Dima’s crept closer now, and I sense someone behind us, but I don’t dare look to tip Alex off.
“My mother. She told me he was killed by the Moscow bratva. The cell you were with before you moved here.”
“Ah.” Ravil tips his head back in understanding, stopping ten feet away. “Maybe she believes that, but I assure you, your father is alive and well.”
Alex shakes his head. “Nyet. The bratva killed him, and you were part of it.”
“How much have you studied the bratva? Not enough, I fear. You should know when a man joins the brotherhood, he vows to leave all family behind. To the rest of the world, he must be dead.”
Alex lets out a ragged exhale.
“I assure you, your father is alive. I will prove it to you. I can call him right now. It is midnight in Moscow, but he will pick up. As I said, we are brothers.”
The gun drops to Alex’s side, and his grip on me loosens.
“Natasha, come to me.” Dima’s low urgent tone beckons me. He’s on his feet, holding his arms out. I launch myself forward, trying to walk on jelly-like legs, but Alex yanks me back.
“I don’t believe you. Prove it, then.”
Ravil nods. “I’m reaching for my phone,” he says, his hand hovering above his pocket, like he’s waiting for permission.
“Slowly.”Alex’s breath rasps heavily against my ear. The gun trembles. One startled move, and that trigger could go off.
Ravil gingerly pulls his phone out and dials a number on speaker phone.
A man’s voice comes on, clogged with sleep. “What the fuck do you want, Ravil? It’s the middle of the night here,” he demands in Russian.
Ravil keeps his gaze glued to Alex’s face as he speaks in Russian. “That woman you were with back in the late 90s, what was her name? Was it Volkov?”
The other man hesitates before he speaks. “Why do you ask?”
“Did you have a son with her?”
“With Yulia Volkov? Nyet, why do you ask this?”
“There’s a young man here who wants to kill me. He claims to be your son.”
After too long of a pause, Sergei says, “Send him away. Yulia and I had no child together. She wanted nothing to do with me or the bratva.”
“Liar!” Alex explodes, shoving me aside and lunging for the phone.
Oleg, Adrian, Maykl and Maxim spring from the shadows. Oleg knocks his gun from his hand, and they take him down to the asphalt, while he yells, “give me the phone! Let me talk to that piece of shit!”
Dima lunges to catch me, wrapping me so tight I can hardly breathe.
Ravil ends the call and watches dispassionately as the guys deliver several well-placed punches and kicks, then he intervenes with the mild order, “Don’t kill him.”
Ravil’s phone starts ringing, but he ignores it. Alex pants, staring up through a rapidly swelling eye as the guys check him for additional weapons, removing a knife and a magazine of bullets from his pockets.
Ravil holds Alex’s gaze and nods at him. “He was lying,” he agrees, like he’s soothing a tantruming child. “He forgets I have a son now myself. I’m not going to kill another man’s progeny just because families aren’t allowed in the bratva.”
Dima hasn’t released me. He kisses the top of my head, his arms like steel bands around me.
Ravil’s phone starts ringing again. He checks it. “It’s your father.” He holds his phone up in front of his face and answers a video call. “Sergei,” he says. “I have your son.” Ravil turns the phone around to show Sergei Alex’s now-bloodied face.
“Alex,” the other man croaks.
Ravil looks at Alex. “You see? He knows you.”
“You’ve made a mess, Sergei. Your son works for the FBI—it’s like the Investigative Committee in Russia. He thought the bratva killed you, so he came after me.”
“Son...” Sergei croaks in Russian. Ravil turns the phone back around and his tune changes, “Ravil, don’t hurt him. Let him go—he doesn’t know. His mother told him I was dead. You know the rules.”
“I know them,” Ravil agrees. “You come here and deal with him, or I will.”
“I will come. Chicago, right? I will come at once. Let my son go.”
“Call me when you get here.” Ravil ends the call without waiting for the other man’s response.
He tucks the phone in his pocket and considers Alex. “You see? Your father is my brother. That makes me your uncle, no? We’re family now.”
Alex leans up on his elbows and spits blood from his mouth. He’s subdued, maybe he’s sorry, it’s hard to tell.
“It’s good. I was hoping for a contact within the FBI.” He glances at Oleg. “Help him to his car.”
Oleg hauls the beaten agent to his feet and deposits him in the driver’s seat of his car.
Ravil walks over and stands in the open door. “We’ll be in touch, nephew.” He smirks when Alex’s face morphs to one of utter dismay as he absorbs the fact that his vendetta led him to being in bed with the bratva he so hated.