This is the proof I need of who Victor does business with. But it’s also about the business they do. When I burned down the warehouse all those years ago, what I stumbled upon was the worst kind of atrocity—human trafficking. Naively, I provided all the information I had found that night to the authorities, not knowing they were already crooked.
This time, I’ll be gathering evidence on who my father associates with—criminals—while also doing everything I can to dismantle the crime they’re both likely still involved in. I’m doing it for my sister's sake. It would break my heart if she were to ever witness the same things that Victor did that I saw. It would break me completely if she was dragged into this instead of me.
Tonight’s lack of a welcoming party at the airport was a message, as was the extravagant black-tie event being held at the Petrov Estate. Women in fancy dresses and men in black tuxedos fill almost every window on the ground and first floors.
My soon to be husband must think I’m stupid, which is fine, but treating me like this is only going to bite him, and my father, in the ass. Until the time is right, I’m more than happy to act the part of being a passive piece of eye candy.
The driver makes a turn, his headlights illuminating the dozens of guards hiding in the shadows. Which only provides further proof it was a calculated move by Petrov to leave me to my own devices.
Perhaps my fiancé thought I’d make a scene in the middle of his party, but I never would. The less time we have to spend together, the better. Although, that does make killing him harder, but not impossible. That thought keeps me entertainedas I check in, dial for room service, luxuriate in a deep bath, then drift off to sleep.
ALEKSEI
My head is fucking killing me, and I still need to speak with Sergey.
Rubbing fingers over my jagged facial scar doesn’t alleviate the building pressure behind my eye. Swallowing more pain tablets doesn’t help dull the pain either. I know what would help, but the fallout of murdering my brother would only cause more problems for me to solve.
One day, that won’t stop me, but tonight it’s fucking exhausting to even think it.
“Clear these rooms,” I bark at Sergey’s men, my hand pointing at the people lingering dangerously close to my side of the house.
Sergey’s men are, by default, mine too. It goes hand in hand with being his brother and his Avtoritet. The position of his second-in-command was not handed to me on a silver platter. I earned it, paying for my loyalty with blood.
Being his second-in-command isn’t something I aspired to, but it was necessary. Especially after I blindly stumbled onto where Sergey was looking to take our family empire—human trafficking—and who was helping him cover his tracks. As Bratva, he can run the Petrov businesses however he chooses, but some day, his perverted tastes are going to be his downfall. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll also deal with every person involved, along with those who have purposely turned a blind eye.
Taking a long drag of my cigarette, I let the smoke waft in my face, which does nothing to dull my headache, but at least it cuts through the plume of desperation stinking up my house.
After getting back from the warehouse, I had planned to see Sergey, then lock myself away to get some much-needed rest. But, like always, his bullshit means my plans for a peaceful night get railroaded.
The inside of our formal dining room would have my mother quietly weeping. We’ve fallen a long way from the time when the Tsar and his family were guests. Tonight, my brother's disregard for his mother’s hard work is as obvious as Sergey’s latest offerings.
Human trafficking is disgusting, involving children is disgraceful, and I absolutely loathe the practice. Which is how I know that the display in our home was done very intentionally. Sergey has set it all up, even using the antique chairs my mother used to adore to display his “wares.”
Accepting a crystal glass of vodka, I swirl the alcohol inside my mouth, trying to fry my senses, so I don’t have to remember the scent of their fear. There are three tonight, another three to add to my list. Similarly, I take note of the people who are bidding, adding their names to a different list.
Catalina, one of Olga’s assistants, stands near a young, newly designated Omega. Her stance should be protective, considering it is her role to look after the people Sergey sells, but her expression is one of badly concealed challenge. I stare into her eyes, and she drops her shields for a fraction of a second, but I see it—she hates and she loathes. Time will tell at who it’s directed at, because I’m always fucking blown away by the number of people willing to overlook shit like this if there’s money to be made.
Still, she’s in my fucking house. I stare her down coldly until she’s submitting, subliminally reminding her who she’s fucking glaring at. Once Catalina knows her place, I shift my focus to the young Omega she’s next to before I speak to Catalina. “How long has the bidding been open?”
Thankfully when she answers, she keeps her eyes averted from mine. “Two hours, sir. Another two to go.”
“The buyers have had sufficient time to examine our stock. Shut the room. Get the product back to the warehouse.” I flick my hand dismissively, handing her my empty glass as I walk off, leaving her to face the mess alone.
I’d like to shut the whole night down. Instead, I walk from one room to the next, shaking hands with our guests and listening to anything and everything they share. It’s the usual—shipment issues, stupid junkies trying to rip us off, a new malware that needs breaking. The problems never stop mounting. I make my way to Sergey’s office hours later than I wanted. My earlier headache is morphing into a migraine that rips holes in the shitty vision I have in my eye.
Passing the guards without comment, I use the hand scanner and let myself in past the doors into the corridor down to his office. After I knock once on his door, he calls me inside. He would have seen me approaching via the security feed displaying on the monitor on his desk.
“Sit.” He points at a chair opposite his desk.
“Hard pass.” I keep my eyes locked on his forehead. There’s no way I’m sitting down to watch my brother get his dick sucked.
I don’t get paid enough, even doing what I do. And he could never pay me enough to sit and watch. He has other people around him to feed his ego.
And because he knows I won’t put up with his shit, he tries to make it impossible for me not to look. His movements, as he uses her throat, are more jarring, and the noises he makes are fucking disgusting.
He does it because he wants me to say something. But fuck that. And fuck him.
I put my back to him and help myself to his vodka without asking because he hates when I take anything without asking.And then I open one of the doors to the balcony, taking my drink outside. I haven’t even finished my cigarette before he’s joining me, running a hand through his hair.
