Page 28

YULIAN

“So, um… got any kids?”

Mia’s question catches me off-guard.

“What?” I ask.

“Kids,” she repeats, like she thinks I didn’t hear her the first time. Her cheeks, even in the darkness of the car, are red like summer cherries. “I was asking if you’ve got them. You met mine, but I realized I never asked you if…” She trails off, face burning, eyes downcast.

Fucking hell. Of all the topics of conversation, this is the one Mia had to choose for tonight’s awkward car ride. I’d much rather she be silent.

“No,” I answer shortly. “I don’t.”

Mia nods. Her hands are twisting the fabric of her skirt, betraying how nervous she feels. “And do you… want them?” she ventures. “Kids, I mean?”

Kids? Don’t make me fucking laugh. Children, family—the possibility of any of that has been taken from me the day the tablecloths in my mansion were soaked red.

I had a family.

It’s gone now.

I won’t seek out another.

Family, to me, is weakness—nothing more. It’s the blind spot that kills you.

And I intend to survive.

“If you’re looking for a pay raise,” I growl, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to look elsewhere. I’m not looking to fill that particular position.”

“I wasn’t suggesting?—!”

“Weren’t you, though?”

“I wasn’t offering myself up, asshole,” she hisses. “Believe me, one solo trip to the delivery room was enough. I’m not looking to be single-mothered twice.”

“And you assume that’s what I’d do?” I ask. “Enjoy the perks and leave you to fend for yourself afterwards?”

Her jaw hardens as she turner her face toward the window. “In my experience, that’s exactly what men do.”

“Then you haven’t met a true man yet. A man never abandons his family. Not his blood, and certainly not his woman.”

She averts her gaze, embarrassed. “Then she’ll be a lucky girl,” she mumbles. “Whoever you choose to make a family with.”

I don’t bother answering. This shit is not why I hired her, not why I’ve kept her, not why I’m bringing her with me again and again. It’s irrelevant.

She has a job to do.

So do I.

That’s the beginning and end of the matter.

Or at least, that’s what I intended to be the end of it. But…

“I’m sorry.”

Mia’s voice catches me by surprise. Her hand on my arm, even more so. For a second, I can do nothing but stare, the warmth of her skin seeping into the ice of mine.

“I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” she insists. She offers me a small smile. “I’ve… been separated from my family, too. It’s hard enough not to see them, but I can’t imagine what it would be like to know they’re not waiting for me.”

I keep staring into Mia’s eyes, hoping to find something there. A flash of sharpness, of betrayal—anything.

Instead, there’s just warmth.

It’s ridiculous. She’s ridiculous. I’m her enemy. I am the man who shoved her against a wall and threatened her. The one who holds all the power in our relationship.

Anybody else would be looking for a weapon. Something, anything they could use to even the scales.

But she’s not doing that. She’s just—listening. Even though I haven’t said a word about what happened. Even though she has nothing to gain.

Which means she must have something to gain.

There’s no other reason to be kind. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that.

And if it just plain old kindness?—

Then she hasn’t seen what this world is capable of.

I shake my head, yank my arm away. Mia’s savior complex is none of my fucking business. Just like my past is none of hers.

Then, mercifully, the car rolls to a stop. “We’re here,” Maksim announces.

“Here?” Mia tilts her head, trying to make out the venue out the tinted window. “‘Here’ where?”

“The back entrance to the Goldenrod,” I tell her.

“Why the back?” she frowns. “Why aren’t we going in the usual way?”

“Because the usual way is for business,” I explain. “This is for something else.”

I step out of the car and offer her my arm. It’s just for show, but the way she clings to me sends a stab of guilt through my chest. Like I’m plunging her into the deep end with no safeguards.

“Yulian… where are we going?” Mia whispers.

“You’ll see soon enough.”

We take our seats at the front of the table, Maksim to my right, Mia to my left.

Mia. She’s been a decent actress so far, but tonight, she’s borderline useless. She keeps fiddling with the silverware, trying to figure out which spoon to use first, even though the food hasn’t been served yet.

If she keeps this up much longer, my vory are going to realize something’s wrong. I can’t have that.

For this ruse to work, everyone must be convinced. Otherwise, there’s no way Prizrak will be.

I cover her hand with mine. She stops fiddling immediately, the tremors dying down. Centered, once again.

She takes a big breath, exhales. Finds her focus.

I take in the sight of my vory, sitting at their places in silence, eyes fixed on me and the woman at my side. It could almost pass for a company dinner. The thought strikes me as somewhat amusing.

Kazimir Smirnov—Department Head of Bribery, if we had any such thing as departments—is smiling politely at us. He’s my youngest vor, barely even thirty, easy to underestimate. That’s his strength.

Slavik Pushkin—Director of Money Laundering—is sipping his water, calm and calculating. His eyes miss nothing.

Anton Volkov and Zhenya Volkova—Twin Managers of Illicit Entertainment and Violent Debt Collection—are sitting next to each other.

Anton is half-asleep, waiting for his sister to say or do anything he can agree with.

He’s an oily son of a bitch, but an effective party planner, provider of drugs and girls and whatever else our patrons may wish for.

Then, when it’s time to pay the pied piper, Zhenya comes into play.

