Sinful Embers (Vegas Bratva Kings #2)

2. RADOMIR

Chapter 2

RADOMIR

The faint glow from my laptop casts eerie shadows across the desk. It’s a cold, lonely light that matches the knot in my stomach as I sift through endless search results for Ice Man Industries. Every click brings up the same polished corporate front: a global cold food distribution company led by Wanda Manning. Her rise as CEO came after her father was killed, and shortly after, she married a Russian oligarch. Innocuous enough on the surface, but the mention of a Russian oligarch connected to Wanda, gnaws at me like a bad itch I can’t scratch.

Could the oligarch be the Ice Man? If so, what the fuck does he want with Leigh? Or my family? How is Carlos involved in this tangled mess? My thoughts churn, spiraling deeper into questions I can’t answer. And then there’s Nikolas. I’m not even sure I should be trusting him, and I’ve just let him help in our investigations because Sabrina vouched for him—but trust is a fragile thing in my world, especially at this moment in time.

My eyes drift to where Nikolas is hunched over Dolph’s laptop, his sharp gaze scanning the hotel’s security footage. He hasn’t said much in the last few hours, but his focus is razor-sharp. Still, I can’t help the doubt curling in my gut.

“Why did you arrive at the penthouse when you did? It was right after Leigh was taken. That seems a little convenient.” My eyes narrow as I watch him intently.

Nikolas doesn’t glance up. “I got an SOS from Leigh. She said she was in trouble and needed help.”

His voice is flat, almost robotic, but there’s a weight to his words that makes me believe him. For now. “Do you know Wanda Manning, the CEO of Ice Man Industries?” I ask, leaning forward. “She’s from London, like you. Don’t all high-society types over there mingle, and know each other?”

“I didn’t mix in those circles,” he replies without looking away from the screen. “My circle was more military.”

Of course it was! That explains a whole lot of things, like his frightening calm under pressure.

I press further. “Can you ask your mother if she knows Wanda?” I tilt my head. “She is like a Greek God in your circles, right?”

“No, I can’t ask my mother.” He finally glances at me, his expression hard. “Why don’t you ask your mother? Galina grew up in Europe. If Wanda’s around her age, they might’ve crossed paths.”

I study him, narrowing my eyes, ignoring his suggestion to ask my mother—I’m not going to involve her just yet. “Why can’t you ask your mother?”

Nikolas leans back, his face darkening. “Because she thinks Carlos is me. And that I killed my father, uncle, and two cousins.”

The bluntness of his words slams into me like a punch. “Oh, fuck.” I pause, absorbing the weight of what he’s just said. “And did you? Kill them?”

“No.” His tone is sharp as he shakes his head, fixing me with a cold glare. “Carlos did.”

I don’t bother hiding my skepticism. “If your own mother believes you killed them, how do you expect me to believe that Carlos killed them? Maybe him taking Leigh is revenge for you pinning the murders on him?”

Without a word, Nikolas rolls up his sleeve, exposing a patch of scarred flesh. It’s a grotesque, puckered reminder of a fire that left its mark long after the flames died. “My body is covered in more of this,” he says evenly. “And I’ve got a bullet scar near my heart.”

My chest tightens as the image of it forms in my mind. “What happened?”

“My cousin Carlos was supposed to meet us at the Matriarch head office boardroom to discuss him coming back to the family after a… let’s just say a long absence over a dispute.” Nikolas’s voice lowers, his tone steady but weighted with something darker.

“But Carlos had other plans for the meeting. He literally came in there with guns blazing—a fucking mini Uzi, to be exact.” Nikolas pauses, running a hand through his pepper-streaked black hair. “He walked in and said, ‘I’m not interested in a reconciliation,’ then opened fire on us. He shot my father and his.”

Radomir narrows his eyes. “Jesus. What the hell kind of family meeting was this?”

“A deadly one.” Nikolas reacts to the comment, his voice growing colder as he continues, “I managed to pull my other cousin, Carlos’s identical twin brother, Costa Junior, to safety. Luckily, the Uzi jammed, giving me just enough time to act.” He exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. “I was about to make my move, but Carlos took flight.”

His hands grip the edge of the desk as he leans forward. “Costa Junior and I gave chase, desperate to catch him, before he could escape. But we weren’t thinking straight—we drove right into a trap. Costa was shot through the brain, and I took a bullet near my heart. The car crashed into a wall, and I woke up in a burning wreck, my flesh on fire.”

The details churn in my gut. “Jesus. Carlos did that? What the fuck was the dispute that kept him from the family about?”

