave you his support when he showed up at the dinner,” Yulian says. “Late,” I point out. “He showed up late. If he had continued on like that, it might have been business as usual. But the more he withdraws from business with me, the more his allies will do the same.” “I thought you said you don’t need his allies?” Yulian asks—rather smugly, in my opinion. “I don’t. But I need to know if he’s going to retract his claws or if this is going to be an ongoing deal.” “And if it is?” Yulian asks. “Then it’s time to cut the Ivanovs loose.” Yulian goes rigid with shock. “Are you serious?” “I can’t have my businesses affected by his need for revenge. It doesn’t look good, and I don’t have the patience for it.” “I thought he was going to be playing it safe?” Yulian asks. “That’s what you said.” “He still is,” Lev points out. “Let me guess: his stated reason for pulling the investment was diplomatic?” I nod. “He’s saying he hasn’t turned a profit this quarter. He’s not investing as much anywhere, not just with us.” “Except it’s not,” I snap. “You don’t think I have men on that fucker watching his every move? I have someone on the inside. The Ivanovs are swimming in profits. It’s not a reason; it’s a lie.” “The underworld won’t know that,” Yulian points out. “Open your eyes, little brother. It doesn’t matter what the underworld knows. The point is, Ivanov’s allies will know. And if they’re coalescing—" “Rodion doesn’t have anyone to hand the reins over to," Yulian reminds me. “He has a nephew,” I say. “Two, in fact.” Yulian scoffs. “There’s no way. He might as well give it to the first guy he sees on the street with a friendly face.” “The point is, the man believes I murdered his precious little princess. He’s not going to hand over his empire to me. In fact, I doubt he wants me to keep control of my own empire.” “He’s not going to declare an all-out war on you, brother,” Yulian says somberly. “You’re too powerful. He knows that.” “Does he? I'm not sure the old man is thinking straight.” “Let me speak to him,” Yulian says suddenly. I stop short. “You want to talk to Rodion Ivanov?” “Why not?” he asks. “I may not know the man as well as you do. But I got along with his daughter a f**k-ton better than you did.” “Only because you weren’t married to the bitch.” “Whatever the reason, I can make him see sense. I can make him realize that his grief is clouding his judgment. I can make him see that crossing the Stepanov Bratva is not going to be in his best interests.” I glance at Lev to see what he thinks about this. He seems intrigued, but I’m not convinced. “No offense, little brother, but you lack subtlety.” Annoyance flickers across his face. “You underestimate me.” “Only because I know you.” “Give me a chance and I’ll prove you wrong.” “I’ll think about it,” I say. Mostly because I’m done discussing it. I don’t want to engage Rodion’s misplaced anger, but if he keeps pushing me, I will. Maybe it’s the excuse I need to get the ball rolling on cutting ties with the Ivanovs. That gets me thinking. “When is the signing for the new contract?” I ask. “A week from now,” Lev says. I nod. “Call Flemming. Tell him I’m interested in cutting a new deal.” “What new deal?” Yulian asks. “One that doesn’t involve the Ivanovs.” “We’ve gone in on that deal with the Ivanovs for ten goddamn years," my brother snaps. I nod. “And it’s no longer necessary. I’m sick of tying my business interests with a lesser Bratva. It made sense when I was married to Marina. But it ends now.” “If you push this, he will never name you as heir,” Yulian says through gritted teeth. “I’ve told you before, I don’t give a f**k about his empire. I’ve built my own.” “Jesus, are you hearing this?” Yulian turns to Lev for support. He glances between the two of us and nods. “I… I think Anton has the right idea.” “At least one other person here has some sense," I drawl. Lev looks at Yulian. “We don’t need to tie ourselves to the Ivanovs anymore. If Anton wishes to take it at all, he can do it by force when the time is right.” “Take the Ivanov Bratva?” Yulian asks, looking shocked by the very idea. I shrug. “It’s been done before.” Yulian stares at me for a moment and then a small smile flickers across his face. “You’ve got some balls on you, sobrat.” He relaxes slightly and falls back against the sofa. “This is going to be an interesting few months.” “Lev, organize that meeting for me,” I tell him. “And while you’re at it, tell them to send in lunch. I’m f*****g starving.” Lev leaves and Yulian and I sit opposite one another, both lost in thought. Except that my brother rarely loses himself to anything, much less his own thoughts. “Something bothering you, little brother?” I ask. I know where he’s going with this. His long silences usually revolve around the same sore subject. “Papa used to tell me that you were going to be the greatest don there ever was.” Nailed it, I think to myself. Out loud, I scoff. “You’re making that up.” “Hand to my heart, it’s true.” “You’ve never told me that before.” “I didn’t want you getting a big head. But since that ship has already sailed, I’m telling you now.” I smirk and Yulian continues. “Every time you were in training, Papa would sit by me and tell me that. At one point, I really hated you. The golden child, the favorite son. I knew I would never make Papa as proud as you made him.” “He was never proud of me,” I say gruffly. “He never told you he was proud of you,” Yulian corrects. “But trust me, he was. He was proud before you ever did anything to be proud of. He knew you’d control the entire West Coast. And he was right.” “I don’t control it completely.” “But you’re on your way,” Yulian points out. “I just didn’t think you’d take it by force.” He frowns for a moment, considering. “f**k no. I think you should do whatever you have to do to get whatever you want to get.” I nod and lean in to clasp him on the shoulder. Just then, the door opens and Lev returns. Yulian scowls. “Way to ruin our brotherly moment, Lev.” He smirks. “Sorry. Shall I leave you two alone to kiss and make up?” I roll my eyes. “Is it all sorted?” “The Flemming meeting has been moved. It will take place three days from now. Just our entourage and theirs. The Ivanovs will not be a part of it.” “Great. Does that mean we can have lunch now?” Yulian complains. “Jessa sends her apologies,” Lev adds. “Apparently, she was sick this morning, so lunch will be a little late.” I get up immediately and walk past Lev. I hear one of them call after me, but I ignore it and keep going until I reach the kitchen. I find her sitting at the kitchen counter with her head cradled between her arms. She jolts upright. “s**t. Sorry. I was just… taking a small break,” she says clearly flustered. “I’ve been a little off my game this morning.” “What’s wrong?” I move forward and place the back of my hand against her forehead. She freezes at the contact, but I ignore her reaction. “You’re burning up.” “Don’t be melodramatic. It’s just a slight fever,” she says. “I checked my temperature earlier and it’s coming down.” “You shouldn’t be on your feet.” She’s got a couple of things bubbling over the stove, but the aroma suggests that nothing is quite finished. The countertops are especially messy, and she looks pale. “I’m fine,” she says with determination. “Just give me an hour and I’ll—” “You’re sick, Jessa,” I tell her firmly. “You need to be in bed.” “What?” she gasps. “No. I have to finish lunch.” “I can sort something else out for lunch,” I tell her impatiently. “You need to rest.”