PIPER
Before I can say anything else, someone clears their throat from the hallway.
I snap my eyes to the sound, but Timofey doesn't move.
An older man with graying hair and a white goatee stands in the mouth of the hallway. He doesn't look at me, which feels like a conscious choice. His eyes stayed pinned on Timofey's back.
"Everyone is waiting for you," the man says. "Can we get the meeting started?"
"I'm conducting orientation with a new employee," Timofey replies with a sarcastic tint in his voice.
The man sighs. I don't know Timofey well, but he doesn't stand for disrespect. I expect him to whip around and lay into the man who dared disturb him. Instead, he turns and holds out a hand in my direction to coax me forward.
"This is Piper Quinn."
Finally, the older man meets my eyes, though it looks very much against his will. "Welcome."
"Piper," Timofey continues, gesturing to the man now, "this is my father, Sergey."
"Your—You two are—" I look from the older man to Timofey, searching for some resemblance, but there isn't any. Sergey is a good six inches shorter than Timofey. Where Timofey is broad-shouldered with a trim waist, Sergey's mass is consolidated in his bottom half. His legs are thick like tree trunks. Sergey is pale with dark blonde hair where it hasn't already shifted gray, while Timofey is a walking, talking shadow with dark hair and an olive complexion.
"Viktorov Industries is a family business. Didn't you know?" he asks. "I thought you received a folder with all the necessary information."
The urge to flip him off is strong, but I resist.
Barely.
"I guess I have a lot to learn about how things work around here," I say through gritted teeth.
Timofey waves his father on. "Lead the way. We'll follow. Piper should meet the whole family."
Sergey hesitates. "It's a full house today. Might be overwhelming for her."
"She's already met Rodion. It can't get much worse."
The two men share a silent moment that almost makes me feel bad for Rodion. He clearly fucked up by talking to me, and Timofey doesn't seem like the forgiving type.
In the end, their silent conversation ends with—shocker—Timofey getting his way.
He stays half a step ahead of me the entire walk down the hallway, but I can feel his attention on me. He doesn't need to see me to know where I am. I'm intensely aware that if I try to slip away, he'll snatch me up and drag me with him.
We passed by his office en route. It's hard to reconcile that, just yesterday, I was standing in front of his desk, officially meeting him for the first time.
A lot can happen in twenty-four hours.
We stop in front of a set of double doors. The nerves I'm trying hard to squash down begin to rise up.
"Anything I should know before I'm tossed to the wolves?" I gulp. "Not that you have any reason to help me."
"Yet it's all I seem to be doing."
"You and I are operating under different definitions of the word 'help,'" I mutter under my breath.
He shrugs. "So long as we have the same definition for 'obedience,' you should be fine."
"Obedience is for animals. I'm not a dog."
"You're right." He tips his head towards the doors. "They are the animals. Without me to intervene, they'll rip you limb from limb."
My heart is pounding, but I stand tall. Timofey is trying to scare me and it won't work. Or, I'm going to do my best to hide exactly how well it's working, at least.
"Is that how you talk about your family? I always thought blood was thicker than water, but apparently you feel comfortable shit-talking everyone in your life."
"They're not my blood."
I frown. "But you said—"
"Given your line of work, I'm surprised I have to explain this to you." Timofey sighs. "I'm adopted."
Sergey turns, his hand still on the doorknob. "Poor Timofey couldn't take after my good looks, so I had to raise him with my disposition."
Two men with Timofey's disposition under the same roof? God help us all.
"How many children did you adopt?" I ask.
"Timofey and his—"
"We're all a family here," Timofey interrupts. "A brotherhood, if you will."
I may not have read Timofey's file as closely as I should have, but I remember a few details. Like his possible criminal connections.
"Like a fraternity?" It's nothing but blind hope that makes me ask.
When Timofey's eyebrow arches in amusement, that hope withers and dies. "Sure," he says with a chuckle. "Something like that."
**************
TIMOFEY
My father pushes open the door. The chatter and laughter inside the conference room dies at once. Tension ripples around as we make our way in.
