Vanko Chernenko POV
"Really?" Brett Taylor on the other end of the line. "I'll see."
"And I got someone you'll wanna meet," he persuades. "Forreal, I think you two will really hit it off. Plus, she's a good fuck."
I cringe, ready to end the call. "Do I look like someone who eats other people's leftovers? Besides, I'm with Nova."
"Who saying you gotta buy?" he laughs. "You game for a test drive?"
"Drop me your pin."
I end the call, pocketing my phone as I approach the main entrance.
"You're not going anywhere, Yôchânân."
I glance over my shoulder, glaring at my hulkish shadow. "You watch my body, you don't have control over it," I say to help him tell the difference.
He gives me a guttural hum. "Your father would disagree, хлопчик."
I come to an abrupt halt. I swivel around to face the mountain of a man. "He's here?"
"Got back when you were at school," Petrov informs.
I nod slowly, thoughts screaming for my attention. "One to ten?"
"Negative two," he says outright.
I give him a wry smile. Sarcasm coating each word. "Ah, so he's in a good mood then. I'm guessing his proposals were rejected."
"Don't try anything."
I wheel back around, marching to the double doors that brush open on my arrival.
"Yôchânân, let it go."
Irritation needles into me. "What, you don't think I can do it either?"
His heavy footsteps resound around me, thudding on the magnum-silver porcelain tiles. "You know I believe you can do anything you want to. You're capable of that."
"Then what?" I mutter. "You think he'll say no?"
"I'm more worried if he says yes."
Anger grips me. "Good thing your job isn't to worry."
He stops at the archway. I walk inside the matte-black kitchen, nearly losing my footing when I see father seated behind the shiny white crystallized countertops, accompanied by an empty whisky glass. Nature is omnipresent within the transparent shell of the kitchen that has floor-to-ceiling windows all around.
A plume of smoke seeps through his lips, the air already stained with the smell of newly sown field like rain-soaked earth. A Cuban cigar between his fingers. His black hair is tousled, stray strands dangling over his forehead.
I clear my throat. He acknowledges me with a cursory glance.
I approach him cautiously. "How was it?"
"I handled it," he says brusquely, his eyes skimming over his phone's screen in his other hand. "And you? Are you behaving?"
I step aside to gesture expansively at the archway where he posted himself at. "You can ask Petrov yourself. I've been a modelled citizen." I drop the melodrama. "More so, in fact, that's what I wanted to talk to you about—"
"No," he says with firm finality.
"Can I at least finish my sentence?" I almost choke on the cuss words that I'm trying to cage in. "You can't even give me a chance to do that."
"Why bother? You're not ready."
He rises to tower over me by just a few inches.
We square off and I stare back at him challengingly.
"Vanko," he says warningly. I resist the innate urge to move out of his way.
"No." I match his sternness. "You gave Olena an entire operation to run. A fucking girl."
He brings his adorned finger to my face. "Watch your fucking mouth. And she's running it because not only do I trust her. But she's proved to me that she can handle it."
Rage rips me apart from the inside. "How can I prove myself when you won't give me the chance—" my hand smacks the whiskey glass, sending it flying. It explodes on impact, fragments scattering everywhere.
He frees a small, scathing chuckle. "How I can trust you to be level-headed in tenuous situations when you can't even keep your cool with me? You're a temperamental hothead, Vanko."
I crack a smile. "I wonder where I get it from."
He backhands me—my face whips to the side. My mouth quickly fills with the copper tang of blood, my smile broadens and I run my tongue across my teeth.
The shine of his silver rings shimmer across his knuckles. His hand seizes the back of my neck to hold me steady, his other finger in my face again threateningly.
"I didn't give your sister anything. When are you going to learn, boy? Power isn't given, it's taken."
He shoves me away from him.
"Boss." Petrov bows his head with respect.
They exchange nods and when he passes him, Petrov hands me a look of pity like I'm a kicked pup.
I march to him, looking back to motion at the mess.
"Get someone to clean this up."
¬¬¬
The party started four hours ago and only now I'm getting ready. I keep it plain with an Audemars Piguet silver wristwatch. An old favorite.
I go to the ground level and head out to the hallway that's lined with statuesque armed guards. I stopped trying to sneak out a long time ago because Petrov would always find me.
"Вам потрібен приватний супровід?"
"No."
I enter the elevator. The doors glide close behind me. I press the button.
The elevator descends to the underground parking garage.
I close my eyes for a second. A fresh swell of rage crashes over me like a tide. My eyes snap open and I hurt a fist at the metal panel, releasing the bottled fervor, my breaths shaking from the lingering indignation.
The elevator dings open. I exit.
The blue-hued lights automatically go on from section to section, showcasing the garage of exotic sports cars that sit idle on exhibition. From the thick-framed Rolls Royce truck to the sleek Bugatti, I don't know which one I'm gonna take and trash.
I saunter to the cabinet of keys. My phone rings.
I fish out my phone and answer without looking. "What?"
"Hello to you, too, little brother," Olena purrs, her voice smoky and low.
"Don't you got shipments to oversee?"
"When you're as good as me, you can do many things at a time. Plus, I always have time for family." The line becomes static, omitting a few words. "—back in Braidwood?"
"I'd rather be in Krasnodar."
"See it as new opportunity." Her broken words delivered through her rutted accent. "Better odds out there than back home."
"I doubt that."
She remains silent for a long, pondering moment. "Is it papa again?"
Annoyance nips at me. Restless, I walk down the center that's flanked by rows of polished cars.
"What would you know?" I mumble.
"I know he's difficult man to please." Her tone devoid of playfulness.
"I don't want to please him," I spit out. "I don't got to prove anything to him."
"Oh, yeah?" she questions, testing me. "What if I said I could help you?"
