Inked Adonis (Litvinov Bratva Book 1)
Inked Adonis: Chapter 34

Every time Ilya drums his fingers against the granite table top, I imagine taking my Swiss army knife and sawing off each offending finger in turn.

Next to me, our father slouches in his imported Italian leather chair, radiating boredom as Ilya wraps up his presentation.

If it had been up to me, Leonid wouldn’t have stepped foot in the Litvinov Group office until his last day in Chicago. It would’ve been a quick shuffle down the hall on his way to the airport, barely enough time for a wave and a sip from the water cooler.

I’ve devised a foolproof system to keep him distracted and as far from me and my life as possible. The usual itinerary is a string of Michelin-star restaurants, a steady flow of alcohol, and, when desperate times call for unclothed measures, renting out one of Chicago’s most exclusive strip clubs.

This time, however, Ilya insisted we needed to meet in the boardroom. Today. Bright and early.

Because the fucker is up to something.

Almost as if he can read my mind, Ilya cranes in my direction. A smile curls over his lips as he drums his fingers again. Then he turns to our father, whose eyes are fixed on the projector screen showing the quarterly report.

Nova was being too kind when she described him last night. “Psychotic asshole” doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“This is more of the same,” our father grumbles, circling his finger to speed through the last few slides of the report. “The numbers are fine. Why do I need to be here?”

That makes me frown. My father can find endless material to complain about where I’m concerned, but the man has never seen a profit he didn’t like, no matter where it comes from. And my quarterly figures are through the fucking roof.

Which means Ilya didn’t bring Leonid here to bust my balls about the finances.

“I’ve seen enough,” Leonid declares a moment later. “Myles, turn this shit off. If that’s all, we can wrap things up here.”

“Wait.” Ilya stops him. “I have something more to show you, Otets.”

Our father’s lip curls under his salt-and-pepper mustache as his gaze bounces between us. An outsider would never know that he has a favorite son. But I’ve spent thirty-four years reading the lines in his face.

I know which way his favor blows.

“Very well,” he sighs. “Make it quick.”

Ilya hustles around the long table with the remote in hand as he changes screens. “I need to preface this by saying that this information has been verified by multiple sources. I reviewed the⁠—”

“Get on with it, Ilyoshka,” our father snaps. “This isn’t a board meeting, so spare me the fucking foreplay. Just say your piece so we can move on.”

“You’re right: this isn’t a board meeting, Otets. Good thing, too.” Ilya turns to me, his eyes thinning out into accusatory slits. “I’d hate for the board members to know that their CEO is fucking an Andropov spy.”

The tone, the implicit violence, the mic drop melodramatics—Ilya thought he came here with my signed death warrant. There’s only one thing I can do to react.

Laugh.

I kick back in my chair with an uproarious cackle. Myles is frozen on the edge of the room, his hands fisted at his side as he waits to see what my father will do, but I can’t help but enjoy this.

My brother was deep inside the Andropovs’ newest employee—who also happens to be my ex-wife—on a Chicago rooftop within the last month, but he’s going to point the finger at me?

God, what can’t be accomplished with audacity like that? Hats off to him. He’s surprised even me by how fucking stupid he is—and I already had the bar for that placed somewhere around the seventh circle of hell.

Ilya sneers. “You’re laughing now, but I have proof. I have evidence that you are sleeping with the mole who is trying to bring down the Litvinov Group.”

“By all means, enlighten us.” I wave him on, crossing my feet on the conference table. “This meeting was dull. Let’s liven it up a little.”

Ilya looks to our father for support, but the man hasn’t moved. His hands are pressed together, his fingertips resting against the graying hair of his mustache.

He’s waiting.

“Play the damn tape already,” I bark, making my half-brother jump.

The flush in his cheeks makes it clear Ilya is annoyed to take an order from me, but it’s time to put up or shut up, so he truly has no choice. He presses a key on his laptop and the projector screen flares to life in brilliant resolution.

Immediately, I recognize both women sharing the big screen.

Katerina is tall and willowy on the right, in a barely-there pink dress and towering heels.

Next to her, wearing sweats, a t-shirt, and no accessories unless you count the four dog leashes strapped to her waist… is Nova.

“If it isn’t Sam’s two favorite women.” Ilya gloats. “The Ghosts of Mistakes Past and Present.”

I roll my eyes. The devil only knows how long he spent workshopping lines until he got to that one. I bet he rehearsed it in the fucking mirror. “This proves nothing. She hired Nova to walk her dog. This isn’t new⁠—”

“Just watch,” Ilya insists. “You’ll see.”

Leonid hasn’t taken his eyes off the screen, so I grudgingly turn my attention back to the footage.

Katerina walks alongside Nova through the park, her mouth moving around words we can’t hear. I imagine it’s not a heartfelt speech full of apologies and talk of generous quarterly bonuses.

Then again, Katerina isn’t wearing her usual scowl. And while Nova doesn’t exactly look thrilled with the situation, she isn’t upset. She isn’t running away. She’s… listening?

Why didn’t Nova mention this to me?

Because you were out of the country for a week and a half, you fucking fool, comes the immediate reply in my head. Because you abandoned her to go play cloak-and-dagger games on the other side of the world.

Because she doesn’t think she can trust you.

Because she doesn’t think she can love you.

