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The views stretch out from the top floor of my mansion across the San Francisco Bay Area. Gorgeous, endless ocean views that run as far as the eye can see.

San Francisco belongs to me. This is my city.

Nothing happens here without me knowing about it or having a controlling factor in it.

The West Coast is run by five families. Five unchallengeable strengths, each dominating one city. We work together to make sure things run the way they should, to keep everyone in line, and allow the flow of business within the city to be fair and economical for those we allow to be involved.

This network of alliances creates a good web of support. We give and receive and build together. By maintaining this alliance, we maintain our own power. And my power is unquestionable.

Which is why it pisses me off to indescribable heights when my stepbrother insists, over and over again, on testing my patience and understanding.

Miron has been on a relentless track to try and overthrow my throne. He thinks he has what it takes to overpower me. To take over San Francisco. He has no idea what he’s getting himself into. And my patience is wearing thin.

“He didn’t get the last warning?” Ulyana asks. She sits on the sofa with her legs draped over the arm of the chair. She has the latest copy of her favorite fashion magazine in her hand, but it’s closed as she scrunches her face towards me. “He can’t be that stupid.”

My sister is twenty-two, twelve years younger than me. But she’s sharp, sassy, and street smart.

“I don’t need you worrying about Miron. You need to focus on college. When do you go back?”

She’s been staying with me during her summer break.

“At five. But are you going to be okay here without me? Who is going to remind you to eat your vegetables?” she teases.

I snort. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

Huffing loudly, she opens the magazine again, and I pace near the window, waiting for the call from Roan, my right-hand man. I want to know what the hell Miron got into now.

“Miron the Moron, is an idiot if he thinks you don’t know what he’s doing,” Ulyana says from behind her magazine. “Him and his stupid father.”

“I know. I don’t know why our mother married that guy. You and I tried to accept him, we’ve given them both a fair chance, I’d say. But I’m over it now. Miron and his father need to go. I think Sergei married Mom for the power, not love. I wish she could see that.”

“Mom’s smarter than you think, Nestor,” my sister says.

“I hope so. The times I’ve tried to talk to her about it, she hasn’t exactly wanted to hear what I had to say.”

Giving up on waiting for the call, I toss my phone onto the table near the window and sit down.

“Did you have lunch yet?” I ask Ulyana.

“I did. Hey, you know what I was thinking? You should find a girl and get married.”

Laughter rolls from my chest in a loud outburst. “Married. Why the hell do you think I’d want to get married?”

“No, listen, this is a good idea. If you get married, you make babies. Little heirs to the kingdom. Miniature Nestors. Then there’ll be no more mistaking who takes over after you, and Miron and his father can get lost.”

I clench my jaw. I hate to admit it, but she’s on to something. An heir would solve a lot of problems for me. The bloodline would continue, and the kingdom would stay in the family. Questions about who is next in line would vanish.

“I guess I’ll get right on that. Finding a wife. I’ll put it right at the top of my list,” I say sarcastically.

Ulyana picks up one of the throw pillows from the sofa and lobs it at me. I catch it, chuckling.

“You’re an asshole. You just don’t want to admit that your little sister is smarter than you and came up with the idea before you.”

“No, I can admit it. It’s a good idea. Just not practical right at this moment.”

“Well, you better hurry and make it happen.” She stands from the sofa and stretches. “I’m going to pack.”

I watch her walk away. She looks just like me, except way prettier; dark blonde hair, bright hazel eyes, tanned olive skin, and a wide smile.

Oddly, neither of us looks like our mother, so I assume we take after our father; having never met him, there’s no way to know.

My mother fell for that idiot twice—once when she had me, after which he bailed on her, not wanting to be a father.

Then he came back into her life very briefly when I was twelve, wanting to rekindle the lost love.

I was away at boarding school at the time. Thank goodness, because I might have tried to kill him.

They were together for all of three weeks, during which she got pregnant again, causing him to freak out and bail on her. Again.

Needless to say that after that, she cut him off for good.

His brother, my uncle, took us in. At the time, he was running San Francisco, and he wasn’t able to have sons, so he was more than happy to teach me everything and treat me as his own.