She’s got none of her brother’s reservations and an impressive collection of crowbars.

Finally, at the other end of the table, Rurik is glaring down at us. He’s my oldest vor— been with the Bratva since my father’s time—and he never misses a chance to throw his weight around. He handles the gambling dens, our primary source of cash flow.

There couldn’t be five more different people at this table. And yet, right now, every one of those people is thinking the same thing:

Who the hell is that woman?

The waiters carry in heaped plates of Russian cuisine: borscht, pirozhki, shashlik, blini, pelmeni.

But before anyone can tuck in, Slavik clears his throat. “I understand this meeting was urgent.”

“It was,” I reply. “Haven’t had a decent Russian meal in ages.”

“Enough with the fuckery!” Rurik snarls, slamming his palms on the table. “What the hell are we doing here? Our time is?—”

“Valuable,” I cut in, rising from my chair. “As is mine. More, in fact, if we’re comparing net worth.”

Slavik clears his throat, but says nothing. Out of all my men, he’s the most seasoned and the least prone to conflict.

Rurik, on the other hand, is as ornery and disagreeable as old mobsters can get. He used to be my late father’s brigadir , and because of that, he isn’t afraid to push me.

“You’d do well to remember you’re not ruling alone, Yulian,” he scoffs. “We all contributed to this empire, and I, for one, am sick of hearing you talk like you’re?—”

“The pakhan, ” I cut him off. “That’s what I am, Rurik. Something you’d do well to remember. Which brings me to the reason I’ve gathered you.”

Then I pull Mia to her feet.

“ Vory, ” I announce, “meet your future pakhansha. ”

The table falls silent.

Every whisper ceases.

Slavik’s the first to recover. “That’s… a surprise,” he admits, but bows politely at the waist. “But a welcome one. Pleased to make your acquaintance, moya pakhansha. ”

The other vory rise as well, one after the other. “ Pakhansha, ” Kazimir greets with a pleasant smile. He’s the most easygoing of the bunch, but beneath that soft exterior and silver tongue, he’s as venomous as everybody else. “It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

“Hmpf.” I don’t even need to turn to know who made that sound: Zhenya. “Could’ve been an email.”

“She doesn’t mean that,” Anton, her twin brother, laughs as he digs an elbow into her side. “We are, of course, delighted.”

Mia gives an awkward laugh. “It’s, uh… it’s very nice to meet you all. I’m Mia.”

“At least it’s easy to remember,” Zhenya adds.

Everybody else introduces themselves then, with the exception of Rurik. He stands off to the side, his face a mask of displeasure.

It’s enough to prickle my nerves. “Something wrong, brother?”

It’s a warning. A chance. His relationship with my father is the only reason I haven’t put him in the ground for his insolence yet. The only reason I’m giving him an out.

But Rurik doesn’t take it. “Where to even start?” he laughs scathingly. “She’s a nobody. She’s got no connections, or else she would have said so. Instead, all she gave us is a first name. Like a goddamn stripper.”

“Careful,” I warn.

“Is that what you’re being?” he challenges, stepping forward aggressively towards us. “‘Careful’? Because from where I’m standing, it sure as fuck don’t look it. Just looks like you decided to marry your latest whore.” He spits on the ground. “If only your father could see you now.”

My hand darts to my gun. That’s it. No matter how much Otets valued him, I cannot keep around a man who’ll show me such blatant disrespect.

But before I can whip out my weapon, a smooth voice intervenes.

“I understand your concern,” Mia smiles, far too gently for someone with her temper, let alone one who’s been called a stripper and a whore in the last minute. “It’s reassuring, honestly. It means you really care about my Yulian.”

My Yulian. The words stick in my brain in a way I cannot explain.

“But—” And here her voice takes a dangerous, icy plunge. “—I believe you know him well enough to realize what he will or won’t tolerate. Don’t you?”

Then she takes my hand, guiding it away from my gun.

That’s when I realize she’s shaking.

Of course. This whole thing is an act. A shockingly well-executed one, but an act nonetheless.

Mia wasn’t bred for this. She has no idea what it takes to be a true pakhansha.

Could’ve fooled me, though.

Rurik grits his teeth. I can see the urge to fight back on his face, but then Kazimir steps in, smooth as silk. “Well said, pakhansha, ” he praises. “Now, I think we’ve all gotten a bit carried away, yes? Maybe we can apologize to the lady for keeping her from the banquet in her honor?”

Rurik goes red. But I can tell something’s changed. That, somehow, Mia changed it.

“Of course,” he forces out. “My apologies.”

Then everyone sits back down.

“You can let go,” I mutter to Mia. “I’m not going to shoot him. Not tonight, at least.”

“Is that supposed to reassure me?”

“Mostly.”

With a shaky exhale, she lets go.

The rest of the dinner is much smoother sailing. Mia carries herself well, bantering with Kazimir and trading political opinions with Slavik. At one point, she even manages to drag a snort out of Zhenya.

I’ve never been more turned on in my life.

Once everyone leaves, Mia turns to me, her face suddenly uncertain. “How did I do?” she breathes. “I didn’t overstep, did I? I’m sorry, I just really didn’t want you to k?—”

I don’t let her finish that sentence.

I push her against the table and kiss her senseless.