Page 2

2

ANASTASIA

FIVE MONTHS LATER

“ H ow many are there?” The urgency of my words matches the pace of my stride as I cross a large parking lot littered with cars from my people, ambulances, and a food truck.

“Sixteen.” Viktor Petrov struggles to keep pace beside me, his lack of litheness betraying his age.

“Sixteen?” The number is high, far too high.

“You’re telling me all sixteen have been locked up here for the past seven months and no one thought to shut it down? I thought I was pretty fucking clear.”

“This one wasn’t on the books,” Viktor insists.

“Yeah, like all the others,” I mutter.

“Anastasia.” A few feet from the door into the building, Viktor catches my elbow and pulls me to a stop.

“You have to understand that this is your fault.”

“Excuse me?” I spin to face him, causing the ends of my hair to whip around faster and sting against the side of my neck.

“This shithole is my fault?” I wrench my arm free from his grip and my gaze hardens as he drops his hand to the side and sighs deeply.

“I don’t mean it how you think I mean it. When you slaughtered those generals, we lost a lot of information.”

“You were my father’s underboss,” I remark coldly.

“Are you telling me they knew more than you?”

Viktor has been by my side for more years than I can count.

He was my father’s underboss when he was still alive, and his advice has proven invaluable since his death.

It’s the only reason I didn’t invite him to dinner five months ago and why he stands with me now as one of the few people I allow in my circle.

He knows more than I ever could, and while my slaughter of my father’s generals sent a pretty clear message that I’m not to be overlooked, I still need all the help I can get.

Being thrust into this life with minimal training is hard enough and would be impossible without Viktor, but that doesn’t mean I have to stand for the implication that these people have been trapped here because of me.

“I’m one person, Anastasia,” Viktor replies.

“The generals all had their own segments. You know that. You killed them without warning, so everything they knew died with them.”

“And the orders I gave?” I arch one brow.

“To shut down every pornography site, to put an end to the disgusting sex slave trade my father set up? Did that somehow get lost in translation these past five months?”

“No, but…” Viktor lifts his shoulders and when he sighs, he looks a little older, a little more frayed around the edges.

“In one night, you made yourself look like a monster to the people who fall under the Remizova name. Maybe those here just wanted some extra cash.”

“Not at the expense of other people,” I say.

“I’ve made that clear time and time again.”

“Welcome to being in charge,” Viktor says.

There’s a tinge of something in his words, something that resembles sympathy, but I get the feeling that it carries something a little more accusatory.

Maybe this is my fault.

I killed those generals to send a message.

To show people that I was just as big a threat as my father and that I wasn’t afraid to do things the hard way or get my hands dirty.

But in the same breath, I made people scared of me.

The rumblings of discontent have become less direct, but they still exist.

Shipments are late, people don’t pick up when I call, I face excuse after excuse, and people are digging their heels in at the changes I’m trying to make.

Some think I spat on the old laws by killing the generals when something like that is usually put to a vote, and for a few weeks, I expected the other Russian families to come together and oust me as the laws allow.

But they didn’t.

No one said a word.

It’s taken months to sift through everything the generals left behind, including the countless small businesses and side hustles each one had.

My father built his empire by laundering money through nightclubs.

Eventually, he expanded to loan sharks, black market human trafficking, sexual slavery, and the pornography market.

Humans are the largest commodity , he’d tell me when I’d voice my disgust.

We will never run out .

Trying to change any of this has been like trying to pull teeth out of a tiger high on cocaine, but I won’t stop and I won’t give up.

My years of solitude as a child may have given me an icy exterior, but compassion and empathy burn inside me, and I refuse to make a dime off someone else’s back.

Unfortunately, my determination to fix the messes he left behind means I haven’t been focusing enough on hunting for my father’s killer, which is another reason Viktor often looks at me like I just poured salt in his coffee.

He wasn’t just my father’s underboss.

He was his friend.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I stride into the seemingly abandoned textile factory and follow the rise of voices down a long corridor to several rooms clustered together at the end.

The air is sharp with the stink of chemicals and blood—a scent I’m far too familiar with.

The first room we pass has three black body bags lined up next to each other, and my heart jumps into my throat.

“I thought you said sixteen,” I say tightly, pausing in the doorway.

Viktor stops just behind me.

