1
ADRIK
Stopping at our club on the Strip was supposed to be a break. A chance to stop dwelling on the inevitable changes that would be coming in the family. Changes that I’d always counted on having to face.
Just not this soon.
“I just can’t believe this is happening,” my younger brother, Viktor, said as he set his glass down.
While we were here to stall and kill the time until we’d need to return to the Volkov estate for the meeting with our father’s doctor, drinks seemed like a poor choice. Viktor’s was only half gone. Nikolai had finished his instantly.
Mine sat untouched, the clear liquid perfectly still in the glass. I kept my fingers wrapped around it. Not because I debated taking it but because I neededsomethingto hold on to. Something to grip because my grip on reality—and sanity—was fleeting. Viktor was right. It did seem unbelievable that Dmitri Volkov, the fearless and powerful Pakhan of the Volkov Bratva, was near death.
Or is he?
I resisted the instinct to cringe at the thought. It was the very matter we’d discuss with the doctor, the expert who’d be able to predict how long my father would remain with us.
It doesn’t matter, though, does it?
If he hangs on for another week or another year, he’s not going to resume his responsibility.
I would. With his decline,Iwould be expected to fill his shoes. Per the laws of strictly following our bloodline, as the eldest son, I alone would be the next leader.
“He was perfectly fine,” Lev, my younger cousin, said. His father, my uncle Gregori, died a long time ago and my father had always been the paternal figure Lev looked up to. He was the boss of the family, but for myself and my three brothers, plus my two cousins, he wasthefather we’d obey and respect. He wastheleader we’d serve and protect.
None of us could do a damn thing to protect him now. Not when the “enemy” was the cancer he’d hidden from us for too long.
“Heseemedperfectly fine,” I corrected. That was perhaps the worst part of this news. He’d masked his weakness. He’d omitted the truth that he had tumors spreading through his body. For over two years, he hadn’t told a soul about his prognosis. But that wasn’t too hard to believe. My father was a tough and secretive soul.
“It happened so quickly, though,” Lev replied, casting his forlorn gaze down to the drink situated in front of him on the black marble tabletop. Red and orange streaks reflected on the surface, mirroring all the neon lights that ran on apredetermined sequence of flashes and fades. “One day he was fine, the usual figure of health, and then yesterday…”
“And then yesterday, he passed out,” I finished for him. Blunt and cutting to the chase was simply my style, even with the topic of my father’s failing health. Yesterday, he keeled over and gave us all the singularly scariest experience we’d ever encountered. Facing off with Cartel thugs, other Bratva rivals, and even the law had hardened us. Born and raised in the Bratva, we were used to dark threats and sobering fear. All of us had at least once faced a gun aimed at our heads or a knife positioned close to our necks. The sight of our Pakhan suddenly dropping to the floor would linger as the most terrifying experience yet.
“We came here for a distraction,” Nikolai said, casting our cousin a glare. “And here we are talking about it all over again. We’ll be bogged down with nothing but the details as soon as we head to the estate.” He lifted his glass and finished in with a smooth toss. Once he swallowed, he shrugged one shoulder. “The way I see it, Father’s health will dominate every minute after we talk to this doctor.”
Lev furrowed his brow, staring at him sternly. “How can you even talk like that?”
I shared a glance with Alexei. He was a year older, Lev’s older and only brother. Presumably, Alexei and I should’ve been close, since we were the oldest, but we never saw eye-to-eye on the pettiest things. It seemed that we were on the same page about this, though.
So far, Lev was the slowest to accept the news that my father had fallen unconscious. Lev had always been close with him, and this would hit him the hardest.
But I didn’t have time for allaying his emotions or worrying about how much he’d struggle with losing our Pakhan. All six of us would have to adjust. Grief was imminent.
Only I would need to change my entire identity, though. Instead of being the heir apparent, the Mafia prince and my father’s right-hand man, I’d take the throne. I wouldn’t be the boss in training. By birthright, I would be the next Volkov Pakhan. Assuming leadership would be the challenge of a lifetime, and I hoped I’d be able to count on my brothers and Alexei to help Lev acclimate to the loss.
“Anything I can help you with?” a waitress asked as she sidled up to our table. Sitting in the VIP area—obviously, since this was one of our establishments—meant that our every need would be catered to. The sugary tone of her voice hinted that she wasn’t offering to get another round for us. I hadn’t taken a sip of the one held steady in my hand yet. And while I was here to stall before meeting with my father’s doctor, she wasn’t the kind of distraction I needed.
Or wanted.
So, when she took my stony silence as a misplaced and delusional invitation to stroke her fingers up my sleeve and lean over so her cleavage could threaten to spill out of her low-cut shirt, I wanted to shove her away. Clear across the room.
Not fucking now.
If I couldn’t get out of my head enough to relax and have a drink, the last thing I’d consider was losing myself in a nameless pussy.
Not for a long time.
Tension coiled inside me, slithering through my veins and charging my heart. This pressure would only stay constant with whatever prognosis the doctor had for us tonight. I would be taking over, if not now, very soon.
