Andrei (Quintessence Book 7) Read online

  Andrei

  Quintessence: The Sequel

  Part II

  Serena Akeroyd

  The right of Gemma Mazurke to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author.

  Copyright © Gemma Mazurke 2018

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  DEDICATION

  To you, dear reader.

  For letting me write more about this household of six.

  Oh, and Deanna. ;) Keeping me sane one PM at a time. Smooches, babe.

  “Ya dolzhen poprosit' tebya ob usluge.”

  “What kind of favor?” Vasily, ex-Bratva Pakhan and Andrei Kirov’s grandfather, asked, his tone suspicious and croaky, after a cough rattled from his throat.

  “Are you smoking? I thought the doctor told you to stop.” Andrei tried not to sound like a nag, but for God’s sake, the man was ninety-three. He was intelligent. Had all of his faculties. The damn starikashka, old fool, should not need babying.

  “He did. For that outrageous suggestion, I had him shot.” Vasily’s tone was imperious—but then, he was a Tsar in his world.

  Andrei snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see it. How is Dmitri?” Dmitri was a long-time friend to both his grandfather and the Bratva. The man could sew up a bullet wound faster than a Russian could down four fingers of vodka.

  Da. He was that fast.

  “He’s well,” Vasily groused, while mumbling under his breath about sawbones and incompetent physicians. In a louder voice, he stated, “He’s better than me.”

  “Hardly. You’re the one smoking against doctor’s orders. Maybe you’d be healthier if you did as he asked?” Please, Andrei half-prayed.

  “I have to die sometime, boy. I’m not going to stop doing something I enjoy just because that quack thinks I should.” Vasily huffed. “Anyway, you’re the one wanting some help. What did you want? Or was it just to nag me like an old woman? If you’re trying to ingratiate yourself, then you’re failing.”

  Sighing, Andrei pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ya llublyu teblyu.”

  Vasily smiled—Andrei could hear it in his voice as he murmured, “I love you too, child. I’m well. I promise.”

  As well as a man in his nineties could be. “You make me glad that only the good die young.”

  That seemed to prick his grandfather’s humor. “Be the first time anyone’s been grateful I’m wicked.”

  Humming under his breath, Andrei decided to change that particular topic of conversation—phones could be tapped, after all. If the security services weren’t interested in Vasily, they were idiots. Though technically retired, he was still a force to be reckoned with. “Devon’s in trouble.”

  “What’s he done now?” Vasily inquired, sounding more curious than anything else. “If he’s solved another Millennium Problem without telling me first, I’ll be pissed. Do you know how much money I lost by him, and you, keeping that to yourselves? Not only could I have wagered a fortune on it, I could have invested—”

  Andrei rolled his eyes at the often moaned tirade. Vasily didn’t seem to understand that it was the exact reason they’d kept him in the dark. “He was arrested.”

  There was silence on the phone. “Arrested?”

  “Da.” Andrei moodily stared over his desk and saw Sascha, the love of his life, staring at him from the doorjamb. She looked sad, but then, she’d been sad for weeks now. She’d taken the loss of their baby girl hard, and who could blame her?

  He, himself, was still reeling, and he hadn’t had to go through what she had. Not physically, at any rate.

  Holding out his hand to beckon her close, relieved he was speaking in his mother tongue, he murmured, “I need you to make the charges disappear.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I do.” Andrei squeezed her thigh when she settled on his lap, a soft, warm bundle for his arms. As she nuzzled into him, his chair squeaked with the extra weight as he rocked back, finding the perfect spot that suited them both. When gravity cosseted them at that delicious angle, they stayed in a stasis, cuddling into each other like cooing turtledoves.

  Only for Sascha Dubois would Andrei Kirov coo.

  “That’s no answer.” There was the sound of a deep exhalation, telling Andrei the bastard was smoking while they were on the phone.

  “I learned from the best.”

  “This is true.” Vasily hummed, but there was a satisfied note to it. The old man always appreciated it when Andrei worked his wiles on him—he said it was the only way he could keep himself honed, as only Andrei could match him where intelligence was concerned. “How long ago was this?”

  “Around a month and a half ago.”

  “Month and a half?” he spluttered. “How am I supposed to make anything disappear after such a length of time? Why did you not tell me sooner?”

  “You can make anything disappear.”

  “In Moscow, da. But London?”

  “You have people here. Don’t make out like you don’t.”

  “Tell me why.”

  “I have need of him for a project. He can’t have a criminal record, though. If he does, he can’t help me, and it’s important to me that he’s involved in this.”

  “The Veronian issue?”

  Grimacing because he’d never been able to pull the wool over his grandfather’s eyes, he rested his chin on Sascha’s shoulder and hugged her close. She smelled good. Different. Her perfume was usually fruity, but this was cool. Refreshing. Unlike her, and yet, it suited her. A gift from Kurt, perhaps? Andrei pondered the likelihood of this as he inhaled the scent once more—only Kurt bought her perfume.