I scowl and kill those thoughts dead. I’m sure there was nothing to this. Nothing but a random run-in at the park. Forgettable. Nothing to write home abo⁠—

“Here it is!” Ilya jabs a finger at the screen, and now, I really do wish I’d sawed it off at the knuckle earlier.

If only so he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment Katerina presses a black phone into Nova’s hand and walks away.

Nova’s not going to keep the phone, I think to myself. She’s going to drop it. Throw it. Perform an exorcism on it, burn it, and smear the ashes on her face. Anything but keep it.

But Ilya wouldn’t be showing this video if Nova had done any of those things.

No, Nova does the one thing I can’t explain.

She slips the phone into her pocket, glances around to see if anyone’s watching, and then continues her walk.

Ilya presses another button and the footage is swapped out for a typed list of locations around the city—my penthouse, this office building, Katerina’s greystone in the city.

But as the list goes on, my hand clenches under the table.

Andropov Headquarters. Restaurants and clubs owned by the Andropovs. Even Paul Andropov’s private residence in Barrington.

Before I can ask, Ilya launches into a gleeful explanation. “This is the list of places Samuil’s little girlfriend has visited in the last week.”

There’s an explanation.

Or he’s full of fucking shit.

He has to be. I vetted Nova myself. As did Myles. If there was anything to find there, we would have found it.

But I know how this video looks. Which is why I turn to my father just as he slowly pushes himself to standing.

I brace myself for the explosion I know is coming, but I’m still taken off-guard when he opens his mouth in a roar and throws all of his weight into the table.

The marble slab slides a few inches towards me, pinching my chest and pinning me in my seat. But there’s no real damage done, which is why he comes flying around the table towards me. His hands curl and flex as though he’s already got my throat within his grip.

“I put you in charge, and this is how you repay my loyalty?” He closes the distance between us like this might actually come to blows, though I know it never will.

Leonid Litvinov is good at a great many things, and one of them is knowing his own limitations.

If he put a hand on me, he wouldn’t get it back.

Luckily for him, Ilya grabs him from behind and makes a show of holding him back before my father has to reveal to everyone that he’s still a little bit afraid of his eldest son.

“Don’t worry, Otets. I can fix this for you,” Ilya pants. “I can manage this crisis and put things right.”

I can practically see Ilya practicing these very words in the mirror last night, too.

I snort, barely resisting the urge to applaud his choreography. “Let me guess: You plan to fix this by taking over as CEO of Litvinov Group?”

“Someone has to!” Ilya spits. “You’re clearly in over your head.”

“Funny how this ends with you at the helm. That seems more suspicious than anything else you’ve shown us.”

“The only thing suspicious is your choice in women,” my father growls. “Fucking one Andropov spy is bad enough, but two? First, your whore of an ex-wife and now, this… this… dog-walker.”

He makes no secret of what he thinks of Nova. And it’s that, more than anything else, that dissolves what’s left of my calm façade. My hands ball into fists, and it takes all my willpower not to use them.

“Do you really think Ilya can run this company better than I can?” I ask coldly.

Leonid wrenches free of his younger son’s hold and adjusts his shirt, glowering at me like a mustang with a bit between his teeth.

“At least I can trust Ilya to keep his cock out of deceiving, manipulative whores plotting the takedown of everything I’ve built.”

Again, I have the urge to laugh.

It would be so easy to reveal my brother’s dirty little secrets right now.

It would be incredible to watch my father eat his words when he realizes his darling boy has been lying to him for years.

All those videos and pictures I’ve collected of Ilya and Katerina over the years… All the illicit meetings and devious plans…. I could lay out the truth of their affair and their plan to demolish the Litvinov Bratva from within.

Based on the way Ilya is turning a dangerous shade of green, he knows the power I wield.

“Yes.” I nod in agreement, my eyes never straying from my brother’s. “Trust is important.”

“You’re weak for women, Samuil,” my father spits. “You’re a sucker for a pretty face. I don’t know why I’m surprised. That kind of weakness comes from a weak man. And I can’t have a weak man at the helm of my Bratva.”

Sweat beads on Ilya’s forehead. The urge to destroy him buzzes under my skin like a live wire. One word from me and his whole house of cards collapses.

But unlike my brother, I understand patience. I know how to wait for the perfect moment.

Let him have this battle.

I’m playing for the war.

I lean back in my chair, letting silence fill the room. Letting Ilya twist. Letting our father stew in his righteous anger. They think they know what power looks like—shouting and throwing furniture and making threats.

They have no idea.

Real power is knowing you can end someone with a single word and choosing not to say it. Yet.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. Probably Nova, wondering where I am. Sweet, fierce Nova who thinks she can fix broken men. Who looks at me and sees something worth saving.

I should tell her she’s wrong. That there’s nothing left to save. That loving me is like trying to warm up a corpse.

But I’m selfish enough to keep her. To let her try.

At least until I find out if she’s really betrayed me.

I rise from my chair, straightening my jacket. “If that’s all, I have actual work to do. Unlike some people in this room, I earn my position.”

“This isn’t over,” Ilya warns.

I flash him my sharpest smile. “Oh, I know, brother. We’re just getting started.”

The door closes behind me with a soft click that sounds like a promise.

Of violence.

Of vengeance.

Of victory.

Some men need to shout to be heard.

I just need to wait.