Chapter 2 Gennadiy
GENNADIY
Two minutes earlier
Let me tell you something about power. The more you have, the more people there are trying to snatch it from you. You want to hang on to power? You better be ready to fight every day of your life. And to fight, you have to have something that drives you.
Business was good. The Aristov empire stretched right across Chicago, and we had cars, mansions, money…
everything we’d dreamed of when we were three starving kids in Russia.
But our size made us a target. Our enemies were constantly hunting for weaknesses, there were hundreds of illegal operations to oversee, and I had to run the casino, a full-time job in itself.
It was too much for one person, but my brothers had their own responsibilities, and I didn’t trust anyone outside the family enough to let them help.
I was already working eighteen-hour days, and as we expanded, it was reaching the point where something had to give.
But I had a secret weapon. The thing that pulled me out of bed before dawn, that kept me going until the early hours.
Anger.
It’s been with me too long to be an emotion.
It’s a force of nature, a storm made of darkness that rises and falls but never dies away completely.
It started in a borstal in Vladivostok, and it’s been building ever since.
The anger let me become what I needed to be: a prince of darkness, the most ruthless of all my brothers.
It lets me do the things I have to do: threaten, blackmail, kill.
The one thing it won’t let me do...is rest.
So I never stop. I’m constantly moving: speeding around the city, dealing with enemies, solving problems. And when I’m here at the casino, I don’t sit in my office having meetings, I prowl the floor, checking for issues, and my men run up to me and mutter questions in my ear.
“Two of our guys got picked up hijacking a truck in the eighth precinct last night,” one of them told me. “Cops were supposed to keep away from that block. Commander Meggitt says he’s sorry.”
I know the name of every cop on our payroll. “Meggitt...he’s the one into woodworking, isn’t he?”
“Yes sir. Builds dollhouses in his downtime.”
I walked on, past the roulette wheel. “Woodworking’s such a dangerous hobby. Those table saws...you could lose a finger before you knew what was happening. Pay Commander Meggitt a visit, remind him to be more careful.”
“Got it.” The man ran off.
I marched over to the craps tables. Another of my men hurried over to me. “We caught the guy who was dealing in our club. But he won’t tell us who his supplier is.”
“Throw him into the foundation of Radimir’s new building and start pouring concrete.”
“And once he’s talked?”
“Keep pouring.”
I held up my hand to pause the craps game, picked up the dice, and turned them in my palm, checking the weight: just last week, we’d had a guy swap in loaded dice. But these were fine. I rolled them, waved for the game to continue, and moved on.
My brother Valentin appeared from the shadows. “You asked me to find Iosif Kalugin. He’s holed up in a motel, south side.” Valentin paused. “You want me to…” He reached under his long coat and brushed the hilt of one of his knives.
“No.” I thought about what Kalugin had been doing and the disgust rolled through me like thunder. “I’ll do it personally, tonight. Get a boat and some heavy chains.”
Valentin nodded and peeled off into the crowd. I marched on, the crowd parting in front of me—
And that’s when I saw her for the very first time.
A woman, a small one, but marching towards me with utter determination. “Gennadiy Aristov,” she growled.
She’d heard of me, but she wasn’t scared. That irritated me...but it made me curious, too. “Yes?”
“You burned down the theater.”
I had to think for a second. That old wreck, down the block?
Yes, I had sent someone to deal with it, one of the three places that would burn this week alone.
Why did she care? The theater was a dump, and the space would make an excellent high-stakes poker area.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I told her.
She glared up at me, and I glared down at her.
She looked even smaller because she wasn’t wearing high heels, like the women I’m used to seeing.
She was wearing leather biker boots, scuffed and worn from riding, and black leather pants that hugged her legs like a second skin.
Her eyes were deep blue, and they caught the light, flashing and glittering.
They made me think of sapphires dug from deep in the earth, beautiful but incredibly hard.
I could feel the anger gathering and darkening in my chest, and I wasn’t sure why.
Yes, she was an insolent little thing, marching into my casino and accusing me of things, but it was more than that.
I know my rage like a sailor knows the ocean.
This anger was too fast, too bright. She made me irrationally angry, and I’m always rational. What’s going on?
I had the weirdest feeling, like her being here, me being here, were unshakable certainties, like I was a planet and she was a comet slamming into me, our paths determined millions of years before.
I inspected her, coldly analytical. I looked at the small breasts that pushed out her black vest top.
The wisps of black hair that had escaped the tight little bun at the back of her head fell to caress her neck.
She was glowering up at me, furious, and it was making her lips pout in a way that was—
That was—
I looked up, meeting her eyes.
Her fist slammed into my face.
I went staggering backwards. At first, there was just numbness and shock. Two of my men who’d been near me stood frozen as well. None of us could believe someone would dare to hit me.
Then the pain arrived. The whole side of my face started to throb.
That actually hurt. She was small, but she had power.
I’m going to have a bruise. Worse, people were looking.
Casino staff, Bratva, customers...they’d all just seen Gennadiy Aristov get punched in his own casino by this.
..this tiny little thing. I let the anger expand in my chest, filling me, and stepped forward,
My men finally woke up and overcompensated for being caught off guard. One of them drew his gun, and the other ran forward to hit her.
