The Sokolov Brothers: The Complete Series
Page 4
“Yes. We just got some new information, and I wanted to tell you as soon as it was confirmed.”
“I am listening. Do not try to spare me; just spit it out.” Viktor’s voice had hardened, and he leaned forward toward Roman. The man was his driver, yes, but also Viktor’s best friend and confidant. He trusted and valued Roman, and knew that whatever the man had to say now, it must be difficult, given his hesitation.
Roman licked his lips and exhaled in preparation. “I heard back from intelligence. There is no question that Boris’s death was poisoning. Foul play, which you already suspected, but… the person who stood to gain the most from his death was Sergei Volkin.” Roman allowed his message to sink in while he took another sip of vodka.
Victor felt lead and ice running through his veins. He stared at Roman, disbelieving. “Alexandra’s father?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. Certain.” Roman’s lips pursed for a moment, an almost apologetic expression on his face. “Apparently Sergei’s business and wealth have been in steady decline for a while now, and he was keeping up the charade of success. Your father had been keeping him afloat financially in secret. We discovered the records hidden away and it became clear: of all possible suspects, Sergei had the most to gain from Boris’s death.”
Viktor’s mind connected the dots. If Boris’s dealings with Sergei had been kept a secret, then Sergei’s debts would have vanished upon his death.
“How much?” Viktor asked coolly. He took a bitter swallow of vodka, grateful his friend had poured it. “How much did my father give him?”
“Hundreds of thousands of dollars.” Roman shifted his weight in his chair. “Bookkeeping and our intelligence are still recovering the records, so it could be more, but right now we estimate the loans to be in the hundreds of thousands.”
Viktor had nearly choked on his vodka at the revelation, and took a moment to clear his voice. That was a lot of money to lend to someone. “There’s no chance of forgery? You said the documents were hidden—is there any chance they are fakes, to throw us off someone else’s trail?”
“No,” Roman said gravely. “Everything is in your father’s own handwriting, and bookkeeping has confirmed the money.”
Viktor scowled into his glass. The breakfast digesting in his stomach soured, and he clenched his jaw.
“And my wife?” he asked slowly. “Is she involved?”
“The marriage is legitimate, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
But there was something hidden in Roman’s voice—Viktor could hear it. He bared his teeth and resisted the urge to punch something, but he respected his friend too much.
Roman continued talking after another moment had passed. “But…” he began, “they also found documents that passed between Sergei and Boris, and it seems Alexandra was supposed to marry Boris to alleviate some of the Volkin family debt. A sort of partial pay-off.”
Viktor sat and stared, unmoving, unwavering. Anger and pain crashed down upon him in great rolling waves, threatening to carry him off.
This morning, his conversation with Alexandra over breakfast had seemed genuine, real, but Viktor doubted that Sergei’s plan to take out Boris and Alexandra marrying into the family were unrelated matters. She had to know something, and had to be in on it somehow. There had to be a reason she’d still married into his family, married him, and he imagined it had to be connected to that money.
Rage boiled up from deep within. She had trapped him, infiltrated his family, while her father had murdered his own. How could he have fallen for this?
Viktor’s mind raced. More importantly, why had he stepped up and married Alexandra in the first place? It had seemed like a good idea at the time, had made sense for him to take his father’s place to keep the family and the mafia held together in the wake of Boris’s loss, but now he felt like a damn fool.
And, last night, he had consummated their marriage. Memories of her lithe body and soft skin rose to the surface of his memory, but Viktor didn’t allow himself to be moved by the images in his mind. Instead, he reminded himself how naïve and innocent she seemed.
It should be easy to entrap her into confessing her father’s guilt, Viktor thought. She was young and probably didn’t realize Viktor knew anything of what had transpired between their fathers. He could catch her off-guard and make her confess.
He drank deeply from his vodka and looked over to Roman. “Thank you for telling me in person,” Viktor finally said.
Roman nodded slowly, grimly. “I don’t know what to say, Viktor, other than I’m sorry. And even that doesn’t seem to cut it.” The pain in Roman’s voice was genuine, but nothing could be changed about what had happened.
“To vengeance!” Viktor snarled, and clinked his glass against Roman’s. They finished their drinks in silence. Then, Roman disappeared down the hallway and left Viktor to his thoughts.
Sitting alone in the meeting room reminded him of the previous night, and how his new wife had come to him. He shifted his weight uncomfortably in the chair, allowing his anger to cool to manageable levels, and wondered…
Could he kill his wife’s father?
Could he kill his wife, if it came to that?
7
Alexandra
Alexandra finished her food while she admired the garden through the window. The sky had grown bright and started to warm the room, so much so that the feeling of sunlight against her skin had begun melting away her disappointment at how quickly Viktor had left.
Last night, she had started out trying to win him over with seduction, but after a few minutes it had become clear that Viktor would be the one to ultimately seduce her. His lovemaking, combined with how he seemed to be opening up to her this morning over breakfast, made Alexandra think that maybe she was starting to win him over after all, even if her planned seduction had been reversed. He’d seemed much more relaxed, much friendlier, and easier to talk to this morning than he had been all day yesterday.
