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The man’s a fool for letting his daughters have so much power over him. He should have stuck with the arranged marriages he had planned out for each of them.
My kisa murmurs something in her sleep, drawing my full attention. I can’t wait to have her in my house, in my bed, belonging to me and only me.
“Soon,” I whisper to her slumbering form. “Soon you’ll be all mine.”
I snap a picture of her before I leave. A keepsake of this moment.
Isteer my motorcycle into the underground parking garage beneath my club, the four glowing golden letters of the night club’s name always sets me at ease. They blaze across the front of the building. RIOT.
From the garage, I take the elevator up to the top floor and it opens into the penthouse where I’ve lived for the past decade. The foyer leads to the living room and a breath-taking view of the bay. Floor-to-ceiling windows create an unobstructed panorama.
“Hey, Pakhan.” Maks, my best friend and occasional bodyguard, is sprawled on the sofa, watching TV, the sound muted. “Where have you been? It’s late.”
I pour myself a splash of vodka from the dry bar before turning toward him. “I was out. Had some personal business to attend to.”
Maks grunts, and goes back to watching his silent show.
If he were anyone else, I wouldn’t have humored him with an explanation, even one as vague as I just gave. But he’s my oldest friend, and right now, the only man I completely trust.
Making my way through the darkened penthouse, I enter my office. The windows offer a city skyline view on this side of the building.
I drop into my leather chair, and swallow down the vodka while I wait for my computer to wake up. The glowing screen partially illuminates the sleek wood paneling around me.
A couple of mouse clicks pulls up a file containing the gruesome photos of my uncle’s murder. I’ve been studying them ever since the funeral concluded. No way will the local police look too far into Vadim Kozlov’s death—not unless I pay them to do it.
To them he’s just another crime lord that met an untimely end, and they say good riddance to men like him. While the media latches onto all kinds of theories on who wanted Uncle Vadim dead. Some sources say it was the Irish, others the Italians. Most of those theories are wrong, while some hit closer to home. But my gut feeling says this was an inside job.
I think the Brotherhood murdered their leader. But why?
He ruled over us for the last thirty years, his men respect him, and there’s never been unrest among them. All signs that the Kozlov Bratva is thriving. Except I can’t shake the feeling that there’s a snake among us. A viper that struck and has now vanished back among the troops.
When I volunteered to go through with the backup arranged marriage that would bind me and Arianna Pontrelli, my uncle refused. He said the Pontrellis had broken their word and there’d be no union between our families. But he also avoided punishing them for their transgression, and I don’t know why.
I should have gone against his wishes and taken Arianna Pontrelli as my wife.
Did his refusal to condemn her family make him weak? I trusted that he had a plan, a reason for his decisions, but I never found out what they were before he was executed.
I wish I could blame my uncle’s murder on the Irish, Italians, or even the Mexicans. That’s what my brothers want me to do. As soon as I name a group, they’re prepared to take them out, to seek vengeance.
If only I could shake this gut instinct that’s driving me to look deeper into those closest to me. Those who had been close to Uncle Vadim. But I can’t. Now I need my enemy’s help to investigate my own brotherhood.
My phone pings with a new text message. I take it from my jean’s pocket and swipe my thumb across the screen.
Boris
When are we doing the ceremony? It’s been almost three months since you took over and I should officially be made your second in command. It’s what your uncle wanted.
Muttering a curse, I set my phone down. Boris has been on my ass about his position as my second since before the funeral. Technically, he’s right. When Uncle Vadim was our leader, our Pakhan, I was his second, with my cousin in the place of his third.
I was always a little uncomfortable with outranking Uncle Vadim’s own son, but my father was Vadim’s older brother and had run the Bratva when he was alive. Vadim always acted as if I should have stepped into my father’s position instead of him. But of course I wasn’t old enough to be our leader when I came to live with Uncle Vadim and my cousin Nikolai.
Instead, he made me his second, treated me like a son, knowing I’d inherit everything along with my cousin Nik. That all changed with Nik’s betrayal and then death. Boris rose to fill my cousin’s position as third, and now I’m stuck with him, unless I want to rock the boat and choose someone to replace him.
Which I don’t want to do. Not yet. Not until I get to the bottom of my uncle’s murder. The Bratva has undergone too much change already.
I’m torn between which track to pursue first—flush out Vadim’s murderer or strengthen my standing by marrying Arianna Pontrelli. In truth, I need to do one in order to do the other. I need leverage.
Arianna is first. My kisa is the key to the larger plan I will set in motion. As much as I hate to admit it, I need the Italians, outside allies, to find my uncle’s murderer.
