He was trapped.
Sergei stood, raising his voice to be heard over the din. “Dimitri’s last words were to our Ivan here!” he bellowed, and the men silenced immediately. “His Vanya. How proud he was of him. He’d been preparing for Ivan to take over for a long time now, hm? It happened a little sooner than expected, but—” He shrugged a shoulder. “—such is life.” He raised his glass. “To Dimitri Kozlov and his son Ivan.”
“Dimitri,” everyone repeated. “And Ivan.”
Sergei shot Ivan a wink, and Ivan nodded in return, complicit in the lie.
His father’s last words had been nothing of the sort, of course. He hadn’t had a chance to say anything profound—he’d died too quickly. And never once had he said he was proud of Ivan. He’d probably rather have bitten off his own tongue than let such praise leave his lips.
Still, Sergei had given him an endorsement, no matter how false.
Ivan tried to think of his last conversation with his father that hadn’t been about business logistics.
It had been a week or so before his death, he was pretty sure. Hisfather had just executed someone he’d suspected of sharing information with another family. He’d been cleaning his gun, Ivan standing at the ready next to him, waiting for the cleanup crew.
“Vanya,” his father had said. “You know how I knew it was him?”
Ivan could have hazarded a guess, but it was always better with his father to admit ignorance than pretend knowledge. “No, I don’t.”
“His wife. She was sick. Very sick. Medical bills, you know?” his father had explained, tucking his weapon away. “He’s always been loyal to her. He needed the money, and it made him stupid.” He had stepped closer, catching Ivan’s eye. “What’s to be learned from him?”
Ivan had glanced at the body at his feet, then back to his father. “You never betray the real family. Our family.”
“No, Vanya.” His father’s hand had whipped out, gripping Ivan’s chin hard enough to hurt. “It’s that love makes you stupid. Makes you weak. And then someone smarter and stronger puts a bullet in your brain.”
Ivan had nodded as best he could within the tight grip. His father had grinned suddenly and dropped his painful hold. “But he doesn’t have to worry about his wife anymore, hm?”
“Because he’s dead,” Ivan had said dully.
“Because Sergei is on his way to their house.” His father’s grin had sharpened. “No more medical bills.”
A beautiful lesson from father to son.
Now Ivan took a swig of his vodka after all. He supposed he could have made that sage advice into a toast, but it didn’t seem like it would have had the same effect as Sergei’s lies, did it?
And what did it matter anyway? His father was dead.
His words could die with him.
Ivan hung up the phone,cursing.
Jace had lost Sergei. Or at least, the useless fool thought hehad. It was possible Sergei was holed up in his apartment, but if that was the case, he’d been in there since before the assassination attempt on Ivan.
It was unlikely, to say the least.
Jace hadn’t heard any word on whether Sergei was attempting to make deals with any other family, and Ivan couldn’t get a hold of Cooper to find out if he’d been able to track anything pertinent electronically.
The silence from Cooper was…concerning.
“Problem?” Nix asked from his spot on the porch’s Adirondack chair, his legs slung carelessly over the side.
Sascha had informed them he had a “no Mafia business in the house” rule, one that was obviously made up solely to piss Ivan off, but Kai had seemed only too willing to enforce it, so Ivan and Nix had removed themselves to the front porch for Ivan’s call.
Nix was wearing what he must have considered some sort of vacation wear. His propensity for sheer or silken shirts had been replaced by some knit thing. It was too thin for the weather, but then Sascha had been right—demons ran hot. It also had a loose enough collar that it kept slipping over Nix’s shoulders, leaving the skin bare.
It was no doubt meant to entice.
It was working.
