CHAPTER 26
Gavril
I was fucking furious underneath my cool facade. I knew I couldn’t kill the little man before me, but I wanted to snap his fucking neck for even coming to my house and attempting to garner information.
He looked over at Naomi once more before tucking the paper back into the folder he had been carrying. “Well, I will bid you all a good night.”
“I will walk you out,” I told him.
He nodded and I walked him to the door, ensuring that he got back into the car he had come in before shutting it firmly behind him.
Fuck.
My mother was waiting in the receiving room when I made my way back, along with a pale-faced Naomi.
“Bed,” she commanded my wife. “I need a word with my son.”
A word. She wanted a word?
She was going to get a fucking word from me. I walked over to Naomi, took her hands, and found them trembling.
“Go on,” I told her softly, pressing my lips to her forehead. “I will be there soon.”
There was a flash of fear in her eyes, and I realized that it was fear for me. She was afraid for me. “It’s fine,” I added. “I’ll be fine.”
“All right,” she said a moment later. “I will be waiting.”
I waited until Naomi had left the room before pulling the door shut and turning to face my mother.
“Talk.”
She let out a hard laugh. “What are you thinking, Gavril?”
“Naomi Spencer is the name she uses in America,” I lied smoothly, crossing my arms over my chest. “To keep others from knowing her true identity.” It was the best I could come up with, but I wasn’t about to tell her the truth.
My mother just shook her head. “An American whore has my son by the balls.”
“That is my wife you are talking about. The mother of your grandchildren,” I growled. “Watch what you say.”
She marched up to me and before I could stop her, I felt the sting of her slap across my face.
“You ungrateful whelp!” she said bitterly. “Have you forgotten what I have done to put you where you are?”
“Could I ever forget?” I shot back. “You seem so fond of reminding me every time you see me, Maria Afanasyevna.”
She took a deep breath, and her eyes brimmed with anger.
“The mother of my grandchildren,” she spat. “Is that what you want, Gavril? To play house with your whore?”
“I will warn you one last time,” I growled. “Do not call her that!”
“You dare tell me what to do? You dare to talk back to me?”
I drew to my full height, glaring at my mother. “I’ve let you run things far too long. Perhaps it’s time that I correct that.”
Her eyes widened. But this time, when her hand came for my face, I caught it swiftly and held her wrist in midair.
“Stop it!” I was tired of her hitting me, tired of her thinking that I was the scared little boy that would do her bidding whenever she commanded. I wasn’t scared of her, not anymore.
“I’m the Pakhan,” I continued, squeezing her wrist just enough for her to wince. “I’m the head of the Belaya Bratva, not you! And you will respect my position, or you will not be part of it.”
“Is that true?” she asked defiantly, her eyes hard. “A Pakhan is cold and ruthless. A Pakhan bows to no one, yet all I see before me is a dog lapping between the legs of his whore.”
I dropped her wrist and she stepped back, rubbing the reddened area. She’d called my bluff. I’d warned her, she’d tested the warning, and I had ultimately done nothing.
“If you truly want to be the Pakhan,” she stated, her mouth twisting. “Then you need to start showing me.”
“I don’t have to prove anything to you!” I shot back. I never should have brought Naomi with me. I should have kept her in LA.
She let out a hollow laugh. “You have to prove everything to me, my little Gavrushka. Everything. Everything I’ve given you, I can take away in the same breath.”
“Then do it.” I stepped forward. “But don’t you threaten me again. You will stay the hell away from my wife. You will treat her with the respect she deserves!”
“Deserves?” My mother met my gaze and stepped forward. “What does she deserve? The house of your father? The fruits of our labors? Our family name? What has she done to earn any of those things?”
“The same things that you have!” I roared.
Silence descended, and instantly, I knew I’d crossed a line. My mother’s posture slackened, her jaw dropped in disbelief, and tears welled up in her eyes. For the first time in my life, I realized just how tiny and frail she was. Suddenly every crease and line on her face stood out in stark detail. Every strand of white hair became visible. In a moment, she had aged decades before my eyes. And I felt my heart ache, knowing that I had hurt her in a way that no man ever had.
“Leave,” she closed her eyes and whispered.
“Mother.”
“I said.” Her voice was calm and soft, but her bottom lip trembled as she spoke. “Leave.”
Obedient, I turned with my hands balled into fists and walked away. Before I shut the door, she spoke again.
“Go to your whore,” she sniffed. “Go to your whore and ask her why the embassy came to our home. She is keeping secrets from you.”
I turned and walked out of the room, clenching my hands into fists as I stalked down the hallway lit by the deathless sun that hung low over the Neva.
***
Naomi was waiting in the living room when I entered my apartment, shutting the door behind me with a soft click. “I thought I told you to go to bed,” I said roughly as I ripped off the bowtie from around my neck, throwing it into the chair.
She rose from the sofa. “What happened?”