Aleksandr wasn't the kind of man to be threatened easily. Peter Church was no real match for our organization and we both knew it. What other darkness lay waiting to drag us to hell?
"Out with it, Father. I'm tired of your grandstanding. If there is something that I need to know, then for God's sake, tell me." Placing both hands on the desk, I leaned over. "If I am heir apparent then you must tell me what you're so damn terrified of. There are already bodies on the street and I can see the writing on the wall, Father. They're going to try and pin this shit on our family. Our organization. You know that can't happen. So what in the fuck are you petrified of?"
He reared back, laughing. "I am never terrified, Aleksei. You know that by now. I am a businessman."
I was tired of the games, no matter if my father was involved. "You need to have a long chat with your friend, Father."
"I have no friends."
"Trent Willowby. It is my opinion that he knows more than he's letting on."
My father's eyes opened wide, which meant he'd had the same concerns. "Don't worry about Mr. Willowby. He owes me a great deal."
"Yeah? Well, he seems to be lording his position over everyone," I barked.
The tension between us was palpable.
"What kind of warning did you receive?" I attempted to keep my tone even.
He seemed more and more uncomfortable, edgy in a manner I wasn't used to. When he walked to the window behind me, I allowed him the respect of remaining quiet.
"I never wanted to come to America. Did you know that?"
I eased back, surprised at his admittance. "From what I remember, you seemed eager to get out of the old country."
"That was your mother. She was insistent that we accept the terms of the deal. She wanted you to have a better life, a chance at happiness, something that we didn't have."
I wasn't certain I liked the word 'deal.' "I thought you were both very happy."
He shook his head as he palmed the glass, his face sagging. "Your mother lived in fear every day. From the gangs and the other Bratva families; the streets were paved in blood. It was only a matter of time before I didn't come home one night. She wanted her son to have a father."
"The life here is much better," I offered.
"Yes, only there was a price to pay for freedom."
A price? I was beginning to understand the implication. "Your performance was tied to whether or not you were allowed to stay."
"Yes."
"This isn't Russia, Father. No one can force you to leave. There is no chance of any member of another Bratva taking over."
He turned his head, sadness in his eyes. "That's where you're wrong, son. The Solntsevskaya Bratva are the most powerful in the world. Their leader today fashions himself to be a czar, a god of men. They have soldiers everywhere, in every city. Sadly, they control more of the streets than you understand."
"I wasn't told this why?" I demanded, my hackles raised.
"Because your mother and I wanted to protect you. Things have been going well, better every year. Our percentages have never given the Russian czar any reason to question our loyalty."
I moved closer, leaning against the window. "But if they catch wind of Peter Church muscling in, they're inclined to take over." That was one scenario.
"More or less," he half whispered.
"What happens then?"
"Then we are simply removed and replaced; however, there will be no return to the mother country."
Death. No wonder my father was somewhat irrational. What I did know about the native Russians was that they would use anyone in any method to get what they wanted. Perhaps they'd already gotten to the good mayor. I had a feeling there was much more going on.
"I won't allow that to happen. I have a life here, one that I've worked hard to build and maintain. I have... family. You're not telling me everything, are you?"
Turning, he patted me on the shoulder before walking around the desk and heading for the door, stopping after a few feet. "You are very wise, my son. Do what you can, but make no mistake, Peter Church is more dangerous than you understand. He's also well connected, an original descendant of the most powerful family on Earth."
The news was stunning.
Solntsevskaya.
I stood in the same place for a full minute after my father left. Peter was Russian. The entire game of blackjack just changed significantly and unfortunately, Peter held all the kings and aces. I pulled the gun from my desk drawer, checking the ammunition before sliding it under my waistband behind my back. I had to be careful.
I walked into the bedroom, prepared to make certain Willow followed orders. Every plan had to be expedited and handled very carefully. I also knew what the girl was hiding, the truth about her heritage. There was a very good possibility that she'd played me the entire time, realizing that if she could get close to me, she'd learn the plan I put into place, thereby notifying her brother.
That wasn't going to happen.
Not now.
Not ever.
As I was prepared to confront her, my intentions were thwarted just by seeing her lovely sleeping figure. She lay partially on her side, her long locks fanned out on the pillow. The sheet had fallen, exposing her breast, her rosy nipple succulent and inviting. For a brief few seconds, all I wanted to do was crawl back in bed, spending the day enraptured by her beauty.