“He was always a troubled person. But I don’t know if Carlos was the one who’d set the trap,” Nikolas admits, his voice bitter. “But he was working with a Russian syndicate at the time. Could’ve been him—or one of them.”

“Russian?” I repeat, the word triggering a cascade of thoughts. “One of my family’s enemies, perhaps? That might explain why they’d target us.”

“There are plenty of reasons why Carlos, and if he’s still with that syndicate, might target your family,” Nikolas says, his tone sharp. “The biggest one being that your mother controls Leigh’s access to her inheritance.”

My pulse spikes, my mind racing to connect the pieces. “So my mother knows Carlos?”

“Yes,” Nikolas replies. “Your mother and my late sister, Thea, were best friends. They met at an elite Swiss boarding school.” His eyes softening and there’s something in his tone as he speaks about my mother that puts an edge on my nerves. “Galina spent a lot of time visiting us in Greece and London when she was younger. Your mother met Carlos on numerous occasions.”

The mention of his sister blindsides me. “Thea was your sister?”

His voice tightens, his jaw clenching. “Yes. And we believe Carlos killed her as well.”

The weight of his words presses down on me. “Jesus,” I mutter. “Was he cleaning house? Trying to wipe out the Vasilikis family to get his hands on the Matriarch money?”

Nikolas nods grimly. “We believe so. He wants to hand it to his lover.” His eyes narrow dangerously. “Matriarch Corporation isn’t just powerful—it’s a cornerstone of global innovation, and it always has been. It was founded during World War II by my great-grandmother, a widowed Greek immigrant who developed groundbreaking electronics to aid the British war effort. What began as a small operation manufacturing radar components and cryptographic devices quickly grew into an empire. By the time the war ended, Matriarch was already branching into consumer electronics and early computing.”

He pauses, his jaw tightening. “Over the decades, the company has expanded into automotive technology, state-of-the-art recording equipment, private banking, and advanced military weaponry. It doesn’t just touch lives—it controls industries, governments, and even the flow of information.”

The weight of his words settles heavily in the room, but Nikolas doesn’t stop. “Matriarch has always remained in Vasilikis hands. By tradition, it passes to the eldest sibling of the family. That means it’s mine—or my heir’s—until the day I die. And Carlos knows that. He knows that if he becomes me, he doesn’t just take my name or my life. He takes Matriarch. The control. The power. Everything.”

The air feels thinner as his words sink in . Fuck . I’d known Matriarch was powerful—my mother had made sure of that—but this... this is an entirely different league. This isn’t just about wealth or status. It’s control. Global, all-encompassing control.

And Leigh—my wife—is part of that legacy. By marrying her, I’ve tied myself to one of the most influential families in the world. Nikolas isn’t just sharing this to explain Carlos’s obsession—he’s warning me. I’ve stepped into a world far bigger, far more dangerous, than I ever imagined. My enemies already circle like vultures. If Leigh claims what’s hers, the stakes will be beyond anything I’m prepared for.

I exhale slowly, forcing myself to stay calm. “Lover?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at Nikolas, needing to find the thread that ties Carlos to all of this.

Nikolas exhales sharply, leaning back. “My cousin, Carlos, is head over heels in love with the head of that fucking Russian syndicate—obsessively so.”

“Really?” My brows raise curiously.

Nikolas gives a curt nod. “Twenty years ago, Carlos’s father, Costa Senior, disowned him, with full support from my father and Carlos’s identical twin brother, Costa Junior.”

“Why was he disowned?” I press.

Nikolas’s expression becomes grim. “Our fathers wanted Carlos to marry a heiress. They wanted something innovative her father designed. But Carlos refused. He came out as gay and declared he was already in love.”

I wince, knowing they’re Greek, and how, if they were religious, that would go down. “Strict Greek Orthodox family?”

He snorts bitterly. “Exactly. Carlos wouldn’t comply. They disowned him.” Nikolas shakes his head. “My family doesn’t fuck around when it comes to things like that. My father and uncle were fair, but go against them…”

“Yeah, I can relate.”

Nikolas nods. “Carlos disappeared for a year after that, and during that time, a Russian syndicate rose in Europe. Guess who was affiliated with them?”

“Carlos,” I whisper, the name heavy on my tongue.

“Not just affiliated with them either. Carlos is the leader of the Russian syndicate’s right-hand man,” Nikolas says, his voice sharp. He glances down at the screen, his jaw tightening. “That Russian bastard stays hidden in the shadows and uses Carlos as the face of the syndicate.” His gaze darkens further. “Let me correct that statement—he uses my face as the face of the syndicate.”

