1
MILA
Cigarette smoke drifts toward the ceiling in the hall in thin gray ribbons. Severin has his shoulder pressed against the wall near the staircase with one boot crossed over the other, and he doesn't bother to look up when I approach. The man is up Vera's ass so bad, you'd think she was holding a leash on him or something. Maybe he thinks it'll earn him brownie points or something, but if he really knew her the way I do, he'd realize she's a total narcissist.
Which doesn't explain why I'm even trying, except that if I want any part of my father's legacy anytime soon, she controls it.
"Hey, Severin." I really hope he can't tell how badly my hands are shaking. My palms are sweaty too. I've never tried this on a person before, other than the housekeeper whom I swore to secrecy. She hates my stepmother as badly as I do, and when my father died, the house mourned more over the fact that he left Vera anything than they did over losing him. It's like the hatred we collectively feel is a living entity of its own, and she's the puppet master making it dance.
Now he looks at me and his eyes are dark and unimpressed. He takes another long drag before he bothers to speak. "What?" He's been Vera's personal guard for as long as she's been here. She insisted that my father bring him along, like a piece of luggage she can't live without or something, and now he's my practice dummy.
I have to get that damn gold ring off his finger without him noticing and I have to take it to Vera to prove I'm ready for this mission. She swore on an oath in front of her daughters and Mr. Gregov that all I have to do is prove myself to her, which she also insists is a matter of retrieving a priceless ring belonging to my father from a man I've never met. If I do that, she'll grant me the right to sit at the table with her when she leads family decisions, which in my opinion should never happen, anyway. She's not a Radin.
"Vera asked me to thank you" —I hold out my hand between us— "for yesterday."
He stares at my open palm for several seconds before he drops the cigarette and grinds it under his heel. So disrespectful of my father's home, but how do I turn back a tide that's been coming in for years? When he reaches out to shake my hand, his grip is crushing. The calluses on his palm scrape against mine, and the ring shifts when I curl my fingers around his and press my thumb against the band.
"She said you handled it well," I add, though I have no clue what he "handled" for her. She hasn’t told me and I didn't ask. These were the lines she fed me to make sure I could accomplish my task. If I can't take a ring off her favorite security guard, how can I steal from one of the heads of the Bratva here in my city?
Severin narrows his eyes at me as I bring up my other hand, cupping his in both as I shake it firmly. The trick is to squeeze a little. That way, he can't feel as I pull the band loose and snatch it. And just like I've practiced so many times I could do it in my sleep, the ring slides free. I let go of his hand and step back with the metal burning in my palm.
"Yeah," he grumbles. "It's my fucking job. Now get lost, kid."
It's insulting the way these assholes call me "kid" when I'm clearly not a child anymore and my father left me his entire empire and all of his millions—under conditions, of course—but they act like I'm a nobody. But I have to let the insult slide or risk him discovering what I've done, and then I'd never get to that damn fight where Roman Kuzin will be most vulnerable.
So I walk away before Severin can think too hard about why I wanted to shake his hand in the first place. The ring is my trophy, and I don't dare open my palm to check it out. If I were to drop this thing and lose it, everything I worked for would be for nothing.
When I get to Vera's office, once my father's office, the door's already open. I can smell the stench of her overly pungent perfume mixed with the acrid stench of more cigarette smoke. I push the door wider and step through, then close it behind me with my free hand.
Vera sits behind her desk with her hands folded on top of a stack of papers. Her hair's pulled back so tightly that it pulls at the corners of her eyes. She watches me with pursed lips and flared nostrils. It's comical the way she tries to look mean, when she really just looks old, though I imagine she must've been such a beautiful woman once upon a time, before the hatred and bitterness stole her innocence.
"I got it," I tell her, parading over triumphantly to display the ring on my open palm. It's such a stupid thing, some fake gold band worn by a guy she'll give it back to—probably with a story about what an awful person I am. But to me it represents my agency. I have proven to her that I am worthy of the task she'll assign me and in accomplishing that task, I will effectively prove my worth as a member of my father's inner circle. Rest his soul.
"Show me." Vera cocks her head and looks down her nose at me with thin slits for eyes, and I see the distinct line of her makeup along her jaw where she hasn't blended it fully. She's sickly pale, uses too-dark foundation to make herself look healthy. She really should get that checked out.
The ring drops onto the desk in front of her when I turn my hand over, and Vera picks it up immediately, turning it over between her red-painted nails. She holds it up to examine the engraving on the inside, and her mouth curves into a sardonic smile.
"I wasn't sure you'd actually do it." She sets the ring down and leans back in her chair. "You've surprised me, Mila." I doubt this is actually surprising to her. I've been doing nothing but "proving" myself to her at every step for six months. Papa left me a trust I can't touch until I’m twenty-five, with explicit instructions that I be "trained" to handle his empire. I think he really intended his men to train me, but the stepmother from hell has decided to take it upon herself. As if she knows anything about running a criminal organization.
My palms are sweating and I wipe them on my jeans. "It's done. You said if I did this, I could move forward with the task and…"
"I did say that, didn't I?" She opens a drawer and pulls out an envelope. The paper is cream-colored and thick, sealed with redwax. She slides it across the desk toward me. "Roman Kuzin is hosting his fight club in three days."
I pick up the envelope and turn it over. The wax seal has an intricate design pressed into it, the way formal invitations are sealed. Whoever Roman is, he's gone to great lengths to spare no expense for his fight club. The envelope is even perfumed, or maybe that's from lingering too long in Vera's possession.
"And you're going to attend." Vera's fingers tap against the armrest of her chair as she continues. "Every family in Perm will be there. They'll be watching fighters, choosing enforcers. You'll fit right in."
I knew this moment was coming after overhearing her trying to set me up. A few of her men, a few of my father’s, and they all thought it was a good idea. Though, I'm certain my father's men truly want me to be trained in all things. They loved him like a father, and they understand his desire for me to lead. Vera would never convince them to throw me to the wolves, which is the only reason I accepted this. If they think I can do it, I know I can.
So I play the part of the naive woman and ask, "Why am I going there?"
"Because you're going to bring me something." Her smile widens. "He wears a ring on his right hand. It belonged to your father, and I want it back."
I stifle a sigh and bite the inside of my cheek to force myself not to react. My father's ring should be mine, not hers, but it's a small price to pay in order to take what's rightfully mine. And Papa's men will make her go through with it. I know it.
"So I'm taking his ring?" I ask, feigning ignorance. I already know all of this. It's why I've been practicing. It's why when sheasked me to bring Severin's ring, I already knew I could do it. A little eavesdropping goes a long way.
"I want you to take back what's ours." She tilts her head and watches me with an unblinking stare. "Unless you don't think you're capable."
