Chapter One
Adrik
The office reeked ofcigar smoke and old leather—heavy, stale, the scent of a man who ruled through fear and didn’t bother hiding it. Viktor Marinov sat behind his walnut desk like a man carved out of ice, everything in the room positioned to remind others who was in control. The old Marinov pistol on the corner of his desk was almost a joke. Viktor didn’t need a gun to make people bleed.
Adrik stood across the desk from his father, collar and tie loose. He was tired of pretending Viktor’s world fit him, tired of acting like he wasn’t suffocating inside this house. He hadn’t been summoned often, but when he was, it was never for anything that didn’t leave a mark.
On the desk lay a photograph. Sergei. The man who had taught Adrik Russian, philosophy, poetry—things, except learning Russian, Viktor had always mocked as weakness. Sergei had been more than a tutor and personal security guard; he’dbeen the one who made him believe life could be more than power and fear.
Viktor tapped the photo. “Sergei sold us out. FBI,” he said, voice irritated. “He’s done. Tonight.”
The words didn’t just land—they detonated. Losing him would be like a physical blow, as if someone had reached into Adrik’s chest and extinguished the last flicker of hope. “Are you out of your mind? He’s been with us for fourteen years. You sponsored him from Russia, and he was my personal tutor and security guard.”
“He betrayed the Marinovs!”
“No, he didn’t! Your intel is fucked up!”
“I have multiple sources.” He sipped his vodka.
“He taught me everything I needed to know and kept me safe.”
Viktor’s cold eyes lifted. “He taught you softness. He made you question me. That’s betrayal enough.” Viktor spat the words out like a curse.
“You didn’t seem to mind him teaching me Russian, so I can negotiate with your business partners.”
“Stop questioning me.”
“He’s my best friend. My only friend. Is it a fucking crime to have one friend?”
“It’s a fucking crime when you disobey my orders. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Is this about what he’s taught me, or some cooked-up intel about Sergei going to the FBI?”
“Don’t question me!” he repeated.
Adrik opened his mouth to speak, and Viktor slammed his palm onto the desk. The sound cracked like a gunshot. Adrik flinched before he could stop himself, and Viktor’s smile said he’d seen it.
“You can’t touch him,” Adrik said, voice low, then repeated his words louder. “You can’t touch the man who’s like a brother to me.”
“I can,” Viktor stated, “and you’re going to watch. You will learn what happens when loyalty falters.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Don’t tell me no.” Viktor stood up and crossed his arms.
A cold tremor went through Adrik. The thought made his stomach twist so hard he nearly doubled over. He had witnessed such scenes before under his father’s guidance.
“I’m telling you ‘no’ right now,” Adrik shouted. “You’ll have to do it without me. I won’t watch you slaughter my best friend.”
Viktor moved away from his desk, never a good thing.
“If you say no to my order, you’re dead to me!”
“Kill whatever version of me you think you own.”
Viktor didn’t waste any time. One second he was closing in, and the next, Adrik was slammed against the wall, his father’s hand a merciless clamp around his throat. The squeeze came fast and hard, cutting off Adrik’s air like a steel vise. Panic shot through him. He clawed at Viktor’s wrist, but it was like trying to budge a rock. The edges of Adrik’s vision went spotty and black—a genuinely terrifying feeling.
“Show up at Sergei’s apartment,” Viktor growled, his hot breath in Adrik’s face. Then, just as suddenly, he yanked his hand away from Adrik’s neck, only to grab his collar and pull him closer. Before Adrik could even gasp properly, Viktor shoved him against the wall again. Viktor was savoring this, delivering his twisted lesson blow by painful blow.
