Prologue
Dmitri
“The Pakhan’s meeting is running behind,” said the guard, not bothering to look up from his phone.
When the guard met my eyes, he flinched.
My day just kept getting better and fucking better. One of my protection rackets had decided that today would be an excellent day to grow some balls and refuse to pay. I believe the text had said something to the tune of, “What am I even paying for?”
But instead of stringing the bar’s owner from his office ceiling and showing himwhohe truly needed protection from, I was waiting on the Pakhan–the head of the Russian mob–to finish up his meeting.
To my left, a crashing noise echoed through the wall. It was followed by a wet, crunching noise.
“It sounds like the meeting’s over now,” I said.
Now I could get this sit down with the Pakhan over with and–
My statement was immediately refuted by a high-pitched screech, and the rumble of the Pakhan’s voice. I scrubbed a hand across my face.
“Have him call me when he’s ready,” I said to the guard. “I’ll be down the hall.”
At least, it didn’t sound like his meeting would last much longer.
I maneuvered down the familiar hallways of the Bratva’s headquarters, finding one of the few rooms that had a broken camera. I’d sworn loyalty to the Pakhan just like everyone else in the Bratva, but I wasn’t about to let him eavesdrop on my phone calls.
After all, why make it easy for the paranoid man, when he was working so hard to infiltrate the confidence of the men loyal only to me? It’d be a pity to end his futile–and obvious–attempts to glean some dirt on me.
I might be his heir apparent in the Bratva, but under the surface he trusted me just as much as I trusted him.
I settled onto a couch at the far end of the cavernous room. As much as I’d rather be personally testing my hypothesis of how many bones you could break before someone passed out, the issue with the bar owner needed to be dealt with now. I took out my phone to deliver the orders to my men.
Before I could even unlock my phone, the only door to the room slammed open and…
A blonde woman and man were unceremoniously shoved inside.
From the hallway a voice said, “The next time this door opens, your brother better be dead.”
A sharp knife was tossed in front of them, and then the door clicked closed.
I groaned. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Twin pairs of blue eyes snapped in my direction. It took me a moment, but I vaguely recognized the two of them. The siblings were fellow participants in the Pakhan’s fucked up competition to become his heir.
When the Pakhan had discovered he was unable to father children, rather than adopt an heir or choose one of his loyal followers, he started a competition that I’d been participating in since I was born.
All the candidates were sent on assignments and forced to demonstrate their value to the Vassiliev Bratva. The results determined how high we ranked in the competition to become the Pakhan’s heir.
The twist was that only children of the Pakhan’s loyal followers were allowed to participate. My mother had birthed me and my deceased brother with the sole purpose of us participating.
I’d finally reached number one in the rankings.
And these two here, where did they stand? I frowned, trying to remember their names. Amongst the competitors they were on the periphery, never reaching a ranking high enough to be a threat or doing anything to catch my attention.
The siblings’ names finally popped into my head:Alisa and Kiril Solovyov. Although I barely recognized Kiril underneath the mess of bruises peppering his face and the bone peeking through the skin on his arm.
The woman I assumed was Alisa Solovyova took in first my body, and then my face. Her face paled as recognition flickered through her eyes.
I felt the corners of my lips turn up, but from the way she stumbled backwards you’d think I’d just snarled at her.
