Midnight Lies (Tasarov Bratva 2)

ADRIK

I’m hunched over the desk, stacks of my father’s records piled in front of me. I’m doing my best to read his chicken scratch writing when Stefan walks in and clears his throat.

I look up at him. I’ve been staring down at the paper so long it takes my eyes a second to adjust. “What?” I bark.

Stefan swallows. “We don’t have to do this today, you know. You were sitting in on most of these meetings anyway and you’re like a fuckin’ elephant when it comes to remembering shit, so it’s not like you need your dad’s notes. Besides, I’m going to go through and transcribe whatever you need. So today… you can go and—”

“Go and do what?” I interrupt. “What should I do today?”

“Mourn?” he suggests with a wince and a shrug. “Fuck if I know. My old man was a piece of shit. When he died, I threw a party. I don’t know what you’re supposed to do.”

“I’m supposed to do this.” I gesture to the mess of papers spread across the desk. “Leading the Bratva is what I was born to do. It’s what my father trained me for. I need to get shit in order.”

Stefan sighs and takes a seat in front of the desk. “You’ve been don in every way that matters for a long time now. You know this.”

“We were attacked.”

He nods. “I know.”

“Doesn’t that tell you we didn’t know enough? That we weren’t prepared?”

“We knew the Volandris were a threat,” he counters. “We’ve known that for years.”

“Yet I still have a fucking hole in the side of my house big enough for a cruise ship to sail through,” I snarl. “And they’re still alive.”

Stefan scowls. “Pietro is dead, though.”

I narrow my eyes. “Bringing up the sins of my brother isn’t the way to get what you want.”

He holds up both hands in a kind of surrender. “I don’t want anything like that, Adrik.”

“Then what?” I bark. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

What the fuck does everyone want from me? I could feel Emery watching me all night. Like she was waiting for me to melt into a pathetic puddle of grief.

I’m used to people tiptoeing around me. I’m accustomed to nervous glances and hushed whispers. But usually because they’re afraid. Not because they’re worried. This whole fucking mess is making my skin itch.

“I just want to make sure you’re alright,” Stefan admits at last. “You’re my best friend, man.”

I look him straight in the eyes. “If you’re expecting me to have a good cry and let my feelings out, then you don’t know me at all.”

With that, I turn back to the papers in front of me. Stefan leans back in his chair and broods. We fall into silence for a while. Half an hour? An hour? I’m not sure. The clock above my father’s desk was stopped by one of the maids at the hour and minute he died. An old Bratva custom. Cheesy, in my opinion, but it’s the least of my concerns at the moment.

Eventually, Stefan breaks the silence again. “Anything useful in there?”

“Ledgers,” I grumble, shoving the handwritten receipts away from myself. At this point, even I’m growing restless. “Fuck, maybe I should just let you do this.”

“Great idea!” Stefan says, jumping at the offer. “Most of this shit needs to be thrown away. It’s years old. And we don’t need a paper trail. Your dad should have been shredding this stuff.”

“That wasn’t his way.”

“Well, lucky for us, his way doesn’t matter anymore. It’s your way now. So the question is: what’s your first move, Don Tasarov?”

I’m still adjusting to the title, but I only have to think about it for a second. “We take out the Volandri mafia.”

“On what grounds?”

“On what fucking grounds?” I snap. “On the grounds that they partnered with a corrupt pig of a politician to try to outmaneuver us. On the grounds that they dared to set foot on my compound. On the grounds that the pain they’ve suffered pales in comparison to the pain they deserve, to the pain they will suffer now that I wear the crown.”

Stefan smiles. I frown. “The hell are you smiling about?”

“Nothing,” he says. “This is just music to my ears. What do you have in mind?”

* * *

When the door to my office opens, I barely even register it.

Stefan and I have been pouring over every scrap of information the Bratva has gathered on the movements of the Volandri mafia. Warehouse locations, allies, safehouses, trade routes, territory. There’s a shit ton to cover, but all of it is important. If we want an attack to bear fruit, we have to know where they’re most vulnerable.

“Are we willing to divide up resources with Yasha causing havoc?” Stefan asks. “We might need all of our men for an efficient attack.”

“Causing havoc?” I repeat, looking up at him. That’s when I see Emery standing in the doorway, a plate in her hand.

Stefan shrugs. “That’s what it feels like. A kid throwing a temper tantrum.”

“Killing a man and framing Adrik for the murder is a bit more than a temper tantrum,” Emery butts in.

Stefan spins around. “Oh, wow. Silent like the night, this one,” he says, hitching his thumb over his shoulder. He eyes the plate in her hand. “Is that lunch?”

“For Adrik.” She looks up at me and gives me a nervous smile. “You’ve been in here a while. I thought you might be hungry.”

“Didn’t wonder if I might be hungry, too?” Stefan grumbles.

Emery snorts. “I’m not your wife. So until you get married or the girls you hook up with at the clubs start making you meals, you’re out of luck.”

I bark out a laugh and Stefan glares at us both. “Fine. I’ll go get my own food. Then we’ll resume?”

I nod and Stefan slips out of the room.

“I thought you liked Stefan,” I say as she slides a plate with a sandwich and a Caesar salad onto my desk.

“I do,” she says. “But he doesn’t need to get used to me serving him hand and foot.”

“Only I get that treatment?”

She gives me a sly smile. “If you’re good.”

“I’m never good.”

“You have your moments.” She winks. “And maybe my definition of ‘good’ is a little different than most.”

I grab the sandwich and take a bite. The bread is toasted and the lettuce between the layers of meat and cheese is crisp. It’s a damn good sandwich.

“It’ll have to be a lot different for me to qualify. But I have ways of getting what I want out of you, whether you want to give it or not.”

“Sounds like a threat.”