I scoff, leaning back in my chair. “Fuck, he really does look like you. Are you sure he’s not obsessed with you?”

Nikolas lets out a brittle laugh, the sound cold and humorless. “He’s always been jealous. It’s not just about looking like me—it’s about what I have. Matriarch, Archontis... everything he couldn’t touch.” He shakes his head, his lips twisting in disdain. “He hates that I was set to inherit it all while he was left with far less than what he thinks he deserves.”

My eyes narrow as I consider his words. “What I don’t understand, is why he’d want to become you, if your mother and Mark think you killed your father, uncle, and cousins.” I pause, then add thoughtfully, “If the heir to two such powerful empires was seen to align with a Russian syndicate, it would destabilize everything—the companies, the shareholders, and the military wouldn’t be too happy about that especially because you mentioned Matriarch created weapons.” I raise my brows knowingly. “Not to mention the scandal it would cause if it got out that the very same heir aligning with a Russian syndicate also killed his father, sister, uncle, and cousins.”

Nikolas exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “They didn’t know who’d killed my father and uncle for a few months after it happened.” His jaw tightens, and I can see the weight of the memories pressing down on him. “But after Thea was killed, the agency and I decided we had to sever Carlos’s connection to Matriarch completely. We figured the only place he’d have left to go was the syndicate.”

“How did you do that?” I prompt curiously.

I can see whatever’s coming has haunted him. “We sent a recording to my mother and Mark—the agency I work for doctored the security footage I had taken from the company the day Carlos had killed my father and uncle. The footage showed Carlos, looking like me, standing in the boardroom and announcing that he didn’t need Matriarch anymore. He claimed he was building something far bigger with his partner—the king of a new Russian syndicate.”

My brows shoot up, startled. “You framed yourself? That’s fucked up.”

“We knew what my mother would do.” Nikolas’s voice was bleak. “She’d be forced to have to cut me completely out of everything associated with Matriarch and her family’s organizations. To protect them, and Leigh.”

“By declaring you dead.” Realization dawns on me. “That way if the video was leaked or Carlos did anything as you, she had plausible deniability.”

“Yes,” he confirms with a slow nod. “My agency worked with her to ensure I was erased. Carlos knew that if he tried to approach her as me, she wouldn’t fuck around and would publicly demand a DNA test to prove he wasn’t me. And... given my mother’s connections , even if it was me, the test would say otherwise.”

I stare at him thoughtfully for a long moment seeing an opportunity to get some answers. “Why does your mother command so much fear?” I ask finally, voicing a question I’ve held for years. “I’ve wondered for a decade why men would rather die than cross her—especially the Greeks. No one will speak of her, not even in whispers.” My brow furrows. “There are even some powerful crime families that are petrified of her.”

Nikolas’s lips press into a thin line, his green eyes sharp as glass. “Let’s just say... the Archontis family has its own dark history. Like her father and grandfather before her, my mother has kept that history buried in the shadows to protect everything the Archontis name stands for today.” He pulls a face, shrugging slightly. “But those shadows are still there, and some things... some people... don’t forget.”

A gnawing unease stirs within me. What the hell are he and his mother hiding? And what the fuck have I gotten myself into by marrying Leigh? This rabbit hole keeps pulling me deeper and deeper, and I’m starting to see the truth—what we call the light above our criminal dark world isn’t as bright as it seems. And what is this agency Nikolas keeps speaking about?

“This agency of yours... what the hell is it?” I drum my fingers once on the desk. “And don’t give me some bull crap. I’ve seen you disarm men like it’s nothing, and they have enough clout to erase you as well as falsify police reports.” I catch the corners of his mouth lift slightly, a rare flicker of amusement. “So I doubt it’s some environmental protection agency and more like some covert government branch or elite task force.”

Before Nikolas can answer, the door creaks open, and Sabrina strides in, her oversized bag slung over her shoulder. “He’s a government eraser,” she says flatly, cutting through the tension.

Nikolas and I greet her as she takes the seat beside him, dumping her purse on the floor at her feet. “Uncle Nik erases people—either gives them new lives or sends them to the next one: heaven or hell, depending on what they deserve. At least, that’s how Sam explained it when Leigh and I were ten.”

“An eraser,” I mutter under my breath. “Of course, you are.” Glancing at Nikolas, I ask, “Why let Carlos take over your life in the first place if you work for an agency like that?”

Nikolas answers without hesitation. “They wanted Carlos to lead them to the elusive and camera-shy leader of the Russian syndicate. No one—except Carlos—knows what he looks like or what his real name is.”

