Nikolai
“Are you sure you saw him?”Boris follows behind me a few steps.
It’s late afternoon, and the sun beats down hard on New York today.
“I know what I saw.” And my chest is still heavy with anger. Never would I have thought betrayal to come from so close.
“Have you talked to your dad yet?” Boris hurries up the steps of the warehouse behind me. Yogi is already inside, keeping the bastard company.
“No. I want to hear what he has to say first. Then I’ll talk to him.” I cut down the path toward the offices in the back. I’m not making a move on the son of a bitch until I get the okay from my father, so we don’t need the downstairs rooms.
Yet.
I throw open the door to the office. Yosif sits at the desk drinking a beer with Yogi standing off to the side with a wide grin on his face. Yosif is comfortable, relaxed, and I’m sure I’ve just walked in on a friendly conversation.
Which would make sense since Yosif has been a welcomed member to my family since he was born. He has no reason to suspect that I would draw my gun on him and put a bullet between his eyes right where he sits.
“Nikolai!” He stands up from the seat with both arms extended for an embrace. I ignore the gesture and walk to the corner of the office.
“Yosif.” I lean my shoulder against the wall. Boris shuts the door.
Yosif drops his arms and looks at Boris and Yogi. The color slowly creeps from his cheeks. “What’s wrong, Nikolai? I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
I nod. “It’s been a while, Yosif,” I agree. “But I did see you, last night at Anya’s birthday party.”
His gaze flickers between us. “I was there for only a minute to wish my cousin a happy birthday.”
“Ah.” I fold my arms over my chest. “Had work last night?”
His throat constricts as he swallows. “I had some stuff to do. You know how it is.” He smiles and laughs a little. A nervous chuckle.
“I didn’t see your mother there.” She’s Ivan’s sister; she should have been at the party.
“She’s been sick.” Yosif stands straighter, his expression hardens. “Stage four cancer. Her lungs.”
I hadn’t heard. But Ivan doesn’t keep us apprised of his extended family.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Your uncle didn’t mention.”
“No.” His fingers curl. “He doesn’t like to talk about it.”
“I’m sure.” My mother’s battle with her illness before she passed away was difficult for my father to watch. He rarely spoke of it to anyone outside our family. At the time I thought him a coldhearted son of a bitch who didn’t love my mother. I was angry at him for so long, for not being the man she deserved. Until I found him in his office one morning, sobbing openly while clutching her photograph to his chest. He didn’t know I was there, and I’ve never mentioned it to him.
I wonder if it’s the same for Ivan. To love his family so deeply but too bound by pride to let others see it.
“Treatments are expensive,” I comment.
“They are,” he nods. “But we’re managing.”
“How’s that?” I ask, pushing off the wall. “Is Ivan helping?” Ivan can afford it, but he’s not known for his generosity with his family. Not like my father.
“He’s done what he can.”
I step toward him. “But not much?”
“He’s done what he can,” he repeats. He looks at Yogi. “Why am I here? Yogi said you wanted to see me, made it sound like a social visit. But I’m not getting that vibe.”
“No?” I push my jacket out of the way and hook my hands on my hips. His attention swings to the gun strapped to my hip.