She just...flowed sideways, gripped the wrist of the first guy and twisted, and he screamed and dropped his gun. The second guy tried to punch her, and she spun and brought her knee up, and he crumpled to the ground, cradling his balls.
Now everyone was looking. The rage darkened, becoming thick, black clouds that crackled with energy. How fucking dare you?
I jumped forward and grabbed the woman. She twisted, and for a second her breast brushed my forearm, soft and warm through her vest top, and I froze.
Then she grabbed my arm and pulled it in a way it wasn’t supposed to go.
Ow! I released her, grabbed her again, and she broke free again.
I tried again, and again, but she was so fast, it felt like she had about six arms.
I finally wrapped her up in a bear hug from behind, trapping her arms against her. There.
She stamped down on my shin. I managed not to cry out, but my face went scarlet with pain and anger. I lifted her fully off the floor so that her legs were kicking helplessly in the air. There!
She threw back her head and yelled at the top of her lungs. “Get off me, you—”
I clamped my hand over her mouth and—finally—she was under control.
I stood there panting and furious, and took stock.
Her long hair had been shaken half out of its bun, and it was so deeply, coolly black it was almost blue-black, and so fine that it looked like black smoke where it waterfalled down over my arms. Her head was only a few inches from mine, and I could smell the soft cherry scent of her shampoo.
Her back was pressed so tightly against my chest that I could feel every breath she took.
Her leather pants were superhero-tight, and the firm half-globes of her ass stroked against my cock every time she wriggled.
She was still trying to talk, and the feel of her lips and hot little exhales against my palm made me feel. ..odd.
The anger felt different. Like there was something in those dark clouds, little flecks of gold helplessly caught in the howling winds. The angrier I got, the more they billowed around, gleaming bright...
I suddenly remembered all the people watching. I growled, turned away from them, and carried her across the casino and into my private office.
I marched across the room and around my desk, my anger building with each step.
I dumped her into my big leather chair and then slammed my office door.
Instantly, the noise of the casino disappeared.
I saw her body go stiff with shock as it sank in: she was alone with me, and the office was as good as soundproof. No one would hear her scream, in here.
I stormed over to the chair and loomed over her, gripping the top corners and caging her in with my arms. She was panting, scared. But then she lifted her chin and glared up at me, defiant.
She was irritatingly pretty. Those deep blue eyes were so hard, so strong...just for a second, I wondered what it would take to make them weaken. “Who are you?!” I demanded.
She panted a few more times while she considered, her chest rising and falling. “Brooks,” she said at last. “FBI.”
My hands tightened on the top of the chair, and I felt my jaw clench.
I hate the FBI. They’re so much worse than regular cops.
The FBI is a shambling, slow-witted giant, its legs tied together with red tape, and its sole purpose is to crush the lean, efficient business my brothers and I have built.
The FBI might be American, not Russian, but it’s still part of the same corrupt government machine that tore the Aristov family apart.
I leaned in. “Let me educate you, Agent Brooks. I am not a man you raise your voice to.” The chair creaked as I tilted it back.
“I am not a man you disrespect.” I leaned even closer, close enough that I could smell the soft, vanilla-sweet scent of her skin.
I lowered my voice to a whisper, my lips so close they almost stroked her ear.
“That FBI badge will not save you, little one. If I drop you in Lake Michigan, it will just be extra weight, dragging you down.”
She caught her breath. Then, “I’m not scared of you.”
The fury swelled, a hurricane inside me. Everyone is scared of me. I glared down at her. She glared up at me, stubbornly brave—
That flutter of gold, again, tiny pieces glittering bright in the darkness. My eyes went to her lips, soft and pouting with righteous indignation, and the anger whipped the gold flecks faster and faster...
I wavered for a second. Then instinct took over.
I wrapped my hands around her throat, my tattooed fingers brutish against that smooth, tan skin. “Are you scared now?” I asked.
I felt her throat bulge under my hands as she panic-swallowed and her blue eyes widened in fear.
The door flew open. Valentin stood in the doorway, his long coat flapping around him. His eyes went from me to her and back to me.
I let go of her throat and stepped back. “Get out of my casino,” I told her. “And don’t come back.”
She stood, white-faced and shaky, and felt her way around the desk to the door, her eyes never leaving me for a second. In the doorway, she stopped. “The theater was almost out of money,” she told me. “Another six months and they would have had to sell. You didn’t have to burn it.”
“It’s my city,” I told her. “I’ll burn what I fucking like, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
She stared at me…then stood tall, lifted her chin, and glared at me. I silently cursed: Chyort! No one stood up to me like that.
Then she turned and walked away.
Valentin looked at me and raised a questioning eyebrow. He was already turning to follow her, his hand on one of his knives.
I considered. She certainly infuriated me enough to consider it.
True, killing an FBI agent would bring a world of pain down on us, but only if they found out it was us.
Valentin could follow her home and make it look like a mugging gone wrong: he was good at that.
We could wipe the security cameras that showed her coming here, and no witnesses would be stupid enough to go to the cops.
One quick slash of a knife and Agent Brooks would be taken care of.
But… I inhaled, catching the last, lingering trace of her scent. “Let her go,” I told Valentin. “She’s not worth the trouble.”
I had no idea, then. Not of how valuable she’d become to me or how much trouble she’d bring.