Chapter 14

"Brat."

"Brat!"

Brother.

Boris and Vladimir tossed back their shots of vodka and slammed their glasses down on the desk. Boris reached for the bottle and refilled their glasses without permission, not something he would usually consider. Though Sitnikov thought of Boris as a brother, Boris was always careful to maintain that professional distance between the Boss and his brutally loyal enforcer. Appearances in their circle were everything. The fact that Boris would take even this small liberty was significant.

Vlad picked up the shot glass between his crooked middle finger and thumb and raised an eyebrow at Boris. His massive second in command picked up his own glass and said, "Krov."

Vladimir nodded and repeated, "Krov."

Blood.

It was a reminder of the blood oath the men had taken when Boris had sworn featly to Sitnikov and followed him from Russia to America to help build an empire. Vlad had repaid Boris' loyalty handsomely, but both men knew it would never be enough. Boris was a king in his own right, sporting the same eight-pointed stars on his shoulders, same as Vladimir.

Boris was happy enough to leave his younger brother sitting on the throne, heading the Grekov section of the Russian Bratva. Boris received regular updates from his informants and ran his empire from afar, while enforcing Vlad's throne as his right hand and brother through blood oath. As he got older though, he became more restless and less satisfied with the situation. Rumblings out of Russia suggested Dimitri Grekov may be hiding things from his older brother.

"What is this about?" Vlad asked, placing his glass on the desk and leaning back in his chair. He studied Boris, taking in the brutally serious features.

"I must go home."

Vlad nodded. It was as he expected.

"There is trouble in the homeland and it is past time I reclaim what is mine," his dark eyes pierced Vlad's, not as an enforcer, but as equals.

Pain stabbed through Vlad. Boris was like a brother and there was no better enforcer – or friend – to be had. He had been instrumental in placing Vlad in a position of power and had helped him hold that position, killing anyone that threatened them. He would be missed. Smiling sadly, he reached across the desk and lifted the bottle of vodka, filling their glasses once more.

They lifted their shots.

"Bezopasnoye puteshestviye, moy brat."

Safe journey, my brother.

They drank and set their glasses back on the desk. Vlad sat back in his chair again and ran a hand over his short-cropped hair. The scar that ran down from his scalp to his chin marred an otherwise good-looking face, giving him a chilling visage. He eyed Boris with concern. "You will take good care while you are overseas, my friend? There is still an absurdly large bounty on your head."

Boris flashed him a grin. "Fuck bounty, I long to see my homeland. To taste my old nanny's pirozhki once more."

Vlad laughed. Not something he did before Jane's appearance in his life. It was good to see the tiny firecracker lightening up her too-serious husband. "You think with your stomach, old friend."

"It takes a lot of calories to maintain this much bulk," Boris defended, flexing his biceps. It was true. Vlad had picked up the bill more than once when they'd eaten out together.

The smile slid from Vlad's face. "I don't like it."

Neither man spoke. They didn't need to. They knew this call would come. They both understood that eventually Boris would have to go back and fight for his birthright. It didn't make it right though. Boris would be walking into a bloody war with no idea who his friends and who his enemies were. If he could, Vlad would keep Boris in America, safe at his side. But he knew it wasn't a fair thing to demand of a man who was his equal by birth and by honour. Russia was a trap. They both knew it. Yet Boris would go anyway.

"I'm on the no-fly list," Boris pointed out. They were both high up in the Russian mafia and as such, subject to federal regulations putting them on the watch list. Boris had been in prison twice making, his ability to fly even more difficult.

Vlad snorted. "Fuck the list. I will take care of your transportation. I have a cargo ship leaving harbour in two days. I'll ensure your place on it."

Boris nodded his gratitude. The reality of leaving in two days began to set in. He dropped his head between his hands and rubbed his face wearily, hunching his massive shoulders. Tattoos rippled down his arms and across his flexed knuckles.

Vlad studied him contemplatively. "What will you do about the girl?"

Boris lifted his head and looked at his boss with heavy eyes. If Jane were not in the picture, this conversation could not happen. But Vladimir would understand. "She is my future," he said simply.

Vlad nodded, satisfied with his answer. They were men cut from the same cloth. They did not live easily and they did not love easily. The women they chose might fight, but in the end, they would surrender. "You will take her with you?"

Boris smiled grimly. "I have tried wooing her and she has resisted me at every turn. I have enjoyed the chase, but one way or another, she will leave on that ship with me."

Vlad flashed him a grin and shook his head. "I do not know if I envy you, my friend. She is at least as deadly as my lovely wife. You will spend almost two weeks in a small cabin with her. Take my advice and make sure she has no way to create weapons out of anything. Or nothing."

Both men laughed heartily. Jane Sitnikov, after all, had managed to turn something as innocuous as a toilet against her husband.