  Sean had a tendency of buying her jewelry, Sawyer lingerie, Devon candy, and Andrei usually went for flowers. Even though it was trite and cliché—he tried to mix it up from time to time, but what did you buy a woman who had several billion pounds in her bank account and seemed to have no desire to spend it?

  “It’s with the Veronian government. You know they’d never allow someone with a record, a recent one, to work on their nation’s finances.”

  “This is true. Prudes.” He sniffed. “Some of the best brains in history were imprisoned at some point in their life. A man’s not allowed any rebellion nowadays.” Another sniff. “What’s the offense?”

  “Aggravated assault.” He petted Sascha’s thigh, trying to find comfort where there was none to be found.

  This time, Vasily really did choke. It took thirty seconds for him to rasp, “Aggravated assault? Devon? I didn’t think the boy had it in him.”

  Andrei closed his eyes as he rocked back. It was better than staring hopelessly out into his office. “Da.”

  “Now Saw
yer, I can imagine. Those claymores the Scots used to arm themselves with, well, stock him with that and a kilt, I could see him beating the shit out of anyone. But Devon? Nyet.”

  “I’m pleased there’s someone in this world who can surprise you.”

  “Only in that house of yours.” He clucked his tongue. “I’ll see what I can do. I have some strings I can pull.” There was a low hum. “I want first dibs on when you put your legislation into practice. I’ll be certain to invest in some Veronian debt before you do.”

  “That’s insider trading,” Andrei grumbled.

  “So it is! I did teach you well, didn’t I?” Vasily murmured, sounding delighted as he released a wicked cackle.

  Andrei could just see him—cigar between his thin lips, a wide grin splitting his heavily creased jaw.

  Sascha must have heard Vasily’s laughter because she snorted at the infectious sound, making Andrei smile as he pressed his nose into her bright-red hair.

  “What’s the plan, anyway?” his grandfather asked.

  Knowing better than to tell him he couldn’t share such information, considering who he was, and knowing he was quite capable of having someone hack into Andrei’s laptop to find out the details regardless, he murmured, “They’re not cash poor, yet. They suffered a hit after those idiots went after the Royal Family. Investment in the nation dropped, and as they never envisaged such a sharp decline, their debt spiraled out of control. I’ve managed to put together some things that I think will encourage more investment, so they can at least bottom out.”

  “The UnReals, if I remember rightly.”

  “Yes. They’ve been eradicated now. The King’s just had his first heir.”

  “I saw on the news. Girl child, correct?”

  “Yes. First Crown Princess in the country’s history.”

  Vasily grunted. “Women, women, everywhere, and nary a drop to drink.”

  Andrei winced. He knew for a fact that, ninety-three or not, the man could have any woman he wanted. Be it a street whore, a high-class prostitute, a politician’s wife, or just a housewife from the capital.

  Vasily was power personified.

  That was why Andrei was asking him for a favor.

  “It’s good for the country’s image. I’m actually going to suggest some plans where we invest in sectors to encourage equality in the government, as well as their businesses. It could foster a wave of immigration. A reverse brain drain, as it were.”

  Vasily hummed, and Andrei knew he’d bored his grandfather with talk of nonsense—equality didn’t exactly exist in the Bratva. “How is she?”

  “Heard her laugh, did you?”

  “I’d recognize it anywhere.”

  “She’s not doing too well.”

  “Can’t blame her. One small fall and that’s it. Life extinguished.” Vasily exhaled noisily through his nose. “I’d have spared her that if I could.”

  “Me, too,” Andrei whispered, his voice thick with emotion. Sascha stiffened a little as he pressed a kiss to her hair.

  “I wish I could have gone to the funeral.”

  “I wish you could, too.” Andrei’s heart broke a little more. Not only at the ragged note in Vasily’s voice, but at the memory of standing beside that tiny grave and watching a piece of his broken heart being lowered into the ground. “But we know what the doctor said. I’d prefer you safe and well, being there with us in spirit rather than the alternative. Being badass won’t save you from the Grim Reaper.”

  “I hate being old,” Vasily groused, otherwise ignoring his grandson’s statement. “I don’t feel old mentally.”

  “The mind is willing, but the body is weak,” Andrei murmured, somewhat philosophically if his grandfather’s harrumph was anything to go by.

  “Give her my love?”

  “Of course.”

  “Be patient with her, son. I say this knowing that, in my shoes, I wouldn’t have been. I’d have. . . .” He grunted. “I’d have tried to fix the world for her while raging at it myself. You must temper the side of your nature that’s me.”

  “I’m just trying to be there for her.”

  “That’s exactly what she needs. Are you going to take her to Veronia?”

  “Of course. We’re all going. Even if you can’t sort out this shit with Devon, he’ll be there, just not working if you can’t help.” Andrei had a few strings of his own he could pull. Though Devon technically wasn’t supposed to leave the country until his sentencing and had lost access to his passport, Andrei had a few people in the government who’d help him if needs be.

