Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Or, at least, I thought Sergei did.
While he’s been acceptant of my way of doing things, his recent suspicions of me are troublesome. Now, I have to prove my loyalty all over again, but I can’t be obvious about it, because that will raise his alarms even more.
We’re at his mansion that’s situated on the outskirts of Brooklyn. This house has been used as the brotherhood’s compound in New York for decades. When my father brought me here as a kid, I thought it was a monster, but way less monstrous than our own house.
I sit on Sergei’s right at the meeting table, cradling a glass of cognac I haven’t been drinking from. The Pakhan is in his sixties and has been hiding his cancer from the brotherhood. I’d already figured it out soon after he did.
Yes, I even have spies on my own Pakhan. People overflow with secrets and it’s those secrets that keep me one step ahead of them. The men here use guns as their weapons. Mine is information. It’s deadlier, faster, and more efficient.
The reason I haven’t brought Sergei down using his weakness—the cancer—is because that will cause a power shift. While I don’t give a fuck about instigating chaos, I’m not in the mood to deal with it at a time like this.
Only the higher-ups in the brotherhood are allowed to attend breakfast at the Pakhan’s house. Out of respect, the number of guards present is limited to our senior soldiers. Kolya stands behind me as sure and as strong as a mountain. Yan remains outside.
The other four kings occupy the rest of the seats. Igor and Mikhail are from Sergei’s time, so they’re ancient and would rather speak Russian than English. The other two, Kirill and Damien, have lived in America long enough to speak in barely accented English.
I’m in the middle. A Russian bastard of sorts.
Two other members join us. The first is Rai, Sergei’s grandniece, the previous Pakhan’s granddaughter, and the only woman who has enough balls to barge into a brotherhood meeting.
She’s now a regular, even though she’s three months pregnant. Her belly is starting to show, but that doesn’t deter her from coming in here like she has every right to.
She doesn’t. And if she were any other woman, she would’ve been banished, but her relation to the previous and the current Pakhan keep most of the men here from effectively kicking her out.
It might also have to do with her husband, who’s sitting by her side. He’s a hitman—a sniper, at that—and everyone knows not to provoke him, especially when it comes to her.
The reason I want to shoot her between the eyes isn’t due to her being a woman, or because she’s been actively trying to eliminate my spies from V Corp, the brotherhood’s legitimate front in which she’s the executive director. It’s because she meddled in something she shouldn’t have.
She’s the reason I lost Lia, and I won’t stop until I know why.
As Sergei talks about our recent clash with the Irish and a possible truce with their new younger leader, I keep staring at the empty chair on his left. Vladimir’s.
He doesn’t miss meetings. I do. So his absence not only confirms Kirill’s words, but it also means that Vladimir is going above and beyond for this.
“What do you think, Adrian?” Sergei asks me.
“The Irish won’t accept an alliance this soon after our recent dispute. We killed many of their men and that doesn’t go away by a mere change of leadership. We should give them time,” I say, as if I’ve been listening to everything they’ve been talking about. I excel in the art of deception. I have since I was a kid.
My parents made sure of it.
After a nod from Sergei, the meeting goes on about some strategies that I let filter past me. I’m waiting for a chance to ask about Vladimir without being obvious about it.
While my system is efficient, Vladimir knows about it and, therefore, he’s able to evade it. Not entirely, but even that small gap is enough to distort my course of action. I can’t make any decisions before I know what he’s up to. Otherwise, they’d be ineffective stabs in the dark that could—and would—backfire against me.
As soon as Kirill mentions something about a drug shipment aid, I take a sip of my drink and speak casually, “Shouldn’t Vladimir help?”
“Vladimir is busy with something else,” Sergei says with a dismissive hand. “Damien, you help.”
“But that’s boring, Pakhan,” the latter whines like a kid who can’t play with his toys—aka guns.
“Are you telling me no?”
“Of course not. I’m happy to be of service.” He sighs and retrieves a cigarette, then mutters under his breath to Kirill, “Fucker.”
Kirill merely smirks as he adjusts his black-framed glasses with his middle finger.
“What is Vladimir busy with?” I ask flat out, to which Kirill raises a brow. He knows I don’t prefer direct conflict unless it’s absolutely necessary.