Prologue - Menlow
Hostile takeovers are my specialty, but this one might actually be fun.
I lean back in my chair and inspect the projected financials on the conference room screen. Vasiliev Industries. A mid-sized tech firm that’s been quietly eating into our market share for the past eighteen months. On paper, they’re legitimate competition. Good products. Aggressive marketing. The kind of company that keeps you on your toes.
But I know what they really are. A screen for a rival Bratva operation looking to muscle into territory that doesn’t belong to them.
“Their Q3 numbers don’t add up.” I tap my pen against the mahogany table. “They’re reporting fifteen percent growth, but their client acquisition rate only increased by six percent. Someone’s pumping money into this company from outside sources.”
My brother Alexei grunts from his seat at the far end of the table. He’s the second oldest of us six siblings, behind me by two years at thirty, but he’s built like he was made for violence rather than boardrooms. Which he was. “So we hit them where it hurts. Take out their leadership. Send a message.”
Pavel doesn’t look up from his laptop as he responds, “That’s your solution to everything.” He’s our tech specialist, younger than Alexei by three years and far more interested in code than combat. “Some of us prefer strategies that don’t end in bloodshed.”
“Bloodshed sends a message.”
“So does bankruptcy.” I click to the next slide. “We don’t need to start a war. We just need to make their company worthless.”
Zakhar, the third oldest after Alexei, leans forward. At twenty-eight, he’s always been one of the protectors in our family, eager to prove himself in the business side of things. “How do we do that without tipping them off that we know what they really are?”
“We buy them. A hostile takeover. We acquire enough shares to force a merger, gut their leadership, and absorb what’s left into our operations. By the time they realize what happened, we’ll own everything they built.”
Alexei’s mouth curves into an approving smile. “And if they fight back?”
“Then we remind them why picking a fight with the Karpov family is a mistake.” I close my laptop and stand. “But it won’t come to that. Their Bratva backers won’t risk open conflict over a front company. Not when Konstantin has made our position in this city very clear.”
As our cousin and the head of the original Karpov line, Konstantin runs the main Bratva operations while my siblings and I handle our own branch of the family business. We came to Chicago from Moscow two years ago for our cousin Roman’s wedding, and he welcomed us into the fold without question. Gave us resources. Protection. A place to rebuild after everything our parents destroyed.
I owe him more than I can ever repay. Which is why I refuse to let some rival outfit threaten what we’ve built together.
“I’ll have the acquisition paperwork ready by the end of the week,” I tell my brothers. “Pavel, I need you to dig into their digital infrastructure. Find every skeleton in every closet. Alexei,put our people on alert. I don’t expect trouble, but I want us ready if it comes.”
“Were you even going to tell us about this little family meeting?” Anya shoves her way through the conference room door with Kristina close behind. My sisters. Anya is twenty-four with our mother’s dark brown eyes and none of her cruelty. Kristina is two years younger, quieter, but just as stubborn.
“You two stay out of this.”
Anya rolls her eyes. “Because we’re women?”
“Because you’re not involved in this side of operations, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“You’re such a control freak,” Kristina grumbles.
“Yes.” I don’t bother denying it. “That’s why our companies are worth nine figures and growing. Meeting adjourned.”
My siblings file out. I wait until the room empties before I allow myself a moment to breathe.
This is what I do. What I’ve always done. Protect this family through whatever means necessary. Our father beat our mother until she broke. Then she turned that broken rage on us, her own children. Eventually, she ran. Just disappeared one night without telling anyone where she was going. Our father spent months looking for her. When he finally found her, he had her killed. He followed a year later, killed by enemies he’d made through decades of brutality.
I was nineteen when I became responsible for five younger siblings with nowhere safe to go.
We survived. Built something real from the ashes of our parents’ failures. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone threaten what we’ve created.
The acquisition moves forward exactly as planned. Shell companies. Strategic share purchases. Legal maneuvers designed to look like standard business operations until the trap snaps shut. By Thursday afternoon, I own enough of Vasiliev Industries to call an emergency board meeting and force the changes I want.
Their CEO resigns. Their CFO follows. By Friday morning, the company that threatened my family’s interests belongs to me.
Clean. Bloodless. Another victory.
I should feel satisfied. Should go home and celebrate.