Giving in to rampant curiosity, I say, "What you got?"
"The reason why papa relocated is that the market is very lucrative out there. He wants to make an expansion into that town: new malls, new houses, big developments. He wants to be the one to make it the new city of tomorrow. But he needs the council's approval for these kind of gentrifying projects to be able to buy that much land."
I crush the flicker of irritation. "He told you all of this?"
"I did my homework. And so did Mayor Smith. He does not like papa. I'm sure he caught wind of the accusations made against him, even though they were dismissed. Papa made sure of that. Even though he's the only investor willing to fund projects that align with his own agenda. The stubborn bastard is still refusing a sit-down."
I throw my hand up exasperatedly. "And what? What am I supposed to do?"
"Get papa a meet-and-greet."
"How?"
"Hell, Vanko. Do I have to do all the thinking? Figure it out. But if you do, it would be a major win for him. You'll definitely get papa's attention and prove that you're capable of handling things on your own."
A message comes through. I draw my phone away to glimpse the notification on the lock screen.
"Yeah." I bring it back to my ear. "Yeah, okay. I'll get it done."
"You're welcome. Love you, little brother."
I hang up. I dash back to the cabinet, searching the rack for keys of the closest car to me. BMW M4. I snatch the set and unlock the car before I clamber in, sitting down on the carbon bolster seat. I start the car, reversing out of the parking spot before speeding out of the garage. The sensors activate. The garage door opens upwards, unleashing quicksilver.
Shortly the car zooms past the open gates. With gearchange ferocity, I use the center console on the dash display to switch it to sport. The exhaust roars and the car streaks down the steep incline. From the pin location that Brett sent me, I open up the GPS and use it to guide me to his place.
After a while, I reach a point where I don't even need the GPS. I just follow the trail of cars that lead to a gateless property. The open front yard is teeming with flailing bodies, some of the cars are parked on the grass. I park the M4 nearby. I lock it and make my way inside.
Not even reaching the front porch, hordes flock to me. I clasp hands with some guys and trade nods with others. I stroll inside and the music is blaring, the thumping reverberations cause the walls to shake, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Brett and other boys from the soccer team are seated in the living room like it's the VIP lounge. Brett takes a swig of his beer bottle. Some of it comes spluttering out when he starts laughing uncontrollably at something one of them said.
Slender fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling me to them. Nova gives me a teasing smile, her makeup ornate with crushed gemstones flecked across her eyelids and temples. Her body seduces a glance, her skin-tight dress only exposing her ass as flat as an ironing board.
"Hey," she yells over the music. "I didn't know you were coming?"
"Changed my mind."
"Glad you did."
She tips her chin up for a kiss. I comply, softly at first, and then I ramp it up with a swift gradation of intensity that makes her cling to me, passion becoming desperation.
"Can you two suck face somewhere else?" Jamal says, melting from the darkness.
"Jamal, that you?" I ask jokingly, looking around dramatically. "I can't see you, man. Why don't you smile for me?"
"Racist cunt."
Sharing grins, we clasp hands and he claps my shoulder in greeting.
"Good to see you here, g." He nods his head to the lounge. "Let's get my boy a drink."
Nova entwines her fingers with mine and we head to the living room. We step up the elevated platform and Jamal takes a detour to the cooler box. And I lead her to the loveseat adjacent from Brett. I glare down at the random guys occupying it, jerking my chin dismissively. They get up grumbling but they know better than to do anything else but leave. I collapse on the seat, draping my arm across the head. Nova seats herself down, cuddling up to me. Her arm latched around my waist.
"Ey," Brett hollers. "You came!"
Jamal comes along and offers us both uncapped beer. We take the bottles.
"What do you boys know about Mayor Smith?"
"The fuck would we care about Mayor Smith?" Jamal laughs.
"I'm mean like what's his deal? I hear he's a hard-ass."
Brett exchanges unknowing looks with the guy next to him. "I wouldn't know because I don't care."
"What do you know?" My patience thinning.
"His fine ass daughter."
Brett and Jamal explode, laughing in a way that provokes me.
"What does that have anything to do with anything?"
Nova untangles herself from me. "Well. She's his only child, and she's like a public figurehead. And a musical prodigy. How do you not know about her?" She goes on her phone, her fingers flying across the keyboard before she shows me pictures on the internet.
I take the phone to get a closer look, scrolling through the photographs of her playing cello, others of her at town parades, behind a podium and even some at high-profile events.
"She could win like a noble peace prize or something." Jamal snorts a laugh. "She real active with that charity work, whatever her daddy tells her to do so he can look good."
Still scrolling, I ask, "You reckon she's close with her dad?"
"Bet," Nova says with certainty. "Mayor Smith is mad busy, but from time to time, he'll pitch at her showcases just to watch her segment then dip. She's daddy's little girl, after all."
If she's so damn popular, why haven't I heard about her?
"What's her name?"
I can feel Nova's frustration oozing out of her pores like puss. She manages it, and answers, "Amara."
"How come I haven't heard of this figurehead?"
Nova shrugs irritably. "I don't know, babe, you've been gone a long time. It wasn't always like this. It's only recently that she's frequently on the news and in the newspapers. I even tried inviting her to a party once, and she shot me down. She only hangs with Alexia, Alister's girlfriend, and that Asian kid."
"The rejects of the school," Brett chimes in with a drunken snicker.
A memory tugs at my mind. "Asian kid..."
Scrambled pieces link up to form a picture I don't like. There's only one Asian kid I remember that used to roll with a black girl. But this girl sounds nothing like the one I knew.
I drain half the bottle.
Nova stares at me, looking bothered. "Is there a problem?"
I nearly laugh, swallowing quickly. I shake my head, lowering the bottle to place it on my thigh.
"Nothing I can't handle."