The Score (The Russian Guns Book 3)

by Bethany-Kris

  “Your father and Nicoli needed help, too, Anton. They didn’t do everything by themselves. You can’t possibly expect to run your guys, keep an eye on your businesses, deal with the public, this trial, and handle the family side of it all alone. It’s a lot, considering you’re needing to do most dealings under the table. It’s no wonder you’re frustrated and snapping out at people. Just ask.”

  “I feel fucking shady. Like a drug dealer on the corner. Having to hide or dance around because all eyes are on me, knowing exactly what I’m doing.”

  “Sucks, I know,” Ivan murmured. “But even when I get you off of this, the eyes are still going to be watching, man. The public, especially.”

  That just disgusted Anton in a way he couldn’t explain.

  “You’re so sure you can win, Ivan.”

  Ivan smiled his cocky grin. The one he’d learned from Anton. “Of course I am. I wasn’t chosen to be your lawyer for nothing. There are so many guys out there looking for Natalie it’s fucking ridiculous. She won’t make it to the courtroom to tell her lies, I promise you that. And if all else fails, we’re just going to feed the mouths cash or threaten our way out of it. The Bratva is nothing if not full of money and bullies. We’re not the first to do it, Anton. You will not spend time in prison for murder. Trust me.”

  Oddly, Anton did. A slight bit of his stress eased away at Ivan’s declaration.

  “I need a backup plan, though,” Anton said quietly, avoiding his friend’s gaze.

  “What kind?”

  “For me, Vine, and Demyan. If all goes to hell in the trial, we don’t find that bitch—”

  “We will.”

  “But if we don’t,” Anton insisted. “I need a guarantee. Something, I don’t care.”

  Ivan drummed his fingers to his knee, resting back to the wall as he contemplated Anton’s words. “Like getting out of this country’s extradition reach, you mean.”

  “Could be one way.”

  “It’d be the only way,” Ivan said. “And you would have to make sure you kept your ass out of trouble because if you lost your bail, you’re back in until the verdict. There’s no chance of getting away, then.”

  Anton swallowed the sinking feeling in his gut. “I’ve done okay so far.”

  “You have, but all they have to do is get wind of the possibility you’re planning to leave the country and you’d be back at Rikers so fast …”

  A shudder crept up Anton’s spine. “I hate that fucking place.”

  Ivan pursed his lips, studying his fingers with interest. “There are men in the Bratva who would consider this a betrayal on your part, also. That’s something you need to consider. You wouldn’t just be running from the law, you’d be running from your family.”

  “I was raised with the same rules and values as those men,” Anton said, knowing it was true. “The only difference from me and them was that Nicoli made it seem like he was repeating Bratva code all the damned time, but I knew what he wasn’t saying, too. He had one child by blood—Vine. He made damned sure when he was gone, I could and would take care of her first no matter what. Family comes first. Love and honor my family above all else. Protect what is mine at all costs. I’m the only one who gets to choose which family I do that for.”

  “So far,” Ivan mused, cocking a brow, “… it’s been the Bratva.”

  “I’ve done everything asked of me for my family.”

  Ivan cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. Anton wasn’t accustomed to seeing that from his friend. He wondered, momentarily, if he had made a mistake in telling Ivan his true feelings about the Bratva and where Anton would draw his line. After all, Ivan was a vor, too.

  “Did Nicoli ever tell you what happened the night he made me?” Ivan asked, his voice a whisper.

  “No. I was seventeen and unmade. I wasn’t allowed to be inside to watch.”

  “I accepted the Vor v Zakone, but I refused to swear allegiance to him, or any other man in that room.”

  Anton’s gaze snapped up like a lightning bolt had swept his insides. Ivan never should have been made if he refused. In fact, he should have been killed for knowing what he did and making it as far as he had, but being unable to finish it. To the Bratva, that was weakness.

  “What?”

  Ivan gave a single nod. “He was looking me right in the eye, and I couldn’t say it. No one else was close enough to hear Nicoli pleading with me to just say it, telling me what he’d have to do if I didn’t. Give me something, Ivan, he’d said. Anything for me to trust you.

