AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You were born in the motherland,” Papachka observes, sounding impressed as he accepts the handshake.
“Tula, Gospodin, though I came to America when I was still very young.”
Their voices fade as they round the corner, and I’m left standing in the entry by myself, intrigued by the stranger who just waltzed into our home and curious about how he might become a more permanent fixture in my family’s life.
I can’t say that the prospect bothers me.
I could get used to looking at the impressive specimen. Even if he’s far from what my father would consider an eligible match. But what harm could a little visual appreciation do?
A cold nose taps the palm of my hand, and I glance down at Boris as he takes a seat beside me. His brown eyes are soft with apology, the red shoe waiting at my fingertips as a peace offering.
“Good boy, Boris,” I murmur, stooping to accept the gift and pulling him close for some scratches. All the while, my eyes drift toward the hallway where Mishka’s broad back disappeared.
2
MISHKA
My palm burns from shaking the hand of my brother’s killer.
It’s the first time I’ve been this close to Sergio Sakharov. My skin vibrates with the intense effort required to restrain myself as I follow him into his extravagant office.
I stand in the opulent home of my mortal enemy, pretending to be his son’s new friend. And every inch of me screams with the need to avenge Sascha. To kill his murderer right here, right now.
But I can’t.
I would never succeed with this many Sakharov men crawling around the property.
We passed three of his men just coming down the lavishly decorated hallway, and two more stand guard by his desk as Sergio settles into his rich leather wingback chair. He leans into the plush back, interlacing his fingers as he props his elbows on the padded armrests.
And I wait, standing at attention beside Viktor to show I understand the level of respect Sergio’s title commands.
I let my eyes stray just enough as we entered the room to know that the walls are lined with mahogany shelves of leather-bound tomes, each probably worth thousands of dollars. Every inch of the Sakharov Pakhan’s office screams luxury. All bought with blood money. But I don’t let the disgust show on my face as I wait for the Bratva leader to speak. Instead, I maintain a steady gaze.
“So, Mishka, tell me about yourself,” Sergio commands, his gray eyes sharp as they scrutinize me.
“Well, as you know, I was born in Russia. My family moved to the States when I was five. My father was part of the KGB, who sent him to New York on a mission. When my mother died, he chose not to return home. Instead, he raised me in America. But he taught me what it means to be Russian. What it means to be a man. He taught me everything I know. And as your son can attest, that includes a good amount of… physical education.”
Sergio laughs, the sound low and ominous as he appreciates my euphemism. “And you think you can offer some value to my company?”
“I’m a hard worker, a team player. I’m used to long hours and physical jobs. But only an idiot would fail to realize you are the man who runs this town. And I would like an opportunity to work with that man.”
“What do you do now, Mishka?” he asks.
“I’m between jobs at the moment.” Not a lie. Sergio annihilated the Bratva Sascha and I worked for up until three months ago. It’s pretty hard to have a job when the entire hierarchy above you is wiped off the face of the earth along with all the product you would have moved.
Sergio considers my words, his expression passive. Then his eyes shift to his son. “You got into another bar fight and decided what made the most sense was to bring home the stray who joined the fray? What made you think that was a smart business decision?”
The question is packed with implication, and I can hear all the unspoken judgments layered in his words. Sergio does not trust his son’s business decisions. He doesn’t appreciate Viktor’s party lifestyle or the chaos it introduces into their world. And he doesn’t see the value I might offer to his operation.
Not that I can give him a résumé demonstrating all my training and experience that would make me an asset. If I listed my past references, Sergio would likely kill me on the spot.
But to my surprise, Viktor doesn’t even bat an eye at his father’s scathing review of his decision—or his appraisal of my presence.
“You should see him fight.”
That’s all Viktor says, and though he’s the son of my sworn enemy, I can’t help but appreciate the loyalty he’s ready to show me after one back-alley brawl.
Sure, I stepped in when those guys took the opportunity to jump him. But he has no clue what my real motive is—to sneak behind enemy lines so I can find a way to take Sergio down.
