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I glance at the ceiling. Hmm, there’s a lot of spiderwebs there. What are the spiders doing, starting a war or a silk factory? How many are nested in my ceiling? Maybe Katyashouldburn the whole place to the foundation.

Katya.

“That would be highly unprofessional. I’m her boss, and there’s a power dynamic.”

They all laugh at me. “We’re in the Russian mafia... there’s always going to be a power dynamic.” Uri slams me in the shoulder.

“Fuck all of you,” I grumble, gulping my drink. It burns my throat and I fight against my body’s urge to cough.

My father laughs. “This isn’t a problem. You marry Svetlana, and you fuck your little girlfriend.”

“That’s not what I want,” I admit, and the other men stare at me. “It’s not fair to any of us.”

“Maybe if you’re lucky, you can have both,” Mikhail says. Fucking pig.

“That’s also not what I want.”

Mikhail and my brother give me a hard time about not wanting two women at once.

“None of us would be happy,” I say, cutting through the insults.

My father gives a slow disapproving shake of his head. “Our lives aren’t about happiness. Our world will always be about power and fear.”

I know. It’s been drilled into my brain since birth. But still, I want more. It’s greedy and selfish, but isn’t greed the core tenet of our lives too? My brother was able to fall in love, marry the woman he wanted. And now, as her cells wage war on her body—each passing minute ticking toward her last—he buries his sorrow in my fiancée’s pussy. Honestly, all three of them are probably happy about it.

I can’t do this anymore.

My father sighs. “Forty-eight hours. Figure out your life. Fuck the bartender, get it out of your system.”

“I said that’s not what I want.”

Mikhail laughs again. “You assume that’s not what she wants either. Maybe all she wants is a one-time fuck. Talk to her.” He gestures to his bandaged hand on the table. “Be careful. Look what happens when you assume things.”

I don’t know what’s worse, that Mikhail is being uncharacteristically compassionate, or that he’s right.

“Can we change the subject to anything else?” I groan. I have zero desire to do this right now.

“Let’s talk about my birthday party.” My father claps his hands and lights up. The man does love his parties.

“We’re under attack, and you still want it?” I ask. “Look what happened at the family party. And now you want to parade in front of associates and the fucking rich elite?” This meeting is one bad idea after another.

“I am not afraid of these cowards. Fear and power. Let’s relish in our good fortune.” My father is a sad, delusional oldman. He prattles on about the food and music and double checks to make sure we have the proper attire.

Forty-eight hours to get my life in order... Then what?

My head swirls with thoughts, feelings, and mental fantasies, imagining a future where I get everything I want.

Glass jingles across the empty bar. “Katya!” my father calls out. She’s carrying four bottles of our finest vodka, and he’s calling her over like she’s a puppy. She struggles with the box and lays it on the table between Uri and me. My father claps his hands. “Come to my birthday gala.”

“To work?” she asks.

“No, as a guest.”

What?

She flusters and glances between Uri and me. “Sir, I’m honored, but I don’t have anything to wear, and I don’t think Dimitri’s shirt is going to cut it for another event.”

She laughs, but my father does not. Instead, he digs through his pockets for his phone and grabs a napkin from the table. “You call this number and get yourself a dress. She does all the dresses for our women.”