  “So I swore to you,” Ivan finished, shocking Anton a little more. “And only you. You were the reason I was still alive as it was. Just this crazy kid I respected in my own way, so confident and cocky. I knew, even with your ridiculousness at the time, you were going to be great one day. You only needed the chance to be. Nicoli knew he was going to have to surround you with people like me so you could make it, Anton.”

  “I know.”

  Anton owed everything he had to the men he was closest to. He never denied that.

  “I know you think he was preparing you for his daughter, but man, he was organizing everybody else for you, too. So whatever you need, I’ll do it. Always.”

  Sometimes, with men, it was better not to acknowledge emotional shit. Other times, it was needed. Anton wasn’t sure which one this fell under. Ivan didn’t give him the chance to figure it out, either.

  “As far as those goddamn reporters you talked about, that’s a pretty simple fix.”

  “How so?”

  “I know Vine doesn’t want bulls at the house anymore, but at least one outside would keep the bastards away and out of eyesight, Anton. She likes Rory, and since he hasn’t had much work to do with keeping an eye on Demyan lately, apparently—you still should have told me about that fucking daycare—there’s no reason why he can’t be here watching after your wife and son. He’ll be happy to, and you know it.”

  “True,” Anton admitted begrudgingly. “I could just scare them off myself.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t. It would only make my job harder.”

  Anton rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever.”

  “I’ll get Erik to put a couple of calls in for some city people,” Ivan continued, not missing a beat. “Fill up their pockets so they’ll shut their mouths for a while and get off your back with the press conferences and slandering. We can’t control everyone, but we can sure as fuck blackmail a few into keeping their opinions to themselves. After all, there’s a reason we have their home numbers.”

  Anton smirked. His lawyer could be a downright bastard when he wanted.

  “I was trying to be clean about it, Ivan.”

  “Sometimes clean doesn’t work. Let’s dirty it up a bit and throw some mud back.”

  A great deal of the frustration and stress Anton had felt earlier was waning. The tension in his body that he’d been attempting to work out with the punching bag seemingly gone with one simple discussion. Damn, he should have done this sooner.

  “Tell Viviana to leave those rags at the store where they belong,” Ivan added with a pointed look.

  “Already did.”

  “And keep going out with your wife, even if they do put you on the cover of every magazine in town. Anton, whether you like it or not, people want to see your face right now. They need to see you doing normal things, not the bullshit they’re hearing about. Take Demyan to the park with Rocco, or Vine to dinner. Don’t let those idiots stop you from living. You can’t stay in this house forever. It makes you look guilty.”

  “I am,” Anton said.

  “But they don’t know that for sure,” Ivan replied just as fast. “What’s left?”

  “Nothing, really.”

  Ivan cocked a brow. “The daycare.”

  Anton’s scowl didn’t affect his friend in the least. “I don’t care about that place. They can take their high society attitudes and their hand-me-down trust fund kids and shove it up their asses.”

  “You
don’t care, but your wife does,” Ivan interrupted. “And it has nothing to do with how she looks to the public, or your son. You know why it pisses Viviana off, Anton.”

  “The private high school she attended expelled her in freshman year because of other girls starting crap revolving around her father,” Anton said, hating to even hear it himself. “The school thought she was a bad influence and a distraction to the other students. Yeah, I know. She loved that school, and they made it hell for a long while until Nicoli and Roman stepped in to stop it all.”

  “This isn’t any different, man, simply a younger version of it. It’s no wonder she doesn’t want to take it again for her own son.” Ivan shrugged, sighing. “Demyan is intelligent. Like crazy smart. Sometimes it freaks people out how well he converses and what he already knows at his age. That kid needs to be challenged. He needs his schedule, his daycare, and he needs to be mentally fulfilled when he gets home at the end of the day so he can shut his brain off.”

  “My kid does not freak people out,” Anton muttered under his breath, offended at the idea. Fuck those people if an intellectually bright child scared them.

