Ghost (Boston Underworld #3) - A. Zavarelli Page 0,18
half of me over while the doctor prepares for something else. My eyes fall shut, and a needle enters my arm.
“A blood test,” Magda explains.
When that part is over, Magda covers me completely.
“You did very well.” She pats my hand encouragingly.
I don’t want her to be kind to me. I don’t want any of this. Those are the last things I tell myself before I fall asleep.
7
Alexei
I’m pouring over the reports on the computer screen when Franco taps on my desk to get my attention. I glance up at him through bleary eyes.
“You needed me?” he asks.
I nod and use the remote to pull up the information I’ve retrieved on the monitors across the wall. Franco turns to examine the faces on the screen as well as the names and addresses beneath them.
“What is this about?” he inquires.
Another click brings up the screenshots of the bets I flagged a month ago. While Viktor does not trouble himself with what kind of bets make him money, I do. There are certain things in this life even I will not abide by.
“They are running a sports bet under a false category.”
I bring up the images of the illegal dog fighting ring I uncovered, and Franco doesn’t ask further questions, except for the most important one.
“What would you like?”
“Make theirs a double.” I point at the men to the left. One in the head, one in the heart. “And then bring Abbott to me.”
Franco nods, but before he goes, he gestures to the monitors again.
“Nikolai is waiting for you downstairs.”
My fingers contract around the glass of cognac in my hand as I flip over to the house cameras and observe him on the screen.
“What does he want?”
“To speak with you,” Franco replies vaguely. And then he leaves the room, allowing my rage to consume me in peace.
I temper it with the rest of my drink before I am calm enough to face him. My half-brother, Nikolai. Though we do not carry the same surname. My father’s shame of me was too great to allow such a thing. So I carry the name Nikolaev of my dead mother’s heritage, while he carries our father’s name Kozlov. It is fortunate for my father that we look nothing alike, to avoid speculation. His greatest fear is that the truth will be revealed to his brothers in the Vory. That they would know he has a son who is defective. Nikolai is his pride and joy, and I am nothing.
When I reach the sitting room, Nikolai is waiting for me, hands folded in his lap. He has fairer hair and complexion than I do, and when I meet his gaze, his eyes are an exact replica of my fathers.
“Is this a business visit?” I ask.
“Yes.” He stands up and extends his hand, which I ignore.
I gesture to the bar across the room. “Help yourself to my drinks if you like. As you do everything else.”
The insult does not go unnoticed, but he ignores it. Viktor is unaware of the tension between us, and this is the only reason I allow his presence in my home. He has only been here one other time since the incident six months ago, and then he left with a broken arm and a blackened face. If Viktor had been aware of the incident, Nikolai would be lucky to escape with the loss of a few appendages at best.
But despite the bitter rivalry between us, he is my brother. And he has never dared to share my secret to the Vory or anyone else who could easily use it to their advantage. For that reason alone, I feel I owe him the same courtesy.
“Anatoly sent me to inquire of a good date for an engagement party,” Nikolai states.
“Then this was a wasted trip,” I inform him. “You should know that.”
“I have no excuses to give for my actions,” Nikolai tells me. “It was a mistake, Lyoshenka. I know I deserve to die for what I have done to you. And sometimes, I wish you would tell them. Tell them the truth. I don’t want to carry on this way. I want to repair the damage I have done. So please tell me how.”
“This discussion is over,” I inform him. “So unless you have other business with me, you can leave.”
Nikolai frowns and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “What should I tell him then?”
“That is up to you,” I reply. “I’m sure you will think of something.”