He’s my father. Even in his older years now, I still ask him for advice at times. I have great respect for that man.

I wish my mother had married him.

My mother appears to have a steady reputation for choosing the wrong men.

I rub my hand over my jaw, feeling the shadow of stubble, rough beneath my fingers.

This situation with my stepbrother, Miron, is a delicate one.

Sergei is still married to my mother, and every time I’ve tried to speak to her about it, she’s shut me down.

She’s as stubborn as I am. I guess I do get some things from her.

I spoke to Roan last week. We’re redirecting our efforts.

The goal now is to find proof—unquestionable evidence of what Miron and Sergei are up to.

I need to take something tangible to my mother, and to show my allies when they question why I’m turning against my own family.

Not that they would question me. It’s more of a diplomatic move.

My thoughts drift towards what my sister said.

I’ve never wanted to get married. It seems troublesome and pointless. But the idea of an heir is tempting. I can’t believe I’m even entertaining this, but I have to look at all my options.

My phone rings.

“Finally,” I mutter, reaching for it.

With it pressed to my ear, I clench my jaw and listen to Roan, my right-hand man, my eyes and ears and everything else out there on the streets.

Because of the position I hold, I have to keep myself out of the watchful eyes of the law. I don’t get involved in the day-to-day, but I still need someone watching over it.

He’s been my trusted friend and colleague for as long as I can remember.

“We have a problem, boss,” he says, sounding tense.

“What did Miron do this time?” I huff.

He chuckles. “For a change, it wasn’t him.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised. “What’s going on, then?”

“One of our vendors fucked up, and the entire operation was a failure because of it. I can’t say for sure, but I think he did something to the product.”

“Who was it?”

“Anton Abakumov.”

“Fuck. That asshole has only managed to stick around this long because he was tied to my uncle.”

“I know. But listen, this fuckup has cost us.”

“How much?” I groan.

“Ten million dollars. We owe it to Black Hats.”

I sigh loudly, pressing my fingers into my eyes to try and push away the headache growing behind them. I thought today was going to be a good day. It had that vibe when I woke up this morning.

“Look, I can smooth things over with the Black Hats, but I want you to track Anton down so that I can have a word with that fucking idiot. I’m done with him. He needs to pay for what he’s done this time.”

Roan laughs. “You’re in luck. I have the devil right here with me. My men were just questioning him.”

“Great. Put me on speaker,” I demand.

Roan flicks the call to speaker, and I hear the background noises of Anton being questioned rather intensely.

The man groans each time a fist thuds into his abdomen.

“I’ll get it back, I’ll sort it out, I swear,” Anton whimpers.

“Hold up, the boss wants to speak with him.”

Shuffling.

“Go ahead. He’s listening,” Roan confirms.

“Anton, what the fuck were you thinking? Trying to weasel out of something to clear your gambling debts? Or was this part of one of your shady side jobs? Actually, don’t bother answering that—I don’t fucking care to hear your long, bullshit stories today.”

“Boss, I swear, I can fix this. I can—" A loud thud as the air is knocked from his lungs.

“The boss said, shut up. Listen. You only speak if he asks you something,” Roan snarls.

“How exactly do you plan to fix this?” I ask, knowing that Anton doesn’t have a cent to his name.

He squanders away every cent he makes, betting on horses, fights, slot machines—anything to give himself a little thrill.

It never pays off. And if it does, he bets again and loses it anyway.

I don’t really care about his gambling addition—not until it starts to impact my business, and this isn’t the first time his bullshit choices have done so.

“Ask Maliki. He’ll tell you. I’m good for my word,” Anton pleads, not answering my question.

“My uncle is not in charge anymore, Anton. And your word means shit to me.”

“I swear, if you give me a chance, a few hours, I can make it right.”

Laughing bitterly, I shake my head. “Roan, let him go. Give him two hours. Let’s see what this idiot can come up with.”

“Boss, he doesn’t have anything—"

“I know. But it’ll be entertaining. Cut him loose. But Anton, understand this: if you’re not in my office in two hours with a solution, you’re dead.”