“Sixteen alive.”

“How many dead?”

“Eleven.”

Guilt weighs me with every step toward the next room.

This one has a handful of thin, haggard-looking men and women in various spots around the room.

Paramedics on my payroll mill about between them, checking people over and providing immediate medical care where needed.

The signs of drug use are visible on their arms and in their empty gazes.

I can only imagine what they went through here.

The next room is similar, although the people there are more awake and alert.

I step inside, keeping my breathing shallow to combat the stale aromas of sweat, urine, and waste rising from several stained mattresses in one corner.

“You know the drill,” I say quietly to Viktor.

“I want everyone given the best treatment we can buy. Get them clean. Safe. Into therapy.”

“I know,” Viktor replies, his voice heavy with familiarity with the situation.

This isn’t the first ‘secret’ side business we’ve discovered, and it won’t be the last.

“I’ll get your people on it.”

As I’m turning to leave, my eyes fall on a man sitting in one corner with his hands wrapped around a plastic bottle.

His thin fingers struggle to grip the cap and his dry, chapped lips press together in frustration each time he weakly tries.

My heart immediately goes out to him.

The sexual slavery rings we’ve broken up in the past all share one thing in common.

The silence.

Every victim is deathly silent, with the noise and voices only rising from paramedics asking questions and chatting to help people feel at ease.

The actual victims are alarmingly silent, though I tell myself it’s understandable.

Kneeling in front of him, I offer my hand to the bottle.

“Can I help you with that?”

Dark, empty eyes lift to mine and he grips the bottle tighter.

“You can watch me the entire time,” I say, softening my voice.

“I just want to open it for you and then you can drink as much as you want.”

Viktor shifts behind me, but I don’t even need to look at him to get him to stop.

I don’t want Viktor scaring these people like he’s done in the past.

The man stares at me for a long time, and I hold his gaze, waiting for permission or rejection.

Eventually, he hands the bottle to me, and I slowly crack open the seal and hand it back to him along with the cap.

His hands tremble as he takes the bottle, but he doesn’t drink.

Instead, he holds them both and stares at me with his face void of emotion.

“Who are you supposed to be?” A raspy voice drifts from my right.

Looking over, I come face to face with a woman.

Her black hair hangs in clumps around her face and her sunken cheeks create alarming shadows across her face in the low light.

“I’m no one,” I reply.

“Just a friend.”

“There’s no friends here,” she hisses.

“You’re one of them.”

“Them?”

“You know. Them.” She spits dryly at the ground in front of me.

“You think you can come in here and act like the next place will be different, but I know how it works.”

“There is no next place,” I assure her.

“There’s only the hospital and then whatever you want.”

“Bullshit.” She wets her lips, but they remain as papery-looking as they did before.

“You shouldn’t have touched his water.”

Her anger is understandable because her fear shines through as clear as day.

I’ve seen it before.

It’s a constant in my life now.

The family under me see me as unworthy and quietly push back at my direction and control, while my father’s victims simply see me as an extension of him.

Or worse.

Giving them a face to hate is the least I can do.

The man beside me remains in the same position, simply holding the water bottle and the cap.

My heart squeezes like a hand is reaching up from my gut and trying to drag it down into my stomach.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He doesn’t appear to hear me.

Viktor’s hand lands on my shoulder, and the pressure is clear.

Time to go.

Outside, I breathe in a deep lungful of cold night air and gaze up at the stars twinkling above.

The lingering sharp aroma of that building coats the back of my tongue, and I shudder to think of what occurred there to create such a stink.

The lengths people will go to in order to fuck someone who can’t say no or to find someone they can do literally anything they dream of to.

Therapy won’t be enough for some of those poor people.

Warmth stings behind my eyes.

I place my hands on my hips and dig my fingertips into the soft flesh of my waist to calm myself as small stones skitter underfoot beside me.

Viktor joins me.

I send him a sidelong glance as he clears his throat.

“Anastasia.”

“I’m fine.”

“I wasn’t going to ask that.”

“Oh.” Of course not.

In a sea of people all working under my name, I don’t have a single friend among them.

“What, then?”

“Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?”

The warmth behind my eyes immediately fades, swallowed by the cold irritation that exists within me on a daily basis.

“Are you kidding me? Did we see the same thing in there?”

“Of course we did,” he replies.

