One of Aslanov’s men flicks on a torch and I am steered around the corner, away from the racking. We enter a separate room, one that looks like it used to belong to management. It’ssmall, the place filled with rotting desks and old furniture and computer monitors that look like they were made in the late nineties.
I am shoved down into one of the seats.
I clench my jaw, so close to cursing at them, lashing out and gutting them like a bunch of pigs. They have pushed me around for too long. But I push down my rage. Lauren and Timur would suffer the consequences if I did. Aslanov and his men have me by the balls and they know it.
One of the men circles around the chair and presses the barrel of his gun against my back.
“Now that it’s just us, there’s something else.” My voice comes out hoarse.
Aslanov steps into view, his predatory features accentuated by the flashlight in his hand. He props it up against one of the computer monitors, harsh white light illuminating into the room at an angle. “What?”
I exhale a breath. “I’ll give you what you want. I’ll go down—”
“You’re going down anyway,dolboyob. You fucked up so colossally, you can’t even—”
“Let me finish,” I grit, allowing a pause to see if he retaliates. He doesn’t. He just hardens his features and fixes his eyes on me. So, I continue. “You can have everything I have built over the years, but you must guarantee Lauren and the child’s safety. Timur’s too. They haven’t done anything.”
Aslanov eyes me for a while like he’s actually considering. Then, he smiles. I know that he wants my empire. My pregnant woman was just a tool for him to get what he wanted.
He dismisses me, turning to his men. He clicks his fingers, ordering them. “Give it to him.”
One of the thugs crosses the room and grabs something, walking it over to me. My eyes follow him, trying to work outwhat it is between the shadows. At first, I think it’s the Magnum from earlier until he walks it closer and sets it down next to me on a desk. It’s a folder. My hands are itching to open it, but I keep them firmly planted on my lap.
Aslanov gives me a nod. “Read it.”
I glance up at him, then I reach for the folder, expecting paperwork—stacks of documentation. Instead, I see one single piece of paper. I squint, trying to read the words in the difficult light.
TRANSFER OF SYNDICATE OWNERSHIP AND CONTROL
WHEREAS, Nikolai Andreyevich Rogov, acting as Pakhan of the Rogov Bratva, hereby transfers to Ronan Ilyich Aslanov full and unconditional control over the said syndicate and all assets therein; and WHEREAS, this transfer shall include but not be limited to: all underbosses, all soldiers, associates, and family members attached to the Rogov Syndicate...
I take my time to read the page. There’s more. It’s not just all of my mercenaries, but earnings, too. Companies. Clients. Funds. Everything. The man has done his homework and left no stone unturned. If I sign the dotted line, the Rogov lineage ends.My lineageends. There will be no Rogov Bratva. One signature, and my entire empire is history.
One of his men presses a pen into my hand.
Skol'zkiy ublyudok.
I guess this is it. The end of the line. He knew that I would cooperate no matter what, as soon as he had Lauren. This is what he was patiently waiting for—an opportunity to catch her and use it as leverage. How he found out about her pregnancy, and how much she means to me, remains a mystery. Charles, probably. Not that it matters much at this point. He knew whathe was doing the whole time. He even expected me to try to negotiate. That’s why he had the contract prepared.
Yebanyy mudak!
I feel him over me, watching. In my peripheral vision, I see a slow, satisfied smirk tug at the corner of his wiry mouth. He has me by the balls and he’s enjoying it.
“I knew that you would ask for your littlesukato be safe, Rogov. Like I said, you’re predictable. So much so, that it’s starting to become boring now. Anyway.” He shifts, moving around to face me. He squats down to look me in the eye. “Sign it, and both your girl and your friend walk out of here alive. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Of course, I’m notforcingyou to sign it, but I think you know what happens if you refuse.” He sharpens his eyes, a cruel expression souring his features even more. “They all die before the sun comes up. The girl, your beloved Timur, and—” his tone goes even colder— “your precious little baby girl. And I’ll make sure you get to watch the show before I kill you, too.”
I grip the pen, my fist clenched.
Blyad.
When I was younger, all I ever wanted was to lead the Rogov Bratva on my own terms, taking over from a father who didn’t give two shits about who he lost. I guess I succeeded, right?
It doesn’t feel that way anymore.
Not since I met Lauren.
And now that I have people that I care about so much that I’m willing to sign everything I have away in order to protect them, it feels like the only reasonable course of action.
I have proved myself wrong, but would that be so bad? I hated my father because he was always chasing the next thing, unbothered by casualty and death as long as he retained his power. Sitting here now, the tip of the pen almost reaching thepaper, it’s clearer than ever that you can’t rule a Bratva and have people that you care about. The only way you can successfully lead and continue to do so for generations is if you’re Ronan Aslanov—cold, calculating, ruthless. He’s the kind of man that would bury his own mother alive if it meant he could retain his power.
