Anton sat behind an oak desk, fingers drumming an anxious beat on the wood.

Ivan caught his eye with a sympathetic frown. Their conversation had stalled into nothing at all. Neither knew what to say anymore. All the words they could dream up to yell at one another had been used in both English and Russian. They never argued, and if they did, it was rare. Closer than brothers, and they didn’t even share blood. Very seldom did Anton find an urge to yell at his Sovietnik the way he had tonight.

“Soon,” Ivan spoke up, tilting his head to the side. “You can give the order soon.”

“Soon could be too fucking late.”

“You have to take that chance.”

“Fifty thousand dollars to his cousin said she wouldn’t last the month,” Anton argued, words practically spitting through clenched teeth. “The price he’s going to offer out on her head isn’t worth the blood in her body. She’s a mafia princess, the daughter of a boss.”

“Not to Sonny, because in all honesty, he knows the truth.”

Anton ignored Ivan and continued on like the other man hadn’t even spoken. “Still a boss’s child, no matter which boss it is. You don’t pay five grand to off a woman like Viviana.”

“I know.”

“Goddamn it, you don’t know what that’d do to me.”

“Her dead, or the price?”

“Fuck you.”

Viviana dead would absolutely destroy Anton. All those years he spent waiting and watching, keeping that safe distance but planning to make his move would be wasted. He’d been so careful and meticulous about his words and feelings for her when it came to his men and the rest of the Bratva organization, but there were some things he simply couldn’t hide.

Love for one.

He loved her so fucking hard it hurt and had for almost a decade.

“You’ve paid less,” Ivan pointed out.

Anton felt anger blaze through his veins like an inferno. “Are you comparing me to Sonny Carducci?”

“No, I’m just saying—”

“I’ve paid less for those who are worth less. You know I wouldn’t give an order to off a woman unless it was absolutely necessary. And never would I hurt Viviana. My whole life has been nothing but for her. Nicoli made sure of that.”

Before he could second guess his choice, Anton hit the speaker button on the conference phone on the desk, dialing in the number and allowing it to ring. A familiar voice picked up on the second ring.

“Boss.”

“Boris,” Anton greeted. “How are my things coming along?”

“As they have been. Another busy night.”

“Anton, I’m telling you that this isn’t the right time,” Ivan whispered warningly.

The younger man held up a middle finger as his silent fuck you. He didn’t take orders, he gave them.

“I want Viviana delivered to the safe house by tomorrow morning. Is that doable?”

Really, the question wasn’t meant to be posed as a request. If Anton suggested something to one of his men, it was a clear demand that meant they needed to get it done and correctly, or there would be hell to pay. Sometimes he seemed a little quieter than most other men of his status, but beyond his confident, calm exterior lay the cutthroat attitude and behaviour of any crime boss. He didn’t get where he was now by playing nice. No, he did what he had to.

After all, he had the very best teacher in his step-grandfather.

“Uh…”

Anton straightened in his chair. “Uh, what?”

“Tomorrow night might be a better option, Boss. That’s all.”

“The bull stays outside of the building after checking the floors does he not? He’s yet to notice Viktor or you, so I fail to see—”

“Not tonight, Boss,” the Brigadier interrupted with a remorseful tone.

“Excuse me?”

“They showed up at the dorm together, you know…”

“Not really,” Anton snapped.

“Shit. Together, Boss. They were all over each other. He went in with her and hasn’t come out. Okay?”

Anton almost choked on his tongue. Oh, Viviana, no…

“Listen, we can go in now, but—”

A strangled growl stopped the man’s words up short. The Bratva prince didn’t want to hear it; he didn’t care. What was his was his, regardless of what came before the arrangement could be fulfilled. God knew he’d taken enough women to his bed for a random distraction over the last nine long years.

“In the morning. Do it then. Not a hair on her head is to be harmed or your blood will spill. Leave nothing behind.”

“And the bull, Boss?”

Anton felt no guilt when he repeated, “Leave nothing.”