PROLOGUE
Alexei
Pretty women as party favors appeal to me as much as the next man, but this wasn’t billed as a sex party, and I don’t trust the host. Leaning against a dark paneled back wall, I scowl. A couple of the girls are heavily made up, and I wonder if they’re really over eighteen. Cell phone recordings are banned to protect the men with wives, but I spot light reflecting off something in a vent and suspect it’s a camera. Fucking Ivan Egorov is about as trustworthy as a feral cat. He got me here on the pretense that we were going to discuss Mikhail Kalashnik’s estate and how to manage things until it’s settled. So far all that’s settled in my mind is that Egorov got us here to tell us he wants to be in charge of everything.
Up until now, I’ve been on the fringe of the Kalashnik syndicate, running two clubs that launder money. I didn’t take a larger role because I didn’t want to. And if I wasn’t willing to take orders from Mikhail, who I loved like a father, I definitely won’t be taking them from Egorov who I’ve considered an enemy for the past year and a half.
A rail-thin girl with fake blonde hair crawls across the floor to me. In private, with the right woman, it would be sexy, but not here. When she reaches me, I brush away her hands, which try to touch me below the belt.
Two women in the center of the room begin stripping a third girl before our eyes. My cock would have to be broken to not appreciate seeing a woman stripped, but my mind is not into this scene. I’ve already decided that I’m not partaking of anything Egorov’s offering in this rented mansion.
If I’m not planning to play, then I’m not planning to stay. Walking out of the room quietly, I head to the front hall. There’s a study where business meetings are supposed to be held when everyone’s finished drinking and playing around with the girls. That’s probably where Egorov is. I want to get on with things. I glance at my phone. Eight-thirty at night. At this rate, we’ll be here till two a.m.
As I pass the front hall, movement catches my eye and I turn. The closet door is open, and a woman’s hand is holding the edge of the door. I see the back of a foot too that’s resting on a thin-soled sandal. It’s simpler and lower heeled than the ones in the orgy room.
When she steps back, the first thing that hits me is that she looks like an angel in her white linen dress with the light behind her creating a halo. It diffuses through the fabric, highlighting the silhouette of her beautiful young body. High firm breasts and a nicely rounded ass. Golden brown hair cascades over her shoulders and down her back. My cock gets harder on general principle. If this girl had been among the offerings in the living room, I probably wouldn’t have left.
A crack of thunder from outside makes her jerk and look toward the front door. A spring storm is doing a full-on assault at the moment. She puts on a black trench coat that is too big for her. I realize that’s because it’s mine. Her hand shoves something in the pocket and then she ties the belt tightly around her.
“Don’t you have your own coat?”
She jumps and then turns toward me. The beautiful face is a good match for the body. Bright blue eyes, tawny skin, pale pink lips.
In Russian, she tells me she doesn’t speak English, so I repeat my question for her in Russian.
“It’s my coat,” she says.
“No.”
There’s a beat while she apparently tries to decide whether to lie again. Her expression changes to one of feigned embarrassment.
“Oh,” she says, looking down. “It looks like mine. Just a mistake.” She removes the item she put in the pocket, which I see is a man’s wallet, then she shrugs off the coat.
“Natalia,” a voice barks.
My gaze slides to the left where Egorov is standing and glowering at the girl. At six feet tall, Egorov’s about half a foot shorter than I am. His steel-gray hair reminds me of a wolf’s coat, and so do the teeth that show as his lips draw back in a snarl.
If Natalia’s intimidated, you wouldn’t know it by her expression. Good for her. But also foolish of her.
“I’m cold in this outfit. I need a jacket.”
Egorov frowns. “Come in the study by the fire. You can get warm there.”
That’s surprising. The study’s supposed to be the site of syndicate meetings, not pretty girl ogling.
Natalia hesitates, glancing at the front door like she’d rather be on the other side of it.
“Alexei, what are you doing there?” Egorov asks, spotting me for the first time.
I shrug. “Came out for some air.”
Egorov’s grim expression rests on my face a moment. His expression is understandable. There’s apparently an inheritance coming my way that he believes should rightly be his. In his shoes, I’d probably see it the same way. His father-in-law dies and instead of leaving everything to his daughter and her husband, he chooses to give a portion of his assets to a young man with no blood ties to him at all. Mikhail’s generosity is pretty surprising. I thought he might leave something to my mother, his longtime mistress, but not to me. Reportedly, he left her a hundred grand, much to the family’s fury. But the lawyer executor who contacted me implied that’s small change compared to what may be coming to me.
Egorov’s lawyer contacted me too and grilled me about whether Mikhail was secretly my father. I didn’t answer, but I know that’s not the case. My mother didn’t meet Mikhail until years after I was born. We know exactly who my father is.
Egorov stalks toward the girl who has placed my coat back in the closet.
Natalia holds a hand behind her.