But Alexandra’s hopes were suddenly shattered when she saw Viktor return to the dining room with a visible pulse throbbing against the veins in his neck. He was tensed, and his face had tightened into a deep, angry scowl. He closed the door behind him, closed the curtains, and returned to his side of the table opposite her. Rather than sit, he remained standing and leaned against his chair.
“Is everything okay?” Alexandra asked. All the hope she had felt moments ago fled and left uncertainty in its place. The expression on Viktor’s face was almost murderous.
“Do you know what I just learned, Alexandra?” His voice was low and threatening. Alexandra shook her head slowly and swallowed down a confused lump. They had been joking and talking over breakfast one minute, and now he looked enraged and terrifying. Which was the real Viktor?
“I just learned that your father Sergei owed my father quite a lot of money.”
“What?” she asked with genuine surprise and confusion. “That doesn’t make any sense. My father is a successful businessman—he grew his company from the ground up, and makes plenty of sales.”
Viktor shook his head from side to side slowly. “No. You can stop the act now, dear,” he said, spitting the endearment out like it was made of poison, “because my men have just discovered that your father Sergei owed my father hundreds of thousands of dollars, and that he likely believed that killing him would end the debt.”
Alexandra’s expression turned from shock to horror. There was no way her family could ever repay a debt of the amount Viktor was speaking of. How hadn’t she known about this before? And how could Viktor think her father might have been involved in his friend’s death, for any reason?
“No,” she insisted again, staring up at her new husband. “There is absolutely no way. My father is a good man, an honorable man, and Boris was his friend.”
Her conviction didn’t seem to sway him. Viktor fixed her in a hardened stare.
“I’m not acting, Viktor,” Alexandra co
ntinued. Her voice wavered with emotion. “I had no idea that my father was borrowing money—hook me up to a lie detector, if you don’t believe me—but I do know my father is not a murderer.”
Viktor’s brow furrowed more deeply, his scowl twisted downward, and he crossed his arms over his chest.
“You don’t believe me,” Alexandra realized aloud. “But you have to believe me, Viktor! Why would I have promised to marry your father if my family was going to kill him? My father promised me to Boris, and I was ready to marry him—and beyond that, why would he kill someone who was his friend?”
It looked as though she might have finally broken through to him as his eyes fell and he grew silent, but after a pause, he shook his head and his expression hardened further.
“My father is not a murderer!” Alexandra wailed, her frustration boiling over. She stood and matched his posture, crossing her arms over her chest. “He is innocent, and I will prove it!” She believed without a shadow of a doubt, knew in the core of her soul, that her father could not have possibly been involved in Boris’s death. It was impossible.
“Oh, and how is that?” Viktor tilted his head in question. “You are my enemy now, Alexandra. You and everyone in your family is an enemy. Whatever plot Sergei cooked up was foolish.” He approached her slowly, like a stalking predator, and continued speaking.
“Your family didn’t think this through. Yes, you are my wife, but now?” A faint, cruel smile broke his lips. “Now you are also my prisoner.”
Viktor’s words made the bottom drop out of Alexandra’s stomach. “You can’t hold me hostage,” she said. Her voice came out with resolve. “You can’t do this.”
“Oh, but I can.” Viktor looked over his shoulder at the doorway and shouted, “Roman! Please escort Alexandra back to the bedroom, and make sure she stays there.” Viktor had spoken her name as though it were a curse.
She’d stepped away from the table and started toward the door when the driver from yesterday—Roman—came around the corner. He stood there, hands behind his back, and gave Alexandra an almost sympathetic look.
Viktor’s attention turned back to Alexandra. “Don’t get any ideas,” he told her.
“But…” Alexandra’s voice dropped. Even if she wanted to run, she had seen the amount of guards in the house, the fence outside. There was nowhere to go. And so she made no move to run or resist as Roman stood expectantly at her side.
But she glared back at Viktor, refusing to be bullied by him—even though he was frightening her.
“I can prove my father is innocent,” she said. “I will prove he’s innocent!” Her voice had been pitched to a shout, but she couldn’t help that; this situation was insane.
“Upstairs. Go.” Viktor appeared unfazed by her proclamation, and only pointed toward the hall. Alexandra begrudgingly followed Roman out of the dining room, down the hall, and upstairs to the bedroom.
The bedroom she had made passionate love in the night before, she remembered. Seeing it, she relived how Viktor had gone from cold to hot, and back to cold. She didn’t understand him.
Roman closed the door on her, leaving her stranded alone in the room. She leaned back against the bedroom wall and slid slowly down against it to crouch on the floor. She ran her fingers back through her hair and considered her options.
Her family was Russian, and large, and well-connected, but she herself had no ties to the mafia other than Viktor, and he didn’t seem to be particularly willing to help right now. She had vague memories of different men in suits occasionally showing up at her house, but she had never paid much attention to her father’s dealings. There would be no way to contact them. She didn’t even know their names, and any protest her father made about his own innocence would be ignored, she had no doubt.
