Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Different how?”
“Didn’t say,” I answered. “But I got the impression that those who have dealt with her realize she is a force to be reckoned with. At least now that she managed to get her father taken care of.”
“What else did you find?” Gregor asked, his eyes narrowing. The smug bastard could always tell when I was holding something back.
“She bought herself an army. I believe she’s the one bankrolling Los Infideles’ sudden surge in power.”
When I first found that out, I didn’t want to believe it. A sheltered, innocent Russian mafia princess suddenly the female boss of a ruthless Colombian gang?
It wasn’t possible. They would sooner take her money and kill her, than actually follow a woman’s orders.
Especially a woman so beautiful, with delicate features and big, innocent-looking eyes.
But I was learning very quickly that underestimating Zoya was a mistake.
“How much?” Gregor asked.
“I don’t know.” I shook my head. “She works in the shadows. I’ve got rumors, speculation, but I don’t have any proof. Not yet. There’s a chance she was the one behind Solovyov, but I can’t be sure.”
“What do you mean behind Solovyov?” Kostya asked, getting to his feet. “Are you saying this bitch was the one who hunted Marina from Moscow all the way to Chicago?”
“No.” I shook my head even as I gave in to the urge to lie. I shouldn’t be lying to my family, especially not for this woman. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that was exactly what I thought happened.
“You’re saying she was behind the attack on the estate? The one that almost killed Viktoria?” Artem demanded, his gun already in his hand, like he could just walk into the next room and find her waiting to be executed.
“No,” I said, again lying to my family about this woman, not knowing why.
Over the years, I had learned to follow my instincts, and that was what I was going to do, even if I didn’t understand it.
“I believe all the blame for those…circumstances rests with Solovyov in his grave. Those debts have been settled. I’m suggesting that she may have been behind his desire to come to the States, and she may have been the one paying for the Colombians that he was using.”
My cousins all stared at me, their eyes narrowed, their jaws locked.
They didn’t trust me.
Of course, they didn’t really trust me. None of them thought of me as one of them.
To them, I was just the cousin that you didn’t call unless you had to. The outsider who was only allowed to stay because of my skills. I was the Ivanov family’s personal boogeyman.
After all, I didn’t look like them. I was just as big, just as tall, with maybe even a little more muscle packed onto my thick frame. But where they were all light as snow with light eyes and a wealthy Russian education and upbringing, I wasn’t.
I didn’t talk like them, think like them, and I certainly didn’t look like them. Their own grandmother—the woman who loved them unconditionally, cooked for them, took care of them—called me Satan.
To them, I must have been the devil himself, a tool to be used to strike fear in the hearts of others but not a man to be trusted like family. Regardless of how much Ivanov DNA ran through my veins.
I picked up Gregor’s glass, dumping the rest of his coffee into Artem’s cup before pouring a finger of the Havana Club Máximo Limited Edition rum I kept in the flask at my hip.
Even my flask set us apart. Engraved with the Cuban flag, it was found among my mother’s possessions. I liked to pretend it was my grandfather’s, but I honestly had no idea. It was still a reminder to my cousins—but mostly to myself—that my heritage was more than just Russian.
“So then why does she have Pavel?” Gregor asked as I took a long drink from the cup, savoring the way the smoky aged rum burned in my throat with a mix of vanilla and a satisfying spicy finish.
“That I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t care.”
“What do you mean, you don’t care?” Artem stood and took a threatening step toward me.
I raised my eyebrow at him, wondering how far he would take this.
That was the problem with having your very own boogeyman. Eventually, you started believing the rumors.
I still recognized Artem and Gregor’s authority. But that didn’t mean I was a lackey. And I would not be treated as such. If they wouldn’t love and respect me as family, they would respect me out of fear.
“I don’t care why she has him. I care that she has him. My focus isn’t to decipher the motivation and whims of some mafia princess with a vendetta. I’m focused on getting Pavel back to his wife and unborn child. Then and only then will we deal with whatever delusions have her targeting our family. That is more your department, cousins.”