Page 74 of Twisted Prince
“You’re right, Gleb. He’s perfect. Welcome aboard, Sascha.”
We all rise as they shake hands one more time, and I walk my brother to the door of Pyotr’s office.
“Meet you back at my place?” I offer him my key, and he takes it with a single nod. “We’ll hammer out the details tonight.”
“Looking forward to it.” Sascha flashes me a cheeky grin and slips through the door without a sound.
Turning back to my pakhan, I sink into my chair once more, my posture settling into a more familiar, relaxed position now that business is finished. I knew Pyotr would be satisfied with Sascha as our spy. My brother is sharp, perceptive, and has an unwaveringly steady hand.
“You’re confident he’ll stay loyal?” Pyotr asks, his gaze level as he searches my face.
“He’s got a dry sense of humor, but I assure you, he won’t side with the Zhivoder when he sees what they are. And he’s like a dog with a bone, once you give him a mission. He won’t leave us hanging.”
Pyotr nods thoughtfully, reading the subtext—it’s not necessarily about loyalty with Sascha.
My brother lives by his own code. And while yes, I trust him to be loyal to me because of our shared history, that’s not what will motivate him.
What’s going to drive Sascha toward the same goal as the Veles is that he loathes men like Mikhail—men who earn their lives of luxury and comfort through the subjugation and suffering of others. Plain and simple.
For Sascha, that shit’s personal.
It is for me, too, I suppose.
I’m sure Sascha will see plenty of other shit he won’t agree with while working for Mikhail. But he can be impressively cold-blooded when it’s a means to an end. It’s why he’s made a good secret weapon for the Kellys—and now he will for us.
He’ll endure the unsavory stuff to ensure that, by the time he’s done with them, the Zhivoder will never sell another soul.
“If you’re that confident in your brother taking this role, then what’s got you out of sorts?” Pyotr asks, cutting through the silence.
His gray eyes search me with an intelligence that’s served him well since taking over the Veles at a young age. He rarely drops that severe role as pakhan, even for me. He saves his softer side for his wife, Silvia, and their two children.
But every now and again, he sets that aside to delve into my state of mind—usually when I’m in as much emotional chaos as I have been since leaving Boston. And try as I might to hide my struggles, I must be wearing it on my face—a mistake I’m growing more prone to the longer I’m exposed to the heart and soul behind the Veles.
Shaking my head, I lean forward, planting my elbows on my knees and interlacing my fingers to trap my temples between my thumbs. “Is it that obvious?”
Pyotr shrugs. “I’ve known you long enough to see when something’s on your mind. And it’s clearly not Sascha.”
“I saw Mel. In Boston,” I state flatly, dropping my hands to look him full in the face now.
Pyotr releases a low whistle. “How is she?”
“Fuck if I should know. She’s working at a burlesque lounge owned by the Irish mafia that all but owns Boston.”
Pyotr stays silent, seeming to detect the bitterness in my tone. Try as I might, I couldn’t say it without the pain seeping through.
“Seems she’s more drawn to the lifestyle and not so much to me,” I add caustically.
“I’m sorry to hear that, brother,” he murmurs, his eyebrow buckling into a deep frown.
I shrug. “It is what it is. She’s got a little girl—cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen…” I swallow hard, thinking about Gabby, the way she pressed her forehead to mine, like she might breathe in my very soul through the exchange. I shake my head to rid myself of the emotion-inducing memory. “And Mel’s soon to be married to Boss Kelly’s cousin.”
Pyotr looks struck by that revelation. “I don’t know why, but I never pictured her doing any of that. Maybe becoming a mom someday. She was so young, though, when we took her in. I figured a modeling career, independence, then maybe a normal life with… I don’t know, a different husband?” He doesn’t expound on the statement, but his eyes hold a level of pity that almost feels like it’s directed my way.
It grates.
“Yeah, well. I think what bugs me most is that she ended up in Boston. With the Kellys of all fucking people.”
“Your old stomping grounds,” Pyotr observes.