How could she prove her father’s innocence? She continued to turn the question over in her head. She needed to change Viktor’s mind, to make him see that her father was truly a good man. She was certain that if she could just get Viktor to listen, get him to sit down and talk with her father before deciding to act, it would be obvious her father couldn’t have had anything to do with Boris’s death.
But who could she get in touch with? Who did she know who would be respectable enough for Viktor to believe in? Suddenly, she remembered Uncle Tolya. He was only a real-estate investor, but Alexandra seemed to remember him being well-connected. Still, she didn’t know Uncle Tolya well, and didn’t have his number, so she instead decided it would be best for her to first get in contact with his daughter—and her best friend—Elena.
Yes. She’d talk to Elena. Then talk to Uncle Tolya. Then clear her father’s name. Alexandra ran through a mental checklist.
She stood up and faced the door. “Roman!” Alexandra shouted up against the door. “Are you still out there?”
There was a painfully long stretch of silence. Then, the sound of someone moving.
“Yes.”
“Do you remember what you said to me yesterday? To let you know if I ever needed anything?”
More silence. Then, an answer. “Those weren’t my exact words. But, I’m listening.”
She closed her eyes, and let her heart began speaking, as quickly as she could, to not allow him a word in. Alexandra begged him to go get Viktor, just to talk, and refused to take no for an answer. So, finally, even though Roman had repeatedly told her it wasn’t a good idea, she finally convinced him, and stood back to await her husband.
Eventually Roman returned with Viktor. Alexandra could hear the anger in her husband’s voice from the moment he spoke.
“You have one minute. Use it wisely,” Viktor growled from the other side of the door. Alexandra took a deep breath.
“Last night, we shared something genuine. This morning when we woke up and started joking, and then at breakfast when we talked, I saw you start to open up. I really liked the man I was starting to get to know,” she said, speaking slowly and softly, willing him to believe her. “But I don’t see that man right now. Please, Viktor. Be gentle with me. I’m scared and confused, and you’re my husband. I know you probably didn’t plan on marrying me. I know what happened to your father was awful, and even though you say you don’t believe me, you know in your heart that I’m telling the truth when I say I’m innocent.”
She turned her head and pressed her cheek against the cool wood of the door. Viktor didn’t respond, so she continued.
“You can have someone watch me all day every day. I haven’t tried anything yet and I won’t try anything now. Please just let me out. I’m a human being, and I’m your wife, not some prisoner or stranger.” She silently prayed he would see how cruel and unreasonable he was being.
After what felt like an eternity, she heard a low conversation between Viktor and Roman on the other side of the door, but couldn’t make out any words. Then, the door opened. Alexandra sighed in relief and stood up from where’d sat down on the floor.
Now all she had to do was call Elena.
8
Viktor
Viktor was enraged, but also confused. He stomped down the hallway away from the bedroom to get away from Alexandra before she could further jar his thoughts. Each heavy footfall caused the glass on the light fixtures to jingle. Still in the hall, he turned back to his friend. “Roman, watch her. She is your responsibility now. I’m going out.” He moved to walk away without waiting for a response or confirmation. If he lingered here, he might just lose his temper.
He was trying to figure out Alexandra’s motives, but struggling. She was the enemy, logically. She’d been too eager to marry him after his father’s death. Given what they now knew of her father, she couldn’t be trusted. Her family was responsible for his father’s murder, and Boris’s bloodshed called for more bloodshed. He could not allow any interference with his vengeance.
Still, as Viktor continued down the stairs and toward the front door, he felt regret tugging at him. Alexandra was attractive, fierce in bed, and there was a genuine softness to her.
The events of the past twenty-four hours weighed heavily on his mind and soul, though. He needed to get away to clear his head. When he returned, he would be refocused and better able to handle Alexandra and an investigation into her family.
I won’t let you down, Father, Viktor thought. I just need to get away for a little bit so I can think.
He sighed heavily, slipped on a coat, and disappeared through the front door.
His mind settled on the children’s home where he had donated his time and money for the past few years. Perhaps helping others would soothe him now as it had before, and he could think of no one in more need than the poor kids at Pathways Children’s Home.
* * *
At Pathways, Viktor made his way to the front desk, casting glances down the long hallways under flickering fluorescent lighting; with the floor’s dingy linoleum and decorations, the place was reminiscent of a school. The walls and bulletin boards displayed drawings and poems from the children, and posters featuring animals and inspirational messages lined the tops of the walls like a decorative border. The smell of industrial disinfectant mingled with lemon air freshener.
Earlier that year, Viktor’s financial contributions had ensured the building had been repainted, the heating and cooling fixed up for comfort, and he had replaced much of the furniture. Pathways was coming together again, slowly but surely.
Once at the front desk, Viktor signed in and made small talk with the apple-cheeked older woman behind the counter. As they discussed the kids’ latest drawings on nearby display, his eyes were drawn to the bowl of candy sitting next to the sign-in sheet. He pocketed a few suckers while she was distracted. Then, he followed the woman to the activity room.