  “All of you?” Vasily sounded surprised.

  “Da. We need a break. My liaison, the Duke of Ansian and Lorrena, has arranged for us to stay somewhere close to the palace.”

  “He knows about the household?”

  Andrei hid a smile at the word ‘household.’ Vasily never outright mentioned the fact Andrei shared Sascha with the men that were like his brothers: Sawyer, Devon, Sean, and Kurt. “Not exactly. I just told him I wouldn’t be visiting alone.”

  Vasily clucked his tongue. “Veronia would do her good. It’s a beautiful place.”

  “Didn’t know you’d been.”

  “It was a long time ago. You know how they feel about Russians,” the old man grumbled. “Xenophobes.”

  Andrei’s lips twitched. “Hardly. They’re asking a Russian for help with their economy.”

  “They’re asking for the Kirov Finance Tsar, my boy, not the Russians.” Vasily sounded proud as punch at that.

  Andrei didn’t need his ego stroked, but it pleased him that Vasily was proud. He was a hard man to live up to. Even as the leader of an illegal mafia brotherhood, Vasily had made a fortune legitimately, as well as illegitimately. What the man didn’t know about stocks and shares could be written on a matchbox. In turn, he’d passed that knowledge down to Andrei, who’d learned from his grandfather’s hand.

  “What of Tin?”

  “You’ll find out tonight. It’s your weekly Skype call, isn’t it?”

  “Da. You should focus more on his Russian.”

  “I have been.” He grunted. “He’s only two, grandfather.”

  “He’s Russian. He should know his mother tongue.”

  Knowing better not to argue, he murmured, “He’s coming along. It’s probably on par with his English now.”

  “This is good news. I shall practice with him tonight then.” There was the sound of applause, and Andrei realized the old man was clapping with excitement—would wonders never cease?

  Touched that Vasily was engaged with Tin, Andrei murmured, “He’ll like that. You know you can call more?”

  “Don’t want to bore him with an old man,” Vasily dismissed, then his tone turned curt. “What happened with the boy, anyway?”

  Lips curling, because he was no longer talking about Tin, Andrei murmured, “Devon got into a fight.”

  “I managed to figure that out for myself, Andrei,” Vasily clucked. “Who?”

  “Nobody important.”

  There was a disbelieving hum, then, a grumble, “I’ll see whose arm I can twist. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Thanks, Dzed.”

  “You’re welcome. Soon, Andrei. Soon.” He cut the call, leaving the dial tone buzzing in Andrei’s ear.

  Placing his cell on the desk before him, he curved both arms around Sascha’s waist and hugged her gently. “You need something, katyonok?”

  “Just you,” she said on a soft sigh.

  Those two words about broke his goddamn heart. For the second time in as many minutes.

  She meant them.

  She didn’t need anything but his presence, his embrace. And he knew she’d been doing this with them all. She came to each of them, at random times of the day, just wanting to sit with them. No words necessary.

  If it wasn’t so restful, it would have disturbed him, but it felt like a timeout. A moment in his day that was dedicated to her, and who was she if not the most important woman in his world
?

  Had they forgotten that?

  In the almost-four years she’d been with them, had they started to take her for granted?

  He didn’t think they had, and yet . . . she’d suffered because they hadn’t been with her. Tin was a rambunctious kid. He was strong for his age, too. If he’d been corralled by his dads, then Sascha would never have slipped, and—blyad!

  What ifs were the worst.

  “Did I hear you mention Devon’s name?” she asked quietly.

  He hummed. “Perhaps. Being taken in vain, I’m sure. I need Devon’s help with this current project and Vasily was prying.” He was lying, but it was to protect her. That meant it was more evasion than a falsehood, no?

  “I love it when you speak Russian. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve heard in my entire life,” she murmured, half-sighing the words into his throat.

  “I know you think that.” If his grin was smug, then why the hell not? He had a woman fifteen years his junior on his lap who thought he was sexy. When wasn’t that good for a man’s ego?

  ‘They’ never told you about the crazy insecurities that came with being with a younger woman. The fear that you’d suddenly be too old for her. That you’d come across like a father figure. That she’d take up with a younger man because you weren’t sexy to her anymore.

  But Sascha never made him feel like that, so why he’d experienced the crippling doubt, he didn’t know.

  If anything, she made him feel virile. Stronger. More assured. And for a man who’d never particularly lacked in his confidence until he’d made her his woman, it was saying something.

  “Why don’t you speak it more?”

  “Because you wouldn’t understand a word I was saying,” he commented on a laugh.

  “This is true. In bed then. I want you to speak it more.”

  He cocked a brow at that, even as other things cocked to attention.

  The past month and a half had been most unlike Sascha. After Tin, she’d been glad to be over the six weeks of healing the doctor insisted upon. This time? She hadn’t been. But, naturally, the circumstances were different. Even if, physically, the labor had been easier on her than when she’d had to deliver Tin, who’d been very large at eight pounds three ounces, emotionally, the labor was another matter entirely.