“We need to talk.” He glances toward the door. “Is she here?”
“Sleeping. We have time.”
“Good. What I’m about to say isn’t for her ears.”
Alexei stands to pace the small office, running his hands through dark hair that’s a shade lighter than mine.
Where I got our father’s green eyes, he got our mother’s brown ones, though neither of us likes to think about her much.
“The Petrov situation is getting worse,” he says flatly. “They’re running product through our streets like they own them. Andthe other families are watching to see if you’ll stop them, or if you’re too busy playing house.”
“How much product?”
“Enough to matter. And they’re not being subtle about it.”
I lean back in my chair, trying to focus on business when all I want to do is check on Katya. “What do you recommend?”
“Normally? We send a message. Make an example of a few of their street soldiers, remind them why our territory stays our territory.”
“But?”
“But our men are asking why their boss is holed up with some woman instead of handling business.” Alexei stops pacing to fix me with a glare. “They’re questioning your judgment, Dmitri. And when your people question you, other families smell weakness.”
The words sting because he’s right. I’ve been distracted, spending more time thinking about Katya’s recovery than managing the organization that keeps us all alive.
“How bad is it?”
“Bad enough that Semenov asked me if you were still running things or if he should be talking to me now.”
Semenov runs the docks for us, moving more money in a month than most families see in a year. If he’s asking questions about leadership, others are thinking the same thing.
“What did you tell him?”
“That you’d personally break his legs if he asked again.” Alexei resumes pacing. “But that only works for so long. Eventually, you need to show up and remind people why they follow you.”
“I know.”
“Do you? From where I’m sitting, it looks like you’ve forgotten we have a business to run.”
I study my brother’s face, noting the tension around his eyes and the way his shoulders are set.
“The woman is becoming a problem.”
“Katya isn’t a problem.”
“You’ve been here for three weeks, Dmitri. Three weeks of letting business slide while you play nursemaid to someone who tried to destroy us.”
“She has amnesia. She doesn’t remember?—”
“Bullshit.” Alexei stops pacing and leans against the wall. “From what I hear, she’s asking a lot of questions for someone with no memory.”
Before I can respond, I catch movement in the doorway. Katya stands there in jeans and an oversized T-shirt, looking like she just woke up. Her hair is messy, and there’s something soft about her face that makes my chest do stupid things.
There’sa pistol on my desk, half-buried under reports. She picks it up like it belongs to her. Grip firm. Finger clear of the trigger.
My brother notices it. So do I.
That weapon belongs in her hand, and that’s the problem. She’s one memory away from remembering it was meant to kill men like me.
