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His lips tremble and he starts spilling everything, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush, proving a universal truth—fear is a powerful motivator.
An hour later,one less soul graces God’s green earth and I’m back in my office, pouring a generous two— no, make that four—fingers of whiskey. The fiery liquid disappears quickly, and I'm pouring a second glass as Pavel and Roman enter the room.
These two men have proven their worth, especially after Ilya's death. They're my right hands that help me run my empire.
Pavel’s cold gray eyes are sharp against his slicked-back blond hair. His suit, black and impeccably tailored, wasn't just picked for my wedding earlier—it’s his uniform. I'd wager he even sleeps in Armani. Pavel views the world in absolutes; there's no gray area for him. You’re either loyal or a traitor. Friend or foe. From the day we met in a boxing studio on the wrong side of town, he’s shown an unwavering loyalty.
Roman, on the other hand, is a study in contrast to Pavel. Not only physically with his deep brown eyes and dark, wavy hair, but his personality too. It’s lighter, friendlier, less intense. Roman wouldn’t be caught dead in a suit; his preference is for leather jackets and washed-out jeans.
Like most opposites, they complement each other well.
Pavel sinks into a high wingback chair across from my desk as Roman pours himself a whiskey.
“So what did you learn in school today, children?” Pavel inquires.
"Nothing we didn't suspect already.” I drag my hand down the side of my face. “Blanchet was compromised a few weeks ago, which lines up with when our hackers noticed large sums of money funneled into his account. Money in exchange for information. They wanted to know everything about our operations: the wines we're crafting, the volume of our output, when we plan on hitting the international auction market.” I thread my fingers in front of me.
Stirring his drink, Roman adds, “Blanchet’s job was also to sabotage our production. Fuck up the labels somehow so the auction houses would find a tiny discrepancy. The Black Company doesn't want to outdo us. They want to end us.”
“Almost can’t blame them.” Pavel shrugs. “We’re fucking good.”
We can flawlessly reproduce bottles of the finest vintage wines in taste, appearance, and packaging. Wine fraud isn’t my most profitable venture—not by a long shot—but I love nothing more than parting rich people with their money and putting it to better uses.
I rest my elbows on the desk and steeple my fingers under my chin. “His Black Company contact was a guy named Chun Leung. He only ever dealt with Leung in person, which means he’s in Moscow, but Blanchet doesn’t have a number for him. Leung would always call him on a burner phone to set up their in-person meetings.”
Pavel's leg bounces in a steady beat. "I’ll speak to our guys about hacking into Blanchet’s phone, digging out the dates and locations of their meetings.”
I nod. "Then we can comb through CCTV footage from around the city to help us identify Leung."
Our goal is to find the elusive leader of the Black Company. If we can figure out who he is and take him out, the war is ours. His soldiers will be lost without his direction.
“Looks like you’ve married in time for us to go to war.” Roman sits back and leans his hands on his head.
I down the rest of my drink, feeling the usual churning in my gut when it comes to a ring around my finger. But marriage to Kira was too good of an opportunity to pass up—I could use the media attention to distract from the shit storm that is brewing with the Triad. And marrying Kira, Alyona’s best friend, also keeps my daughter in my orbit. Despite impressions to the contrary, I want my daughter to be happy.
Roman chuckles as he flips through images on his phone. His eyes flick up to mine. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen the social media coverage of your wedding.” He angles his phone towards me and imitates a chirpy entertainment reporter. “It seems Russia's most eligible bachelor has been swept off his feet by ahalf-American beauty, leaving the nation breathless. Everyone wants to know more about the most surprising love story of the year.”
I give Roman a dry look. "Remember, there's a loaded gun under this desk and I'm not shy about using it."
Pavel scoffs. “Kira barely said yes to you at the altar today.”
Her flushed cheeks and clenched fists revealed her hesitation, even as she tried to appear brave. Twenty-five years old is a child, even if she doesn’t look like one with curves for days. Curves that I need to put out of my head if I know what’s good for me.
I raise an eyebrow at Pavel. “Is there something you want to say?”
“Nothing I haven’t said before.”
Pavel doesn’t trust Kira’s motivations. Despite her insistence that she wants the power that comes with my last name, it’s hardly the full story. As part of the Kozlov Bratva, she had money, power, and privilege. Not at my level, but she wasn't exactly struggling. Either she’s a martyr who wants to save Alyona from her big bad father, or she has ulterior motives. Whatever her reason, it doesn’t matter—she’s in my world now, and I hold the reins.
“Like I’ve said, I don’t trust the little minx either. It's why I’ll need one of you to serve as her personal bodyguard.”
“No, fucking thank you,” Pavel says at the same time as Roman says, “That’ll be a hard pass.”
I blow out a breath. “It wasn’t a question. We need eyes on her, and you two are the only ones I trust. I’m not arguing the issue, so work it out.”
“Fuck me!” Roman exclaims after a particularly aggressive rock, paper, scissor game. Despite both of them being only five years younger than my forty-three, I swear sometimes they act like boys.
Roman slumps down on the couch. “I’ve been demoted.”
