Prologue
Stefan
I’m the kind of man who lives for control.
From the office to the bedroom, domination is my instinct—and I show no mercy when it comes to getting what I want. Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that when I take charge, I always close the deal. And I never hear any complaints.
Not from my employees and sure as hell not from my women.
Tonight would be no exception. The handshakes, the easy grins, the raised glasses of high-end booze: it was all a means to an end as far as I was concerned. One more move on the chessboard, and one step closer to controlling KZ Modeling, the company my father had founded. The company he still controlled.
For now.
I leaned back in my chair, taking in the room. My father’s penthouse was luxury defined, and his private office was expansive, its richness accentuated by polished wood paneling and antiques. Never-read first editions lined the walls. Every object, down to the Waterford paperweights, was costly and rare. Just like everything my father treasured.
I checked the time on my Patek Philippe. “He’s late.”
“He’ll be here.”
Behind his desk, my father—Konstantin Zoric—poured himself a scotch. Macallan 25 Year, because in our world, image is everything. He cut an imposing figure in his signature monochrome charcoal. People said I looked like him, but most of the men in our family had the same dark hair, square jaw, full lips and olive skin.
He gestured toward me, offering me a glass. I took it but didn’t drink. Normally I’d go through the motions, act like I was one of the boys, but I needed a clear head going into this.
“Ah, here he is,” my father said as he stood to greet our guest.
An athletic, middle-aged man with ice blue eyes and gray streaks at his temples had been ushered into the office. His suit was well-made, cleanly tailored to his body. His tie was red. His lapel pin was an American flag. If I didn’t already recognize him from television, I still would have assumed he belonged in politics. The self-satisfied smirk was the cherry on top.
“Senator Lindsey, this is my eldest son, Stefan,” my father said, making the introductions.
“Welcome,” I said, already standing. I shook the senator’s hand, matching the strength of his grip. “A pleasure to finally meet you in person, Senator.”
He gave me a long, assessing look.
“Indeed,” he said, revealing nothing. “Glad you could make it.”
“Sit, sit! Let’s raise a toast to our joint venture,” my father said, passing a glass to Lindsey. “And to Stefan, entering fully into the family business at last.”
“And what a business it is,” the senator said. He eased into the plush leather. “You’ve got quite the little operation going. And KZM’s support is gonna go a long way toward securing—”
“The company is hardly small,” my father interrupted. He affected good humor, but I caught the edge in his voice, saw the way his shoulders drew back. “Tell me, Senator, can you nameanyother agency in the northern hemisphere that even comes close to the number of—”
Diplomacy has never been my father’s strong suit. “Živeli,” I cut in, raising my glass.
They lifted theirs, echoing their cheers, and we drank, the tension dissipating.
“Nice scotch,” Senator Lindsey said, after downing half his drink. “Macallan?”
My father grinned. “None other, my friend.”
“I usually prefer an American brand,” Lindsey went on, swirling the liquor around in his glass, “but what the hell.” He drained the rest and flashed his teeth at us.
I smiled back, put on a good face, but I was assessing the senator on my own. Looking for any signs of hesitation, a crack in the brisk façade.
What kind of man agreed to a deal like this?
Then I remembered thatIwas the kind of man who agreed to a deal like this. In fact, I was at the center of this deal, even if it hadn’t been my idea. But there was no other way.
“I think you’ll be very pleased with the terms of our agreement, Stefan,” the senator said smugly as my father poured him another drink.