“Thank you, thank you, boss. Thank you so much.”

I hang up the phone, already knowing Anton has nothing to offer. But the right thing to do is to give him a chance. Then, once he comes back with nothing, I will be justified in whatever it is I plan on doing.

He’s not smart enough to run. His friendship with my uncle, even though it hasn’t really been a friendship for years now, gives him enough of an ego to think he can talk his way out of things.

Well, in two hours, he’s going to learn that his time is up.

I stand looking out at the ocean again.

I guess I’m headed into the office today, after all.

I’ll arrange a driver for my sister to the airport and say goodbye now before I leave. We never make a big deal about her coming and going; she’ll be back on her next holiday.

***

My office is on the top floor of a building I own in town—one of the many pieces of real estate I own throughout the city.

I park in the underground lot beneath the building, but instead of taking the elevator, I walk out to the front of the building, onto the street, enjoying the sun on my face as I head towards the main entrance.

Roan is waiting for me in the lobby.

“Boss, Anton is on his way here now.”

“The men been tailing him?”

“Yeah, you know this whole thing with giving him two hours was a waste of time.”

“It’s okay, it’s only his time we wasted.”

“True.”

Roan punches the elevator button, then once inside, punches a code into the security panel. The elevator has access to every floor of the building, but the top floor requires a key code that very few people know.

He stands with his arms folded over his chest.

I glance over him. He’s a bulky, solid man—someone very few people are stupid enough to mess with.

“You can tell the security guards to let Anton up as soon as he arrives. Do we know what actually happened that cost us so much money?” I ask.

“We tested the product. He cut it. I don’t know what he did with the other part, but he diluted the product he delivered with powdered sugar of all shit.”

“Fucking idiot. That’s embarrassing. And the Black Hats—they obviously test on delivery. He knows this. Why would he be so stupid?”

“Exactly. Purity was down fifteen percent,” Roan says, with a look of disapproval on his face.

“Fifteen percent of ten million dollars. That’s a good amount of money Anton was trying to slice away for himself. Did he say what he was going to do with it?” I huff, agitated.

“I didn’t ask. Probably clearing his ever-growing list of debts. Who the fuck cares? I say we end his miserable existence.” Roan taps the gun at his hip.

“It does seem like the most likely outcome today. Did you set up a meeting with Igor for me?” Igor is the man who was supposed to receive the product that Anton messed with. I’ll have to make things right with him.

“Yeah, Igor is a good ally. I made sure he understands that Anton was not working on our instructions and that he will be dealt with internally. But obviously, a face-to-face and offer of peace from you will go a long way.”

“Good.” The elevator comes to a stop and quietly slides open.

We step out and walk into a massive open space, modern and bright, surrounded by two walls of windows that run the entire perimeter of the building.

I like open spaces. It lets me think more clearly.

It’s why I love San Francisco and living next to the ocean.

I never feel crowded the same way I do when I’m inland.

I can breathe easier knowing there is open space next to me, instead of more buildings and more people, scurrying around like ants infesting the city.

On our right is the receptionist, a mousy girl who answers calls, fetches coffee, and minds her own business. I still don’t know why she’s here. I’d rather have the space to myself. Roan says it gives the office a more convincingly above-the-board vibe.

I nod in greeting at her, and she nods back. I can never remember her name. We’ve hardly spoken. Roan is the one who deals with her.

Walking towards my desk, in the far corner at the meeting point of the two windowed walls, Roan’s phone pings. He pulls it out of his pocket. “He’s here.”

I sneer. I don’t want to be dealing with Anton today, but here I am, forced into this position because again, he fucked up.

“Perfect timing,” I answer.

I take my gun out of the holster resting against the small of my back and shrug the black suit jacket off my shoulders.

“Send him up,” I say, putting the gun down on my mahogany desk.

“You should just let me meet him downstairs and end this.”

“No, we’ll do this the right way. We gave him two hours. Let’s see what he came up with in that time.”

“I’ll tell you what he came up with. Nothing,” Roan groans.

I smirk. “Most likely.”