  “For some he does. They’re wondering how much he really understands, especially when he’s quiet. Like it or not, that kid is you all over again. Don’t let him be bored and restricted at home because you have a superiority complex. There’s a reason why we need to put our kids in those schools and it has little to do with keeping up with the rich appearance and more because of who we are. Public schools are dangerous for our children. It’s too easy for people to get to them there. Demyan has to be in a private establishment where he can be watched and protected. Swallow your pride and play their games.

  “What is it they want exactly?” Ivan asked.

  “What else? Money, likely.”

  “I’ll get Erik on it Monday.” Ivan stood up, brushing off his pant legs before tossing his hands into his pockets. “We both know you could have handled most of this on your own, so let’s be honest. It’s not that you were worried about how it was affecting you, you’re concerned about it bothering your wife. Vine gets up in arms and you get stressed out. Am I right?”

  Anton made a disgruntled noise. Ivan knew him too well. “Don’t feel too smug, asshole. You’ve had nearly two decades of learning my habits and moods.”

  “And I’ve only seen you with your wife for three of those years,” Ivan quipped. “Regardless, this isn’t what I came over for today. Eva called earlier. They were just stopping for something to eat and then they were going home. Anyway, Gia asked if Demyan could come to our house for the night. Vine didn’t mind, but told Eva to call me to make sure it was cool with you, and I figured it’d be a good time for him to.”

  Anton snorted. “Man, when he’s sixteen instead of nearly three, you’ll be running him out of your house with a gun when your daughter calls on him.”

  “They’re just kids, Anton.”

  “Not for long. You said it, he’s my son through and through, and if Demyan really likes Gia now, how do you think he’ll feel when he’s older?”

  Actually, Demyan’s fondness of the girl was kind of cute, in a kid way. Whenever they were together, he followed Ivan’s youngest daughter around with little interest for anything else. For a toddler, that was quite a feat.

  Ivan’s gaze narrowed. “Quit it. Stop distracting me with future nonsense about my daughters. I don’t have to deal with that for at least another ten years.”

  “Your oldest is twelve. What do you mean ten years? Get a fucking clue.”

  “I hope you have a daughter someday, Anton. Just for that.”

  Deciding he’d antagonized his friend enough, Anton asked, “So why is tonight a good night for you to take my son?”

  Ivan scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, about that … Adrik—”

  “Fuck no,” Anton interjected, throwing his hand up. “No way. I am not messing around with Jersey again. The Belovs are gone, so any and all contacts between our families is done. Leave it that way.”

  “Adrik isn’t a Belov and you know it, man. And, he’s the new boss for Jersey. You haven’t made any effort to—”

  “Why would I?”

  “Stop interrupting me for a goddamn minute, Anton. Listen, he’s only a year younger than you. From the Jersey side of things, he’s garnered a lot of respect for the way he cleaned house in that family.”

  Anton forced himself to hold back his irritation. “Our Bratva doesn’t need to be mixing with Jersey Bratva after everything. Hell, I’m being charged with their old boss’s murder for Christ’s sake. It’s that simple. Leave it alone.”

  “I’m not suggesting you should mix business,” Ivan replied carefully. “However, there very well might be some deals Adrik has that could be of use to us for. Like I said earlier, once this trial is done, you’re going to have to take some steps back into the shadows.”

  Anton’s mind went silent for an entire thirty seconds. “I hope you’re not suggesting I give any fucking control of my brotherhood to someone who is not an Avdonin.”

  “Absolutely not. But, Adrik is looking for something particular, and you will be, too. I think you should sit down with him.”

  “And what does my son staying with you have to do with a sit down with Jersey?” Anton wondered.

  “Well, he wants to have dinner … with you, your wife, and your son.”

  Anton groaned, finally getting the point. “Viviana is in no mood to play the Bratva wife, Ivan. Beyond that, my son has no reason to be a part of it, either.”

  “Trust me on this, man. Good thing you have a child-free night to convince Vine, huh? Thank me later.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Something smells amazing,” Viviana said, dropping her purse to the counter.