Piper must suspect what she's just stumbled into, because she stays close to my side. Her elbow brushes against my forearm. I can feel her warmth and tremors through my sleeve.
Good. Maybe some of my warnings have sunk in. Coming face to face with Rodion wasn't quite enough to scare her off.
Maybe seeing the whole Bratva will keep her in line.
"Some of you have already been introduced," I begin, drawing all eyes to me. Except for Rodion. He correctly decides to continue staring at the floor. "For those who haven't had the pleasure, this is Piper Quinn."
"Hi," Piper squeaks out. She raises her hand in a half wave and then tucks herself behind me.
Her weakness ought to be pathetic, but I don't actually mind the feeling of being her human shield. Especially since I underestimated how much I'd fucking hate my men looking at her.
A thought that doesn't belong there races through my head:she is for my eyes alone.
It's gone as quick as it came.
"Piper will be living here on the property as Benjamin's caretaker. I don't take his care lightly, as you know—"
I hear a soft snort from Piper's direction that I choose, for her sake, to ignore.
"—so anyone who makes her job more difficult will be removed."
I meet the eyes of my men, ensuring each of them recognize what I'm saying. Thankfully, we all work from the same dictionary.
Translation: touch her and I'll kill you.
I'm about to move on when Piper steps around me. Her hand ghosts over my forearm, a remnant of her ingrained training, no doubt. Fuck knows she feels no compulsion to be polite to me.
"I did already meet some of you as I came in this morning," she says, lighting up the room with a warm smile. "As I said then, I'm a grown woman. If anyone is making life difficult for me,I will deal with them."
She doesn't need to make eye contact for me to realize that she's speaking directly to me.
If she wasn't such a nuisance, I would truly admire her guts.
Pavel is sitting in the chair across from Piper. His eyes rove over her, and my lip curls in distaste.
I should have given her a uniform. Like a king-sized sheet or a two-person tent.
Instead, she's in a pair of wide-legged trousers that hug her small waist. The shirt clings to her sweat, so I can make out the lacy strap of the bra she definitely wasn't wearing when I saw her last night.
While my men admire Piper, I can feel my father watching me.
I didn't tell him anyone would be coming to live in the house. Before he walked into the entryway a moment ago, he didn't know she existed. I sure as hell don't owe him an explanation, but he'll ask for one. Especially now that she's publicly talked back.
So much for scaring her into submission.
"Wait for me in my office, Piper." I shift in front of her and address the room. "My men and I have a situation to deal with."
She doesn't respond, but she doesn't need to. I feel her leave. It's like the air kicking on in a stifling room. Finally, I can inhale.
When she's gone, I turn to face my men once more. "I meant what I said. I'll kill you all."
There's a nervous chuckle, but my father isn't laughing. "That's why we're here, Timofey," Sergey says. "You're feeling homicidal lately. I hear you murdered an Albanian gunrunner."
"If you want an apology, Otets, you won't get one."
"I don't give a damn about an apology and don't insult me by assuming I have use for one," he barks. "You know better than anyone: I don't want apologies; I want explanations."
"Everything is permissible with the right justification," I say, parroting back something he taught me years and years ago.
When Sergey took me in, I thought he was going to be no better than the string of decrepit foster parents I'd had before. They pretended to want what was best for me, but they were in it for the stipend check. When I proved to be too much trouble for the payment, they sent me packing.
I didn't have high hopes for Sergey as a father, even if his mansion was a far cry from the shacks I was sent to before.
But old habits die hard.
I gave Sergey my worst: sneaking out of my room, stumbling home drunk as the sun came up, and stealing money out of his office to fund all of it.
When he caught me stealing, I expected him to shove my scant belongings into a trash bag and ship me back to the CPS office the way all the others had.
Instead, he stood back and crossed his arms."What do you need the money for?"
"Drugs,"I fired back, even though I was just going to buy a case of beer.
"What are the drugs for?"he asked evenly.
"What the fuck do you think they're for?"
He shrugged."If you're as much of a waste of space as you want me to think you are, then they're probably for you to get high for an hour before you come crashing down to the reality that your life is meaningless and no one cares about you."