Page 26 of Twisted Prince
Pyotr nods. “Find him, Gleb. This bastard’s responsible for Efrem’s death. I want him to suffer for all the men he’s betrayed, all the good men who have died because of him.”
“I won’t stop until I find him,” I assure my pakhan.
“Good.” His eyes shift to his watch as he cocks his wrist. “Time for our war council,” he says dryly.
I’d hardly call it a war at this point when we’re so short on men we can barely afford to protect our remaining establishments. Right now, we need a plan of action that will simply keep us afloat.
Rising from our chairs, we head out the door and down the hall to the meeting room. There, Pyotr’s most trusted advisors are already waiting. The Matron, former head of the Veles Bratva and Pyotr’s mother, is one of the sharpest women I’ve ever met. She’s the reason Pyotr’s as good at strategizing as he is, and I’ve never known someone with such ice-cold convictions.
Yuri Pachenko, CFO of Veles Transportation Inc.—one of the companies that serve as a cover for the true Veles business—manages the finances of their empire. And he’s about as far from the Matron as a person can get. Ever nervous and constantly sweating in the commanding woman’s presence, he looks a bit like a weasel. But he’s smart with numbers and has a good head on his shoulders.
“Pyotr,” the Matron says as they both rise when we enter. She steps around the table to grasp her son’s shoulders, and he stiffens.
I don’t know the history behind their relationship, but I’m well aware that Pyotr and his mother butt heads more often than they agree. She won’t be thrilled about the results of our attempt to overthrow Mikhail. I think she might want the head of the Zhivoder clan dead more than any of us. And that’s saying something.
“I’m glad to see you both made it back alive,” she says, her sharp gray eyes—much like her son’s—unusually soft as she inspects us both.
“Thanks to Efrem,” Pyotr states, his tone bitter. “But then, he wasn’t lucky enough to make it home. Or didn’t you know?”
The Matron pales visibly, her hands dropping from her son’s shoulders.
Silence permeates the room as no one moves. It’s no secret that the conflict between the Zhivoder and the Veles began with the Matron. And in many ways, it has ruled Pyotr’s fate. I don’t doubt he resents her for it. And he clearly holds her responsible, at least in some small part, for the death of one of his closest servants—a man he thought of as a brother.
Back stiff, the Matron ends the standoff by returning to her chair, and we all settle in for a long and painful tactical meeting.
“So, shall we discuss how we’re going to get out of this shitstorm now?” Pyotr offers.
11
MEL
“Mel, have you seen my—” Annie stops in my doorway with a stunned look on her face. “What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving,” I state flatly, folding my clothes and tucking them into my duffle bag.
“You can’t go now,” she insists, her question forgotten as she enters my room. “You heard Gleb. It’s too dangerous.” Annie throws the flap of my duffle closed, forcing me to pause my packing.
“You can’t stop me,” I snap, bristling as I brush past her to keep packing.
I know my anger is misplaced, and I can see it in the fear and hurt that flashes across her features. Annie’s been nothing but kind to me. She’s just trying to show me she cares. But after my argument with Gleb this morning, I’m overly defensive and wound too tight to be reasonable.
“Why, Mel? We’re safe here. Besides, where else would you go?” Annie’s small voice and trembling chin awaken a sliver of guilt in my chest.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Somewhere far away. I’ll figure it out as I go, but I can’t stay here.”
“Why?” she presses, sinking onto the bed and grasping my hands to pull me down beside her.
Sighing, I drop my head, staring down at our linked hands. “Because I can see the warning signs, Annie. It’s time for me to go, before it’s too late.”
“What warning signs? Too late for what? You’re speaking in riddles, Mel. Will you please take a minute and talk to me?”
“I mean the signs about Gleb. I thought he might be different, but he’s just like the rest of them.”
“Did something happen between you two?” she asks, paling slightly as her brown eyes widen.
“Yeah,” I murmur, around the knot that’s been strangling me since Gleb left this morning.
“But he’s always been so careful with you—with all of us. I can’t believe he would… He hurt you?” Anxiety makes her voice climb an octave, and I glance toward the door, hoping it doesn’t draw the other girls’ attention.
