Chapter 1 – It’s Time You Took a Wife, My Boy
In which Thomas is compelled to do that which is against his will. And everyone is going to pay for it.
"It's time you took a wife, my boy."
Whatever Thomas Williams had been expecting Number One to say, it was not that. Williams had risen to the second position in one of the most powerful crime organizations in Europe by anticipating every move from not only his rivals but within The Corporation - Jaguar Holdings - as well. He'd thought, perhaps that the man seated across from him and enjoying an excellent glass of scotch would maybe compliment him on the flawless execution of a partnership with the terrifying Russian Solntsevskaya Bratva crime syndicate. Or gloat over the multi-million-dollar agreement that would send The Corporation into Eastern Europe, extending their reach three times farther than their current chokehold in Great Britain and South America.
But... what thehellwas this nonsense?
One dark, elegant brow rose as Thomas eyed the urbanely smiling monster across from him. Ben Kingston may look like everyone's favorite bald uncle, but he was a terrifying sociopath who took enormous pleasure in the suffering he caused for his many enemies and occasionally, his friends. There were few enough of them, better described as uneasy allies. And for Kingston's wife? Thomas snorted silently. Number One had married a beautiful escort with superb social skills who was just aging out of the most lucrative portion of her career when she turned 30. She was happy enough to leapfrog into the position of Trophy Wife, though ten years later it seemed Arabella Kingston was a shaken, diminished version of her former self who just barely managed not to flinch every time her husband looked at her. But she did deftly handle the many fundraisers and social engagements The Corporation used to keep strong ties to the most powerful in society, the excessively wealthy, politicians, and the like.
Taking another swallow of the scotch and enjoying the warm burn it made sliding down his throat, Thomas shook his head. "I beg your pardon, Number One? Where on earth did that come from?"
Kingston smiled at him in an avuncular fashion. "I was speaking with Ivan Kuznetsov, the head of the ?????? Triad branch."
Thomas forced a smile, "I've negotiated mainly with Semion Mogilevich. What did Kuznetsov have to say?" What he wasn't saying to Number One, but was quite clear was that Williams had been dealing with the titular head of the Bratva organization, not one of his lieutenants.
But Number One was not the head of The Corporation without reason. "My dear boy. We will not see Mogilevich again for months, likely years. Unless, of course, The Corporation fucks up." He chuckled mirthlessly and took another sip of his drink. "Kuznetsov will be overseeing our co-interests. And he discussed his concerns about you tonight."
Feeling the heat rising from his expensive cotton dress shirt, Thomas took a deep breath. "Do enlighten me."
Knowing he had his arrogant Number Two's attention, Kingston relaxed and crossed one leg over the other. "There's to be a rather large party in St. Petersburg in June to celebrate the merger of our combined business interests. Have you been to a Bratva gathering before?"
Brow furrowed; Thomas shook his head. "We've always avoided such large gatherings for a reason."
"That's not how Bratva works," Number One scowled. "It is expected, which is to say it is mandatory. And we've worked too long to lose this now. You'll see that the Russians are very fond of family. All the wives will be there, older sons. And we will be there with our wives."
Thomas was losing his patience, but he forced himself to chuckle lightly. "Did Number Three get married within the last... what? Twenty-four hours?"
Rising to fill his glass, Kingston raised the heavy crystal decanter to Williams, who shook his head. It was clear they were in a bizarre negotiation and he'd prefer to keep a clear head.
"No, Fassell did not marry Clara, but they are engaged, and the key players did see the ring on her finger at dinner. But they expect more from you since you will be our point man on the Bratva project." One corner of his thin mouth turned up at Number Two's incredulous headshake.
"You must be joking. How would being saddled with a wife make me a better business partner?"
Kingston shrugged, seating himself again. "The Russians equate wife and family with stability. They are violently opposed to homosexuals, and if you're an attractive man in your mid-thirties without a wife and children on the way, they're going to question it. And you. And by extension, The Corporation." His pleasant smile vanished. "And this, I cannot allow. If you do not wish to marry, I will have to assign this partnership to Number Three's handling-" here, Thomas actually choked on his drink- "or take it over myself."