“And to steal weapons, government secrets, and whatever else Uncle Nik’s high-level access gave him, which is something no ordinary civilian would ever have,” Sabrina interjects. “Especially since Uncle Nik is also UK SAS.” She pauses, her expression darkening. “And as you can imagine, having the face of Nikolas Vasilikis would give him direct access to Leigh, as her father.” Blowing out a breath, she adds bitterly, “Pity Carlos didn’t do away with that Vivienne bitch when he had the chance.”

“He tried,” Nikolas says flatly. “It was one of the reasons she and Leigh were relocated by Galina”—he glances at me—“and Mark Dalton.”

Sabrina’s lip curls as she looks at me. “Mark thinks Nikolas killed his wife,” she says, her tone heavy with accusation, before adding for my benefit, “His wife was Uncle Nik’s younger sister, Thea. Leigh told me stories about her. She was young when Thea died, but she still had fond memories of her—well, when Leigh still had her memories.”

I sit forward, the weight of the revelation hitting me square in the chest. “Fuck!” I exclaim. “Mark’s Leigh’s uncle? But why let him take care of her? He’s nothing more than a gambling-addicted, grifting drunk.”

“Shows how much you know,” Nikolas counters, his tone sharp. “Mark is not just some grifter. Everything the man does has a well-designed purpose. People like you take him for nothing but a loser, which is exactly what he wants. That way, you don’t pay too much attention to him.”

“Fuck, I knew it,” I mutter, shaking my head as the truth sinks in. “My mother took great joy in telling me that Mark was the one who won the game the night Leigh came into my care—and that I’d played right into his hands.”

“You did,” Nikolas confirms. “If you hadn’t bet Leigh, Mark would’ve.”

Sabrina glares at Nikolas, her temper flaring. “Jesus!” she spits. “And you allowed this? I’ve always thought you were the best father—besides mine, that is—ever. But now…”

Nikolas meets her fiery gaze without flinching. “It was either that or locking Leigh up,” he says, before turning his attention to me. “Although now I’m thinking my idea would’ve been the better of the two. I had a secure site set up and ready as well.”

The truth lands like a punch to the gut, the blame cutting deep. I don’t need Nikolas to say it aloud—I know he holds me just as responsible for Leigh’s current predicament as he does himself. And he’s right. The guilt weighs heavily, suffocating me.

I swallow hard and ask the question clawing at the back of my mind as I look accusingly at Nikolas. “How long have you, my mother, and Mark been planning the poker game scam to introduce me to my future wife?”

My eyes narrow as I include Sabrina in my accusing glare. “Fuck no!” she snaps, crossing her arms. “I didn’t know a thing about this.”

“No, Sabrina did not,” Nikolas says, backing her up. “We know how loyal she is to Leigh. And we also know that while Sabrina wouldn’t directly have told Leigh, she’d have found some ingenious way of foiling the plans.”

Sabrina grins, unrepentant. “You’re damn right I would’ve,” she says, turning her glare back on me. “No offense, Radomir, but you’re not who I would’ve wanted my best friend to marry. Leigh has had enough shit happen in her life. A big part of it is a black hole to her. All she wanted was to become a songwriter—maybe even a singer.” Her eyes flash with anger. “But you clipped her wings, and she may as well still be living in the tight invisible chains Mark had around her.”

“I’m nothing like Mark.” I bristle at her words, but I don’t interrupt. “He used her in his cons,” I say finally. “I’ve given her a life of luxury and I never discouraged her writing. In fact I think she’s a fucking amazing song writer and I was going to offer to help her get them out there.”

“Her family own fucking Matriarch Records…” Sabrina points out and then looks at Nikolas scathingly. “You could’ve told me you owned it.”

“I did tell you,” Nikolas reminds her. “I told you and Leigh that I bought a record company for you both when you girls were about eleven.” Before giving her a chance to respond he turns his cool green eyes to me. “As for Mark, he never conned anyone who didn’t deserve it.” He steps in to defend the man. “We called him the con artist Robin Hood. He conned people who had been stolen from or unethically targeted in some way or the other.”

Sabrina’s jaw drops. “Oh, fuck!” she exclaims, the realization hitting her like a freight train. “You know, I always wondered why, when he pulled off those big elaborate cons, he and Leigh just seemed to scrape by. They never had a lot of money to buy big extravagant things. I thought the fucking bastard must gamble and drink all the money away.”

