The first day after my father’s poisoning should’ve been a low-key one where we would all take a chance to get used to the trauma. We had to hold it together and appear strong for each other. My grandmother was no dainty thing who’d cry at violence. And my brothers were just as strong and determined to succeed after this strike on our turf, at our home. It took a lot to get to us because we were hardened by the lives we lived and the deaths we’d suffered.
My mother had been gunned down executioner style. Someone slit my grandfather’s neck after he just survived cancer. Countless other Ivanov men had been hit or attacked over my lifetime.
Still, this was a major incident that came with the roller coaster of fear and anger that should be broken up with a chance to relax and desensitize to the constant threat level we experienced.
However, we didn’t sit around and hawk over my father resting in his bed. With the nurses and doctors in the mansion, we had adequate care for him. His recovery would take time.
Meanwhile, we all set out to downplay any possibility that we had been weakened or that the Ivanov family was now vulnerable.
Along with a few select leaders within the organization, my brothers and I set out to spread the word that Grigory Ivanov was alive. Letting others in the community hear about this was a risk and a necessity. While it wasn’t good to let any other family learn about how we hadn’t been able to prevent an intruder from sneaking in and poisoning him, it was critical to let them all know that he was still with us and was expected to return to his position as the boss again.
It was also imperative that we inform all of our friends and foes that I was now in charge. Some might have expected Grandmother to take the lead, but this still was a man’s world. She had influence and impact over us, and she was no dismissed figure in the family, but I was the next in line. And we all made sure to spread the word that if anyone wished to speak with the boss of the Ivanov Syndicate, I was the man they would be hoping to get an audience with.
Between our efforts of spreading the word that Father was alive and that I was in charge for the interim, we all tried to catch any gossip running through our associates. Any little idea or clue could help us in this investigation, but nobody was saying anything. When people expressed surprise at the news of Grigory Ivanov being poisoned, I caught myself watching them skeptically, wondering if they were only acting surprised or if this had actually caught this many others off guard.
Everyone was a suspect as far as I was concerned.
My brothers seemed to share that sentiment.
And still, by the end of the second day after Father was poisoned, we had no clue who could’ve been behind this incident. It was automatic to think of the Romanos and the Kozlovs, though, and with Nik and Saul spying on those two families the best they could without giving it away that they were spying, I wanted to believe that someone would let something slip sooner or later.
Because the second I knew who’d done this and tried to kill my father, they were dead.
After dinner, where I listened to what Nik and Saul had learned—which wasn’t much—I glanced at my grandmother and noted how stressed she looked.
Damon entered then, late to the meal because he was busy torturing someone Saul had brought in for questioning. He shook his head, giving me a silent answer for what I wanted to ask.
Negative.
Nothing new.
No answers and no clues.
I squeezed my hand in a fist and tapped it to the table, barely reining in the anger and urge to slam it instead. I couldn’t be hot-headed now. I was in charge and I would do right by my father. He’d be disappointed if I let my rage and emotions get the better of me. He’d led by example for too long for me to not know that I had to stay calm and logical in this position of temporary leadership. Too many men and families depended on the Ivanov power for me to act like an idiot and be impatient to identify the person who’d poisoned him.
Damon sat without a word, digging into his late meal. Nik and Saul spoke some more, filling him in with all they’d tried to find out. Hugo appeared, too, commenting about his lack of answers.
Once my brothers left the dining room, I remained with my grandmother for a little longer.
“You are handling this well, Maxim,” she said as she set her now-empty wineglass down.
I exhaled a long breath, not in the mood to agree with her. “I’m trying,” I said instead.
She nodded, regal as ever, but I saw the stress on her face.
“You must remain calm and wait,” she advised.
That was exactly what I was fucking doing.
“And these things take time,” she conceded with a heavy sigh. Looking at the empty chair my grandfather used to occupy, the one next to her so he could be close to her instead of being seated where I was, at the head of the table, she almost smiled wistfully. “I remember the long, hard days after we lost Andre,” she said. “Everything had to be investigated. We had to dig deep and question so many until we could figure out the path of who’d killed him. And why.”
I couldn’t refrain from snarling. “So much patience, all to reach the answer that Grandfather had been killed because of Beatrice’s affairs.”
She pursed her lips, frowning at the time I referenced. She’d never been fond of my mother, but she had given her the benefit of the doubt, believing she would grow into her role as a wife to her only son. Yet, she’d paid dearly for that mistake. We all had. Because my mother wanted to be selfish and sleep with other Mafia queens’ husbands, we as a family had paid the price. The man who’d slit my grandfather’s throat had done so as revenge, nothing more.
“I don’t blame you for hating her,” she replied, lifting her gaze to meet mine. “But I do wonder how long you will hold a grudge against all of womankind because of her.”
I slammed my hand to the table now. She could push all she wanted, but she had no room to be bothered when it pissed me off. “Enough about this!”
“Maxim, we need an heir.”
Gritting my teeth, I put both hands on the edge of the table, ready to push back my chair and get away from this damn conversation she was determined to keep playing on repeat.
“You need to do your duty.”
I squinted at her, wondering how the hell she could try to compliment me for keeping my cool and handling the adjustment to being in charge in my father’s place and then just as swiftly condemn me for not doing what was expected of me.
“I am.”
She shook her head. “I know you are stepping in to fill his role—for now. But there is no guarantee on his life. The doctors assume he will recover.”
“Are you accusing them of lying?” I challenged.
“No.” She kept her chin tipped up, not backing down. “But there is no guarantee when he’ll recover and if he’ll be the same man when he does.”
I opened and closed my mouth, almost feeling defeated by that detail. The doctors had stressed the possibility that Father might not be mentally ready for leadership for a long time.
“And as such, you would do well to consider that this might not be as temporary of a position as you might wish it to be.” She stood, dropping her napkin to her plate.
She had a point, but there was never any good from worrying about something that wasn’t certain. A fucking asteroid could hit us just the same as Father might not be able to return to his role as the boss. “I am busy and doing the best I can with this investigation,” I said, also standing.
“I understand that. And if it would ease your mind and your workload, just take some time to preview the files I’ve gathered so far.”
With a grimace, I shook my head. “No. None of those Mafia princesses are suited to be my wife.”
She arched a brow. “So you’ve looked at them?”
I shot her a wry look. “How could I not when you left copies of them in my room, at this table, in the kitchen, and in Father’s office on his desk?”
A slight smile lifted her lips. “No one can accuse me of not being determined.”
I rolled my eyes, leaving the room. With my back to her, I felt free to furrow my brow and let some of this frustration leak out in my expression.
I did notice the folders she had on the Mafia daughters. And none of them were what I’d want.
I wanted her. I wanted the blonde I saw at the strip club, that dancer who’d made me come so hard that I doubted one time would ever be enough.
So desperate to have a connection with the woman I couldn’t forget about, last night, I asked the soldier I tasked with watching over her after I left that night who she was.
He gave me just a name, nothing more.
Sloane.
That was who I couldn’t get out of my mind.
That was the name of the woman I wanted to look for, if I ever set out to pursue a woman to keep in my life.
No one else would do. None of those whiny, same-old Mafia princesses who were too submissive and docile would interest me now.
I sighed, considering how well my brothers and the soldiers were handling the investigation of Father’s poisoning so far.
Grandmother was right. These things took time. Staying patient and calm was important.
And while I waited out the search for answers and while I anticipated the hunt for whoever had trespassed in this home and harmed my father, maybe I could spare the time to look for Sloane.
At the very least, I could go back to that club and see how I could get another private dance from her.
