John Popov was treading on a ground he shouldn’t. Only if he or anyone else here knew who was standing before them. I found it rather insulting that years later they still couldn’t tell me apartfrom Callan. As far as they were concerned, Callan Raskov was a man with mood swings.
“And yet here we are,” I finally said, my voice like ice. “It doesn’t matter what my father would or wouldn’t have done.” I almost grimaced at the thought of actually referring to that fool as father. I nearly gagged. He wasn’t my father. He was Callan’s adopted father. And a bad one he was. A disgusting piece of shit. God, I would give up my soul to be able to kill him again for the first time.
“I will find the damn ledger.” I assured coldly. “So, just continue to sit pretty and watch me do the work, will you?” My gaze bounced between each person, making sure my next comment buried itself deep into their skull. “Stop summoning me every damn day for a report. I’m not your little errand boy. I am your Pakhan. I will give you result when it’s fucking ready…if I fucking feel like it!”
The murmur of disapproval ensued, louder this time. Face scrunched up, lined with disapproval, anger woven thick into the air.
Funny how I was always like this every time. And every damn time, they couldn’t believe my sheer audacity.
“Our allies are restless, Marshal.” Mikhail Raskov said. “The Albanians, the Triads, hell even the Italians. Those pesky flies that are nothing without us are also making threats.”
“Is it their fault?” someone remarked bitterly. “It’s not their fault that we have allowed them a glimpse at our end. For heaven’s sake, who loses a ledger?”
I took in a sharp breath, my nails digging into the polished oak. Left to me, I would pull out a gun right now and silence them with nothing more than three silver bullets. But I wouldn’t…not yet.
They were actually right, sort of. Callan was careless, so trusting, he allowed any of the soldiers to breathe around hisneck, strut in and strut out of his wing. So fucking stupid. I couldn’t believe how I managed to be his twin. I felt so insulted sometimes, knowing the motherfucker shared a damn womb with me.
Look how I had been running around trying to fix his mess. I couldn’t even enjoy my damn matrimony. God, I hated him so much. I didn’t regret chaining him. He was better off disarmed.
“We are supposed to be working on getting the Greek Mafia on our side,” Mikhail added, drumming his fingers gently against the table. “This isn’t the time to be losing allies. If we lose our backing, we all lose everything. And if that ledger resurfaces with our names on it, we’re all doomed. You know the feds. They’ll tear through us like wolves through fresh meat.”
“How close are you to retrieving it?” I nearly growled and flung a chair across the chamber when someone asked again. I just wanted to get out of here. What was with all these questions? Would it help me find the ledger faster?
Again, I inhaled sharply, tilting my head in the person’s direction. It was the youngest amongst the elders. Ilya Nobikov. Worked for the Foreign Intelligence Service…or something along that line. He was…smart, I supposed.
“Closer than before,” I replied vaguely, lifting a hand, my thumb massaging my temple.
God, I needed a glass of whiskey…or a cup of coffee. Or better still, my wife. Fuck, I missed my wife. Life would be so much better if she was here right, if I was buried inside her.
“Well, hasten your effort, Marshal.” The command cut across the tense air. “Or we’ll be forced to handle this another way.”
I was well aware of what another way meant. It meant every single one of them on this table would finally get a chance to vote against me…well, Callan.
They never wanted Callan here. He was only just a pun they used to clean their messes. They made him do the grunt work while preparing someone to inherit the throne.
The orphanage we ended up at after our mother died, wasn’t the best. It was where unwanted children were dumped. The cursed children, the children haunted by ghosts only they could see. The blanket was thin, barely enough to cover the cold. The porridge was cold, even on a harsh winter morning. The rice sometimes was three days old. We didn’t have toys and Christmas was a nightmare. But we were okay. We were contended. We didn’t have many dreams. We didn’t know what freedom was.
And then he walked in, Eugene Raskov, and took Callan. He was a pauper turned into a prince, but even that came with a price, a price I paid dearly, daily, because I needed to protect Callan, I needed him not to have those memories. Because he was fragile and would crack like glass.
If after all those sacrifices, they wanted to give this throne to someone else, then they must be prepared for war. The Raskov foundation was crumbling, about to fall apart. It was my blood that glued it together, made it stand.
If I could breathe life into a dead empire, then I could burn it to ashes too. The day these men sitting here in crispy suits decided to push me–us to the side, that was the day The Raskov Dynasty would become history.
I leaned against the table, a slow, knowing smirk creeping up my lips. “Do you really think anyone else can handle this better?” My gaze swept the room, challenging them, daring them. “If so, be my guest. But if not, sit tight, fold your fucking arms and let me do this my own way.”
And with that, I leaned off the table, heading out of the chamber, the heavy sound of boots falling behind me as some of my soldiers followed me out.
As I stepped into the foyer, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I slipped a hand inside, fetching the device, the metal cool against my skin.
“Marshal.” Alex Takharnov’s voice echoed through the speaker, calm, calculated.
“Found anything?” I asked in a sharper tone, tension coiling tight in my shoulder.
“Not yet, Marshal,” the soldier said, and I paused right beside the opened door of the backseat. “There are no security cameras anywhere close to the neighborhood. It’s really hard trying to find a killer who didn’t make the mistake of leaving anything behind.”
“Well, keep searching,” I spat, not caring that this wasn’t his work. I just needed results and all the men I had been sending were useless.
“I’ll go back to work, Marshal,” he assured.