“Nope,” Nikolas says, shaking his head. “He’d help the person the money was originally taken from. And as Mark was a damn good investment broker, he’s helped a lot of those people double what was stolen from them. And they always had money, Mark just didn’t flash it around and for good reason.”

“Still” I say, stunned by this new image of Mark. It doesn’t fit with the man I’ve come to know—or rather, the man I thought I knew. “Mark wasn’t the best option to hide Leigh and Vivienne? If my mother helped hide them, my uncle Gunther, who had been widowed for years back then, would’ve been the better choice. He’s at least bratva.”

Nikolas and Sabrina answer in unison. “Really?”

“Your uncle Gunther was not a very nice man,” Sabrina says, her voice tinged with disdain. “You haven’t read any of the journals yet, have you? If you did, you’d know exactly what I mean.”

The mention of the journals makes me swivel toward the bookshelf where I put them before the wedding. My stomach sinks when I see the empty space where they were.

“Fuck!” I hiss. “The journals—they’re gone.”

Nikolas taps a key on the laptop, pulling up a specific frame of security footage. “That’s what he’s doing in your office,” he says, turning the laptop slightly so I can see it, and pointing to the screen. I lean in and see a clear image of Carlos walking to the book shelf where the journals were. It must’ve been right before he took Leigh.

I turn to Sabrina, my expression darkening. “While we’re on the subject of the journals, you said I wouldn’t like their contents. What’s in them?”

“Which journals did they take?” Nikolas asks before Sabrina can respond.

“One to three,” I reply, my voice low. “But I believe there’s a fourth one I inadvertently gave to Leigh. When I went to get it back, it was gone.” More guilt hits me. “I may have been the one to trigger Leigh’s memory episodes she had yesterday.”

“I was the one that put the journal in Leigh’s packing boxes in the hopes that she’d find them before she went to Los Angeles,” Nikolas admits then tells us that the night before the wedding he put the journal beneath her pillow while he was keeping an eye on her because I was in Vegas.

Before we can delve further, Temur enters the office. His face is grim as he reports, “I’ve searched the penthouse and the bedroom thoroughly. No bugs. No clues. I can tell you that if Leigh had a phone I couldn’t find it so assume that it’s missing. But I found her songbook in her purse.” He hands it to me, and I place it on the desk beside me.

“I’ll get the board for you,” Temur says, addressing Sabrina. “And I’ll bring it up shortly.” With that he excuses himself and leaves the office.

“What board?” Nikolas and I ask in unison.

“A crime board,” Sabrina says matter-of-factly, “If we’re going to figure this out, we may as well do it right.”

Before I can respond, my phone buzzes. It’s Sergei, my head of security at the estate. I answer immediately.

“Boss,” Sergei says, his tone clipped. “We’ve had an incident. Your study and bedroom were broken into and ransacked last night. We think it might have been Michael. He came home drunk, couldn’t get through the gates saying he’d lost his pass key. Artem helped him. When one of the other guards hadn’t heard from Artem for a couple of hours he went looking for him and found him knocked out by the kitchen door.”

“Fuck,” Sabrina says, her eyes narrowing. “My apartment was also ransacked last night while I was here.”

“That’s why we were sent here,” Nikolas realizes, his voice sharp. “So I wasn’t at the estate—or you weren’t in your apartment.”

“Can you go to my office, Sergei?”

He nods and walks there showing me the room. “Fuck!” I sneer and notice that my safe’s been broken into, and I freeze. Alarm shoots through me—only a handful of people know about it. Which means someone close to me is helping that fucking bastard Carlos.

Sabrina suddenly gasps. “Wait!” she says, pointing at the screen. “Can you show the bookshelf again?” Sergie nods and turns his phone back to where Sabrina asked him to. “What’s that book on the shelf beside the safe?”

Sergei moves closer and shows up.

“It’s the fourth journal.” My voice is low and gruff as excitement courses through me mingled with suspicion as to why Carlos would’ve left it. If it wasn’t the journal he was looking for, then what was it?

Sergie reaches out, plucking the book off the shelf. As he picks it up, it falls apart, leaving him holding only the leather cover. “Fuck,” he mutters bending to scoop the book up. “I’m sorry, boss.”

“Wait,” Sabrina says again, her eyes widening. “Show us the book.”

Sergei holds it up, and my stomach drops. “Fuck—that’s not the fourth journal,” Sabrina says, glancing between Nikolas and me. “That’s Leigh’s songbook.”

All eyes dart to the desk. I pick up the songbook Temur handed me earlier and open it. My heart pounds as I flip through the pages, and I feel my hands start to tremble—it’s the fourth journal.