  Clarissa beamed from the other side. “Dressed herring and kissel for dessert.”

  Viviana’s stomach growled at the thought. Kissel was a particular Russian dessert soup both her husband and her son loved. Viviana enjoyed it, too. Despite her skills in the kitchen, she couldn’t seem to get the kissel right, though.

  “Are you making those puffy pancake things, too?” Viviana asked.

  “Syrniki, Vine. Yes, once this is all just about finished, I’ll drop them in the fryer and get the garnish ready. What do you want to top them with, jam, honey, or apple sauce?”

  Yeah, the drool was starting to build up in her mouth. Viviana had a certain appreciation for Russian food and if she was asked what she would want for supper, these probably would have been her choices.

  “Demyan loves honey on them,” Viviana said, even though her son was spending the rest of the day and night away from home.

  Clarissa smiled. “So does his father.”

  “Let’s do that, then. You could have called me. I would have come home to help.”

  Clarissa waved the comments off. “I think you needed the day out of this house. You look better, not so tired. Anton will like to see that, I’m sure.”

  “Really? Because I’m exhausted.”

  After a couple of hours at the play park, Eva and Viviana took the kids to a pizza place to eat. After handing Demyan over, Viviana ran a couple of errands that lasted until one in the afternoon. Then, she found herself standing in front of her bookstore. It still made her heart ache.

  “Sometimes being exhausted is a good thing,” Clarissa murmured, studiously watching her hands in the dough. “It shows you’ve allowed your mind and body to feel, which means you’re healing.”

  Viviana felt like they were talking about something else, now. Nearly a month and a half after her miscarriage, she figured her mind and body had felt enough. She decided to change the subject. “How old were you when you began working for Nicoli?”

  Clarissa’s kneading of the dough stopped long enough for her to look up. “I didn’t begin working for him, exactly. I simply changed hands—from one man, to another. It was after, when I knew he didn’t want to hurt or use me, that I began working for him
of my own free will.”

  “Oh,” Viviana said quietly. “But, how old?”

  “Thirty-eight.”

  Nicoli died in when he was only sixty-one. “Anton says you two were close.”

  Something unknown flashed in the maid’s eyes. “What else does he say?”

  “Nothing.”

  Viviana’s husband left Nicoli’s private life, especially where women were concerned, locked up tight. What Viviana knew for sure was that her biological father had only one woman he married, to help her and her son leave an abusive marriage and because he grew to care for her, but she died while Anton’s mother was still pregnant for him. A year or so later, Nicoli met Viviana’s mother, Christina. Their relationship was a onetime thing, leading Viviana to believe he probably had more of those.

  As far as Clarissa and Nicoli were concerned, that was somewhat of a mystery. Clarissa had not been a free woman, of that Viviana knew for sure. She was also aware her friend and confidant had been treated badly, hurt, and abused before she came to Nicoli’s home. Clarissa didn’t talk about it, and Viviana didn’t push her to.

  “I have his journals and things, but they felt clinical …” Viviana trailed off with a shrug.

  “And you’ve never really gotten a glimpse inside his head or heart,” Clarissa finished for her.

  “No, I suppose not. Was he a nice man?”

  “Very. I would say tender, actually, but Nicoli is probably cursing me from the heavens. But, he was also tough. He watched a great deal more than he talked, and some found that unsettling.”

  Viviana found herself leaning on the counter, attention captured. “Really?”

  Clarissa nodded, a small smile forming. “He wasn’t a loud man, despite his size. Nicoli liked to command, to be in control. He was very regal even at his dirtiest times. Sometimes it was all too easy to forget he was a Russian mob boss and not just a charming, dangerous man.”

  “Reminds me of someone else.”

  “Doesn’t it?” Clarissa asked, her smile turning into a conspiratorial grin. “I began living with Nicoli when Anton was about ten. Already he was a handful, looking for trouble in corners. The home they lived in was sectioned off into two homes. Nicoli had the smaller bottom section of the house, and they had the top. That boy spent more time downstairs than he did upstairs.”