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The call ends, leaving me to face the challenges ahead. My brothers' warnings linger in my mind, a reminder of the delicate mission I'm about to undertake. But I'm ready.
I rise from my chair, the thrill of the chase quickening my pulse. The mayor's death, the mysterious Galina – they're all pieces of a puzzle I'm determined to solve.
The tension in my shoulders feels like a physical weight, but one I'm used to carrying. This world, this life, isn't for the faint of heart, and my temporary apartment reflects the balance of luxury and practicality.
Sleek, modern lines dominate the interior, from the unadorned steel and glass coffee table in the living room to the minimalist kitchen area with its high-tech appliances. The color scheme is neutral, dominated by shades of black, gray, and white. It's a place designed for efficiency and comfort but devoid of personal touches.
My footsteps echo softly on the polished concrete floor as I make my way to the bedroom. There's an elegance in the simplicity, a calculated modesty. The apartment is a far cry from ostentatious, purposefully so. In a world where appearances can be both weapons and weaknesses, it's essential to walk the line between affluence and discretion.
The bedroom is much the same, uncluttered and stylish, with a king-sized bed dressed in crisp, white linens taking center stage. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a stunning view of the city, but heavy drapes are drawn, providing privacy.
But the true stunning view is the women in my bed.
The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on the bedroom. Svetlana and Sasha, the enchanting duo from the night before, still slumber, tangled in silk sheets. Their peaceful faces belie the turbulent world outside.
I stand at the window as I dress, my thoughts consumed by the tasks at hand. The mayor's death has changed the game, and I must adapt.
"Roman?" Svetlana's sleepy voice reaches me, filled with a promise of more warmth, more pleasure. But duty calls.
I turn, my smile genuine but tinged with regret. "Ladies, I'm afraid our time together must come to an end."
Sasha pouts, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "So soon? You're kicking us out?"
“It’s not as harsh as you make it sound. But I need to start my day. I have work to do, important work."
They both sit up, disappointment in their eyes. But they know the score. They knew who I was when they agreed to accompany me to the gala.
I lean down, planting a soft kiss on each of their foreheads. "You were both divine, but I have an empire to build." I grin as I speak, the mere mention of the task at hand enough to send a thrill through me.
Svetlana's eyes narrow, curiosity piqued. "An empire?"
I wink, my lips curving into a playful grin. "A little empire of my own, here in St. Petersburg. Restaurants, nail salons, anything that will make me money."
Sasha's laughter fills the room. "You're a funny man, Roman. A nail salon?"
"Never underestimate the power of a good manicure," I reply, deadpan, raising my hands and giving them a mock inspection. They laugh in response.
With an affectionate farewell, I send them on their way, promising to call them again soon. But the truth is, my mind is already racing, plans forming, connections being made.
With an almost unlimited amount of cash at my disposal, the city is my playground. I need to rethink my strategy, to find a legitimate business to operate out of, a facade to hide the darker workings of the Bratva.
I grab my coat, stepping into the brisk St. Petersburg morning, a man on a mission. The city is filled with opportunities, ripe for the taking, and I intend to seize them all. The first step in setting up a stronghold, the cornerstone of an empire that will extend the Bratva's reach and solidify our control.
The ding of a bell announces my entrance into the small, worn-out laundromat. Machines hum, churning clothing into cleanliness, while the scents of detergent and fabric softener fill the air. A modest establishment, but one that holds potential for my purpose.
Behind the counter, an old man looks up, suspicion flickering in his eyes as they settle on me. I'm dressed a touch too fine for this part of town, my presence at odds with the familiar routine of his day.
"Can I help you?" he asks in Russian, his voice gravelly with age.
I flash my most charming smile, stepping forward. "Indeed, you can. My name is Roman Nicolaevich, and I'm interested in buying this establishment."
His eyes widen, then narrow again, mistrust replacing surprise. "Not for sale," he snaps, his tone final.
I don't waver, my confidence intact. "Everything has a price, my friend. Name yours."
He shakes his head, stubbornness etching lines deeper into his weathered face. "You don't understand. This place, this whole area, is under the protection of the Chechens. It's not possible to sell. You should leave if you know what's good for you."
My ears burn at the mention of the Chechens. The name has been whispering at the edges of my plans since I arrived in St. Petersburg, an obstacle I knew I would encounter, but not so soon.