“But this is like taking a meat eater to a slaughterhouse.”

“Excuse me?”

“Listen.” Viktor grabs my arm.

“Have you really stopped to think about this in the long run? Every one of these rings you shut down is money out of our pockets. A lot of fucking money. On top of the medical care, the therapy, and everything else you offer these people. I understand you’re on some misguided crusade, but have you looked at our finances lately? The blow from the closure of the pornography was painful enough, but you keep closing down business after business and offer nothing in its place. Before long, we’re going to run out of money, and then you will be a Godmother of nothing.”

I wrench my arm free and glare up at him.

“I’m not hearing a downside.”

“Then listen to this. The more you lose, the more aggravated and annoyed our people get. The more that happens, the more likely it is that they will turn to other families, or worse, come for your throat in your sleep. Then you will be powerless, and everyone you could have saved will end up making money for someone else.”

“So, what’s your solution? I let some of these businesses thrive to fund the safety of others?”

Viktor shrugs.

“Sure. How else are you going to keep paying for all of this? Our nightclubs are not enough to hold up this family. You have to stop thinking with your heart and start thinking like the Godmother of the clan. Every Russian family looks to us for guidance, and right now, the message you are putting out isn’t one of confidence. And if you go down, I go down with you.”

“So you’re coming from a place of self-preservation, huh?” I glare at him.

“How you can stand there and say that after the shit we’ve seen—the shit you helped my father do—is beyond me.”

“He saw the bigger picture, and so do I, Anastasia. You’re young. Inexperienced. And you want to save the world. Whatever. You can’t do that without killing a few cattle.”

It pains me to understand his concerns.

If I’m not careful, I’ll drive the clan into the ground, and someone else will take my place.

Then all the good I’m trying to do will be overwritten by the next greedy Pakhan .

But I don’t want to hear it.

Everywhere I turn, there’s something ready to tell me I’m wrong, and just once, it would be nice to hear someone understand what I’m trying to do.

“Our people deserve to be taken care of,” Viktor calls as I stride away, flexing my hands into fists.

“They should come first!”

“Not if their hands are dirty,” I call back, heading toward where my car is parked.

“You’re painting a target on your back!” Viktor yells.

“I’m trying to protect you!”

“I have Igor for that!” I stop near the sidewalk and jerk my head toward my bodyguard who stands near my car with his face buried in his phone.

“You just focus on the people in there and answer when I call, got it?”

Viktor throws his hands in the air and turns his back on me.

Part of me knows he speaks sense, but I refuse to knowingly allow another person to suffer under my rule.

I will take care of my people and all of the families who exist under my name, but not off the backs of torture.

As I head toward the car, my phone suddenly vibrates intensely in my pocket.

My steps slow and I glance through the messages to see that Cormac Gifford, the Irish Captain, has sent an apology donation to pay for the nightclub his people destroyed during the search for his brother’s killer.

It’s an unexpected olive branch, considering the last time we were face to face, he was accusing me of that very murder.

“Interesting,” I murmur.

“Igor, I think we?—”

The words are torn out of my mouth and carried in the wind as my car suddenly erupts into a gigantic orange fireball.

The explosion rips the vehicle to shreds and expands upward as the echoing explosion shatters windows all along the nearby buildings.

Flames claw their way into the sky as the shockwave of air knocks me clean off my feet.

I fly backward with a scream that cuts off when my back collides with something solid.

It knocks all of the air out of my lungs.

My head snaps back and cracks against something hard, sending white spots dancing in front of my eyes.

I hit the ground and a wall of heat washes over me.

My ears ring, my head swims, and in the distance, I briefly hear several more explosions pop through the parking lot just as the billowing fire and smoke from my car sweeps over me.

I try to move, but hot pain radiates down my spine.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t think.

I can’t even move.

And then hands grab at me, dragging me across the tarmac so that my clothes ride up my body and the rough ground grazes against my skin.

The smoke makes my eyes stream, and I gasp weakly, fighting against the hold in an attempt to get up onto my feet.

“Get her!” barks one distant voice.

“Quick, quick!”

“Hurry the fuck up, she’s trying to get up.”

“Stop her then!”

Something powerful slams into the side of my head, and the last thing I glimpse as my world goes black is a sleek silver car door being wrenched open.