Chapter 1
Landon
I used to think that the only option I had in life was to follow in the family business. Growing up, I was surrounded by men in dark suits with dark attitudes. I guess it was normal to me, but I always knew that my family was different.
Very different, in fact.
My father is Mikhail Galkin, a man who rose to the top of his family at a young age and has stayed there for the longest of times. He might be well into his senior years now, but I see more than ever how he carries the weight of the family business on his shoulders everywhere he goes.
My father is feared, respected, and sometimes even hated.
But I’ve never seen or heard of another man disrespect him.
The Galkin family came over to the US in the generation before my father. There were three brothers, and each one of them had three sons. But as it stands now, my father is the only one left alive.
Despite my father’s reputation as a ruthless and almost heartless pakhan, he is also known as a reforming influence onthe family. As I grew up, I would listen to him tell me that my role in the business would be very different to his.
According to my father, I wouldn’t be a front-line soldier. Or a commander. Or even a tactical advisor. No. My path would be forged elsewhere.
Even my name would be different.
While my full name might be Artyom Landon Lane Galkin, I am only known as Landon Lane. The names Landon and Lane both coming from my mother’s side of the family.
My father told me that the Galkin name carried far too much heat. And despite the fact that with a little digging people could always find out who I was and where I came from, by having an Americanized name, I would for the most part be able to move and climb the corporate ladder unnoticed.
So rather than follow my father and become a pakhan, I was put on the pathway to legal expertise. As my father spends more and more time taking the family legitimate, I am in training to become the best legal mind possible so that when the time is right, I can assume control of the new, improved collection of Galkin business interests and assets.
It’s a plan that has been tried before by other crime families.
And usually it’s a plan that fails sooner rather than later. After all, most families like ours are so deep rooted in the underworld lifestyle that they’re only one step away from all-out war or a long, protracted battle with the authorities.
But under my father’s leadership, the Galkin family have gradually turned the volume down on the drama so low it’s barely a whisper. No ongoing legal battles to contend with.Barely a whisper of the feds looking into our business. And as far as rival families go…
Well, let’s just say that one very bloody night later, my father made sure no one would be stepping up to take us on any time soon.
So. That’s me. Twenty-three years old, on track for a rock-solid legal career, and pretty much able to move around the city without a worry in the world.
Which reminds me… I need to haul ass and get myself to my morning lecture. It’s a corporate law session with an impressive visiting lecturer, so I need to get my butt into gear pretty damn quickly.
“Oh shit,” I exclaim, suddenly looking around my apartment and realizing that I left my law school backpack over my father’s penthouse across town. “Fuck!”
I double check across my compact apartment to make sure that it’s definitely not here. Nope. Nowhere to be seen. This isn’t good.
“Think… think…” I mutter, my mind suddenly running at a million miles per hour.
I’ve prepped a ton of notes ahead of this lecture and just like I always do, I wrote them by hand rather than on my phone or on a tablet. I like to do it old school when it comes to note taking, despite the fact that nearly all of the other students are totally obsessed with their screens.
Hey, I guess I’m not laughing now though.
My apartment is neat and tidy as always and I know where everything is, but I still rush around and check in the cupboards I know for sure my backpack won’t be in.
“Argh,” I exclaim, my frustration in danger of boiling over as I realize that for sure I am going to have to go to this lecture unarmed, so to speak. “Claw! What am I going to do?”
I reach over and pick up Claw, my furry little brown bear stuffie.
I might not have my notes and favorite legal writing pads, but at least I have my most cherished stuffie. Claw is the softest, sweetest, and most cuddly stuffie I’ve ever laid my hands on. And to make him even more special, he was a gift from my mother when I was only six. It seems like a long time ago. My mom died when I was a teenager and I’ve been clinging on to her memory in any way I can ever since.
Dad doesn’t talk about Mom much. I don’t blame him really. I can see how painful it all is for him, even to this day. But the occasional conversation where we could reminisce wouldn’t go amiss, that’s for sure.