Williams ran his thumb over the scotch on his lower lip. "You must be joking. This is my acquisition. I made the contact; I have handled the entire negotiation since. I do not intend to relinquish control to Fassell. Or you, Ben."
The unspoken threat hung in the suddenly tense room, and finally Number One stirred. "I'd warned Kuznetsov you would react this way. He said you were welcome to contact Mogilevich himself, that he'd be expecting your call. I would strongly suggest making it a call to assure him of your imminent wedding." With that, Kingston finished his drink and left the boardroom, leaving Thomas to stare incredulously into the fireplace.
"What the bloody hell?" He hissed, slamming his glass down and reaching for the phone.
Had he'd been there, Kingston would have taken enormous satisfaction in the look of stupefaction that spread across Number's Two's handsome face, which then transformed into utter fury. Calmly bidding the Bratva head a good evening in flawless Russian, Thomas pushed a button to end the conversation, then lobbed his glass across the room, gritting his teeth as it shattered into a satisfying spray of crystal.
It was only 2 weeks later when Thomas found himself furiously knotting a blue silk tie around his throat, yanking it just a bit tighter to make the sense of a noose tightening around his neck feel more than just symbolic.How did I end up in this mess?he raged silently,How did that bastard Kingston manipulate this without me even guessing?Thomas knew perfectly well that there was more to this than just the Bratva's insistence of "home and family." Number One had been throwing women at him since he'd risen in rank in his mid-twenties. Kingston liked associates with family. It gave him the ultimate tool to ensure compliance. Wives, children, were valuable collateral. And Thomas's infuriating indifference to either was a problem for Kingston. There was nothing to hold over his slippery vice-president's head. Finally dressed, Williams looked bitterly in the mirror.
"This is a transaction. Like any other. Select the most viable candidate and get this over with. It will be like having a housekeeper with a larger list of duties." With that inspiring assurance, Williams got into his Jaguar - midnight blue this year - and roared off to St. Luke's. Handing his keys to the valet, he straightened his tie and glared at the beautiful building as if it had personally offended him. Entering the restored old church, he chuckled slightly, tapping the toe of one shining Louis Vuitton loafer on the entryway, half expecting to burst into flames. When his first step proved he was unscathed, Thomas strolled in, mildly surprised at his fanciful thought. "Must be deconsecrated," he murmured.
Jerwood Hall inside the building was exquisitely decorated with huge arrangements of spring flowers and expensively dressed men and women, chatting and laughing. Number One's gathering, which he macabrely labeled "Williams's Buy A Bride Bash" was doubling as a fundraiser for the London Symphony Orchestra, who'd supplied the talented string quartet playing on the riser in the center of the room. Accepting a drink from the closest bar, Williams took a sip, letting his polar blue eyes canvass the room. Kingston and his wife had gathered a dozen or so young ladies who would fill all the requirements of being a Corporation wife. Good breeding, well-educated, beautiful, and capable, as he'd disgustingly leered, "Of keeping their mouths shut about The Corporation's business and their legs open." The statement was so appalling that even Number One's wife stared at him, forgetting to laugh.
"Williams!" Sighing inwardly, Thomas turned and plastered a polite smile on his face as Number Three came towards him, hauling his fiancée along by her hand. "Good to see you! No date tonight?" Michael Fassell's slate-grey eyes twinkled. The tall, handsome third in The Corporation knew perfectly well why his partner was dateless. "Eh, knowing your charm, I'm sure you'll be leaving with one. Or maybe three."
Clara giggled, "Never mind him, Thomas. Nice to see you." She would have liked to have kissed his cheek in greeting, but there was a nearly palpable barrier around him that clearly said touching would not be welcome.
All the same, Thomas looked down at the cheerful redhead with a smile. "Clara darling. Are you ready to come to your senses and leave this fool for me?"
Fassell laughed a little too hard, "Now, Number Two. No pouting that I can find someone who adores me, even though that terrifying stare of yours sends sane women screaming."
