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Over the past few months, I’ve had my brothers watch her from afar. I’ve only seen her through video and pictures, but none of them truly do her any justice. Sandra Antonova is a stunner, probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. Fierce, intelligent—and apparently cusses like a fucking sailor.
But I’m not here to admire her gorgeous, shoulder-length locks or those crystal blue eyes or that pouty mouth she’s been chewing my ear off with. At the end of the day, she’s nothing but a negotiation tactic. I have everything planned down to a T. She can throw a fit all she wants, but nothing is going to stop me from getting what I want.
By this time next week, all of Moscow will be under my rule and the Antonov Bratva will be running scared with their tails tucked between their legs.
“Are you alright, Boss?” Damien, the youngest of us and my half-brother, is the first to ask.
Honestly, it’s so typical of him. Always so hungry for my approval. Does he think if he plays nice long enough we’ll truly accept him as a Nicolaevich? We call him our little brother to his face, but behind his back, Damien Sidorov will always be known as the Bastard—born to our father and his whore of a mistress. Our shared blood is honestly the only reason I tolerate him at best, outright ignore him at worst. Still, my plans are in motion, and I need all hands on deck—illegitimate siblings or otherwise.
I wave a hand dismissively and turn to Leo. “Watch her,” I order. “I need to make a phone call.”
My younger brother nods, scratching at the scar just above his ruined eye. “Fine,” he grumbles. “Don’t take too long.”
From her seat, Sandra huffs. “Why? Are you scared I’ll take out your other eye?”
I fight a smile.Ooh, she’s mean.
Samuil, who we affectionately call Fists, sneers at her. He cracks his thick knuckles, flashing his rings—a threat. “Careful, bitch, or I’ll cut out your tongue.”
Sandra grins, sitting up straighter at the challenge. “I’d like to see you fucking try, asshole.”
I raise a hand, halting Samuil in his tracks. My middle brother has always been a troublemaker. Ever angry, always looking for something—or someone—to beat out his aggression. A wild child with next to no supervision or outlet for all that pent up rage. I’m one of the few people on Earth who knows how to keep him in line.
“Not a scratch,” I remind him sternly. “Her father will be less likely to agree to my terms if we hurt her. I’d like to do this as bloodlessly as possible.”
Samuil’s nostrils flare. “What if he doesn’t agree?”
I shrug. “Then we do things the old-fashioned way. We’ll start with a lock of her hair, then her pinky… If that doesn’t work, we can lob off a whole limb and send it to his doorstep. Until then, however, you’re not to touch her.”
Sandra squirms in her seat, struggling against her bindings. It’s the first time since she got here that she’s shown a hint of discomfort. I think the poor woman is finally starting to realize just how serious I am.
“You sick sons of bitches,” she hisses. “My father is going to kill you.”
I rub the bridge of my sore nose. “We’ll see, princess. We’ll see.”
I leave Leo and Samuil to guard the prisoner while Roman and Damien quickly follow me out of the room. We climb the staircase leading up to the main floor of the taxi depot, greeted by the sound of rumbling engines and mechanics hard at work. Everything smells of car exhaust and motor oil—a far cry from the Nicolaevich Family’s heyday in the diamond mining sector, but it’s nonetheless a source of pride for me.
The Nicolaevich Brothers Taxi Company is, on the surface, your average taxi service. We’ve got a fleet of over three hundred cars across Moscow, bringing customers to and from locations at an affordable price. Our drivers are well trained, our administrative staff friendly and helpful. Available 24/7, including holidays—our taxis are just a call away. We’re one of Moscow’s most trusted ride alternatives…
And that’s why nobody realizes what we truly are: a trafficking network that rakes in billions of dollars year after year. Hard drugs, smuggled weapons, counterfeit cash, and—on occasion—labor. Our vehicles are reinforced and modified for extra cargo room so no job is too big or too small. No questions asked. You need something—or someone—to disappear? The Nicolaevich Brothers will take care of it. Whether it be in the dead of night or in the middle of the day, we can transport whatever, wherever.
For a price, of course. Discretion isn’t cheap, after all, and my brothers and I are more than aware of our business’ value. Nobody ever bats an eye at a taxi. They can come and go as they please, and they’re rarely ever stopped by cops. We provide a unique service, and that means top dollar.
“Are you sure she’ll be secure in the basement, Andrei?” Roman, my third youngest brother, asks me. He fiddles with his silver cufflinks, a nervous habit. His usual charming smile is nowhere to be found, replaced instead with a look of unease.
I suppose I can’t blame him. This move we’re making is risky, but necessary. I have nothing against the Antonov Bratva. This isn’t personal. They’re just another obstacle in my way. I’ve always known my family and I were made to rule, descended from Russian nobility long since swept aside by history. We were always meant to be more than we currently are. If all goes according to plan, my brothers and I will be doing more than just running a taxi company—but all of Moscow as well.
Today is the day the Nicolaevich Bratva is born.
“You leave everything to me,” I tell him, starting toward my office. The Nicolaevich Brothers Taxi Company logo is painted on the glass pane of the door. “The two of you go about your days as usual. Make sure everything runs smoothly and handle any issues that arise. I don’t want to be disturbed while I’m on the call.”
Damien nods. “Whatever you say, Boss.”
I enter my office and lock the door behind me, treading across the carpeted floor toward my desk. My workspace is nothing to write home about. A couple of fake plants, old and tacky wallpaper, a lazy ceiling fan rotating round and round. And it’s exactly how I want it. The decor screams ‘humble company owner.’ Nobody would blink twice at me or suspect me of wrongdoing. Everything is modest and understated.
I have no need for flashy jewelry, overpriced sports cars, or imported Cuban cigars. What I want is to fly under the radar. To be underestimated. That’s how I’ll ensure the Nicolaevich Bratva’s success. Nobody will see us coming, and when they do—
It will be too late.
