Chapter 2
ROAN
The name doesn’t suit her. It sounds wrong rolling off her tongue.
I’m not sure why, but the conviction in me is solid—Mia isn’t her real name. And I’ve learned over the years to trust my gut.
She doesn’t even look like a Mia. Not with that pretty blonde hair skimming her shoulders, perfectly framing that elegant neck I have a sudden, inappropriate urge to bury my face in. And those eyes—Jesus Christ. A blue so deep I could drown in them and die happy.
No, she’s too polished. Too soft-spoken. Too fucking suspicious.
Ate’s new maid is lying about her name. Why?
“You don’t believe in love at first sight, Roan?
” My little sister, Lira, once asked me in Maximo’s study.
My answer had been a derisive snort—a snort echoed by her husband, the bastard.
Because it was a ridiculous question. There’s no way you can feel anything real for someone based on a single glance.
That’s fairy tale bullshit, not reality.
Well, turns out the joke’s on me. One look at the woman across the room and something fundamental seems to shift into place inside me. Like puzzle pieces I didn’t know were scattered suddenly clicking together. Like my entire being is whispering: Finally. Here she is.
What the actual fuck?
The thought pisses me off enough that when Ate grips my elbow and steers me out of the room, I don’t resist. Better to focus on real problems—managing a family empire, keeping enemies in check, expanding territory. Not on mysterious maids with fake names and perfect fucking necks.
But I’m definitely looking into her. Later.
Ate and I walk down the sunny hallway towards the staircase, then down to his massive study. “How’s your blood pressure?” I ask him as I settle into the chair across from his desk, which feels oddly surreal.
Since his medical scare—when we thought we’d lose him—I’ve taken over all his duties. This chair used to be where I sat to take orders, where we’d fight over his decisions, his stubborn refusal to even consider the ideas I knew would benefit the family better than his outdated methods.
Ate rolls his eyes with obvious annoyance. “Is that all I am to you and Elira now? A patient to monitor? I swear, every time that girl calls me, that’s the first thing out of her mouth.”
“Then you shouldn’t have fallen into a coma last month. You scared the hell out of us, old man.” My voice is dry as dust, but my lips curve up when he huffs like a sullen child instead of a man in his sixties.
“It was for two days. Two days,” he repeats, as if those forty-eight hours of uncertainty didn’t shave a decade off my life. “I’ve dumped the entire workload in your lap, haven’t I? I’m only Shefi in name at this point. You run it all now.”
My smile widens. “Is that whining I detect, shef? Are you bored already? Want to go spend some time with Lira and Luca? Go play grandpa for a while?”
“Fuck you.” But there’s no bite in it, and he’s smiling now. “Speaking of grandchildren—when are you going to give me one to spoil? I can’t keep traveling down to Maximo’s place every time I want to play Gjysh. It would be nice to hear children’s laughter filling this house again.”
Not this conversation again.
Clearing my throat, I fold my arms over my chest. “So, the Russians aren’t too happy with us at the moment.
” The subject change earns me another exaggerated eye roll, which I ignore.
I swear, ever since his coma, he’s been acting like a child.
It's jarring watching a man who’s been strong all my life reduced to this.
Is this what almost dying does to people?
“They see the role we played supplying firearms to the Nightshades a couple of weeks ago as a sort of betrayal,” I continue.
Though personally, I think Aleksei is just pissed that Sergey blocked that revenue stream because of his alliance with FBI director Stacey Rodrigues.
“I made them see reason, of course, and we’re back on good terms now. ” Shaky terms, but still.
“Good. Now back to more important matters—I’m not getting younger, you know? I want to hold your children before I die.”
What?
Alarm bells go off in my head as I study his face for hidden meaning. “Did Denis mention something about your health? Is your blood pressure rising again?”
“No, damn it. Even a healthy man can drop dead without warning, Roan. There doesn’t need to be a medical emergency for someone my age to die, does there?”
“You’re just sixty–eight.” My heart lodges in my throat, thudding violently at the thought of a world without him. It’s going to happen eventually—I know that logically—but I’m not ready to think about it. “Are you trying to manipulate me right now?” I wouldn’t put it past him.
“Is it working?” Ate smirks, steepling his fingers.
I shake my head, trying to push past my fear. “Be serious, Shef.” I wag a finger at him. “You asked me to update you about my trip, but if you’re going to keep pulling these stunts, I’ll just leave.” I start to stand and he quickly gestures me back into the chair.
“Oh, alright, alright, sit down. A father can’t even joke with his kids anymore these days,” he mutters, waving a hand. “Go on with it then.”
I slowly resume my seat, eyeing him suspiciously. “Like I said, the Russians weren’t happy with us. I tried to smooth things over, and it seemed to have worked. For now.”
The situation with the Russians is complicated.
There had been serious friction between Sergey Volkov, the previous pakhan of the Russians, and Rafael Moretti, the head of the Nightshades. And in the end, it turned out that Sergey’s real issue wasn’t Rafael personally—it was pure greed.
Long Island was no longer enough for him. He wanted to take over all of New York City, and Rafael and the Nightshades stood in his way. So he teamed up with that corrupt FBI director, Stacey Rodrigues—his long-term ally, apparently—and stopped supplying firearms to the Nightshades to corner them.
Which meant someone had to fill the void. I saw the opening and stepped in as their new supplier. The payoff has been more than enough to finish building my own house on the estate and fund the projects I’ve been pitching to my father the past few years.
Now the new pakhan, Aleksei, wants me to withdraw my alliance with the Nightshades—an impossible request. One I made clear I wouldn’t be honoring.
If they didn’t want that revenue stream to dry up, they should have guided Sergey away from his destructive path.
My sister is part of the Nightshades now, and so is my nephew.
That makes them family. And I’m not turning my back on family because Alexsei demands it.
I have no desire to lose our Russian alliance, obviously, but they’ve lost so much power since Sergey’s arrest that losing their support wouldn’t be catastrophic.
Aleksei knows as much and smoothed over his ridiculous demand with a smile and an awkward, “I understand your reluctance to turn your back on them since your sister now lives among them.”
And that was that.
Once resolved, I could finally head home.
But I had to extend my stay another few days because Fabian—my uncle from my mother’s side who’s involved in several building projects I’m currently managing—kept rescheduling our meeting.
Day after day, always claiming some vague busyness that felt increasingly suspicious.
So I reached out to Gjon, my father’s brother who has a small group on Long Island, to find out what the hell was going on. Gjon revealed that Fabian’s been leaving Long Island to meet someone in Queens—which isn’t inherently suspicious.
Except Queens is my territory, and everyone knows there’s been bad blood between Fabian and my father since my mother’s death years ago.
If Fabian’s been coming to Queens without alerting me or Ate, then he’s most likely not up to anything good.
Ate shakes his head in disgust. “I’m not even surprised the Russians are trying to worm their way back into the Nightshades’ good graces. Don’t they have any shame left?”
I shrug in response. “Aleksei was just dealt a bad hand.”
We both took over our family business at roughly the same time, but I don’t envy his position. Sergey left him a complete shitshow. It will take Aleksei years to regain even a fraction of the power the Russians used to have in the city—assuming he ever manages it at all.
“Sounds like the trip to Long Island was successful, then.” Ate beams at me, pride clear in his eyes.
I should tell him about Fabian. But…
I decide to keep that particular piece of news to myself for now. No point upsetting him when I don’t have solid proof that Fabian’s actually doing something bad.
“It definitely was.” I return his smile, even as guilt gnaws at my stomach.
I’m not keeping secrets from him.
I’m just protecting him.