Chapter One
In which Andrey Morozov always gets what he wants. Until he doesn’t.
Andrey…
I'm steps away from getting everything I've ever wanted.
It's my due.
There are two hundred guests circling the enormous rooftop of one of the Morozov Manhattan hotels. High enough that the stench of the city doesn't seep into the air here, the haze of light pollution is dimmed, and the full moon shines down on us.
Tonight, the mingling guests are dressed in formal wear, as if they're here for a wedding.
It could be called that, I suppose. A union between the Morozov Bratva and the New York State Supreme Court.
In just three months, I will accept my nomination and sit on the bench of the highest court in the state, and the irony of it warms my black, withered soul.
A Morozov, from one of the most aggressive and significant Bratvas in the world, stepping foot on the bench of the most powerful judgeship in the state.
"Andrey!" Nikandr, my twin, comes up to me with a huge grin.
I've had to endure the endless expressions of good cheer and love that my idiot brother wears all the time these days.
We look nearly identical, 6'6, both blonde, the same body type.
He's more comfortable with showing his tattoos, Cyrillic script up one side of his neck, tattoos on his knuckles and hands.
I am required to look more… presentable.
"Hello Nik." I endure it as he grips my shoulder and squeezes it.
He glances down at my glass of scotch and grimaces. "You're a traitor to the motherland."
Shrugging, I take a sip, still scanning the rooftop. "Relax, brother. All the important parts of me are Russian."
With an elaborate sigh, Nik stands next to me watching the guests.
All the current Supreme Court Justices are here, with their spouses.
Mayor Cavanaugh, Governor Marian Stone, both U.S.
senators, and on my side, the glorious magnificence of the Bratva, my cousin Dmitri, the Pakhan, Nikandr, his Sovietnik and the rest of our family.
"I never thought I would see this many people from our side come together with the straights." Nik absently swirls his glass. "Hell, some of them even look like they're enjoying it."
A small rumble of amusement comes from my chest. Only two of the Supreme Court Justices could be considered "straights," or even human beings. The rest are garbage or outright malevolent. Even though they're uncomfortable with my background, theirs are no better.
Justice Elana Carrington, for instance, who is marching toward us, her jaw clenched in a facsimile of a smile. "Andrey Morozov," she says. "Who would have imagined this day?"
"Who indeed, Elana." I give her a brief nod. She's hated me from the beginning because I know exactly what she is. "How is your foundation doing?"
She stiffens.
"Ah, I'm being rude. My brother Nikandr Morozov, this is Justice Elana Carrington.
" Nik nods, but he's silent. He knows I'm working up to something, he's waiting for it.
"Brother, Elana oversees a foundation for young women.
The mission, if I'm correct, is supporting them with STEM education grants? "
Elana's eyes are blazing like the fires of hell, which is where she belongs.
The young women unfortunate to be lured into the foundation's grasp don't get STEM grants.
That money funnels back to her. But many of these girls disappear.
I can't prove it yet, but I'm certain she's trafficking them.
The proof is buried under layers of bureaucracy and the stubborn inability of law enforcement to believe a Chief Justice could be involved in something so vile.
I'll find the proof. And Justice Elana Carrington will be burned down to ash and bone.
Nik's eyes darken as I mention the "foundation." We've discussed it before. "Ah, yes. I've heard so much about your admirable efforts with lower-income, vulnerable young women, Justice Carrington."
She doesn't spare him a glance. "This level of the judiciary operates on a higher standard, Andrey. One I know you're not ready for. You might want to speak less and listen more until you have a better understanding of what's at stake."
"Oh, you would be quite surprised by what I've learned already," I murmur, watching her face twitch. "I'll see you at the nomination hearing."
Roman joins us as she's marching away. Based on family tradition, he would have been the Sovietnik, but he wanted to stay as the Bratva's Vor and he handed the position over to my brother. Both are perfectly happy where they are. "Is she going to be a problem?" he asks.
"Not when I'm finished with her," I say.
We watch the crowd for a moment before his eyes narrow. "Ah, fuck."
I watch as he groans, passing a weary hand over his face. "You look exhausted, cousin."
"Yeah, because against my better judgment Violet's sisters, Rose and Iris, joined us tonight," he says, gulping down his drink.
His wife's sisters are twins, identical, and from all accounts, a nightmare to supervise.
I follow his stare and see one of the girls, tossing a thick mane of chestnut hair over one shoulder, looking demure in a black dress.
But the grin she's giving the man in front of her is avaricious, cunning, and the fool is already too enchanted to figure it out.
She's joined by the other sister, who slips her arm around her sister's waist and smiles at the man too, angling her head toward her twin.
"Goddamnit," Roman snarls. "That's the British ambassador. Excuse me, I have to get to them before they leave him a broken shell of a man."
"That's true," Nik agrees. "I've seen those two drain a man of his will to live within minutes.
It's almost beautiful to watch, actually.
" Roman ignores us and starts shouldering his way through the crowd, which parts around him like he's a trawler breaking ice in the North Sea.
"Those two are dangerous," Nik says, "but they're fun. "
My father joins us, shaking my hand. Despite the rigid hierarchy of the Morozov family and the horrific way he was raised by my now dead grandfather, he is nothing but warm and approving with his children.
"Otets." I bow my head respectfully, as does Nik. "Are you enjoying the party?"
"Do I look like one of your guests that you have to have a dull conversation with?" He laughs. "I do enjoy watching you in your element, the King surveying his domain."
"Please,” Nikandr groans. "I don't think you need to fill him with even more overwhelming self-esteem than he currently possesses."
"True,” Father acknowledges. “But what he has accomplished for the family is remarkable.
Plus, for my personal spiteful enjoyment, he's taken down several bastards that I have wanted to cut into pieces for a very long time.
" This is how I know he's my father. He hides his smile behind a glass of vodka, but it's savage, almost feral.
Nikandr grins at me. "This is true. Didn't you make Judge Williams cry last week? Right there on the bench?"
"Well…" I allow myself a small smile. "I'm certain he cried much harder when he found out he'd been passed over for the Supreme Court nomination."
Nodding approvingly, Father says, "We are not here to worry about the problems of lesser men," he intones, sounding very much like his brother Maksim, the former Pakhan, who is essentially a frostbitten human being that thaws only for his wife, Ella.
The lights strung over the rooftop sway slightly with the spring breeze, and some petals from the huge pot of flowering plants drift through the air, a little one landing on my shoulder. I look down on it, frowning.
"So tiny. It's an iris blossom. In the motherland, they're considered good luck," Father says. I flick it impatiently off my shoulder. This suit is a custom Kiton three piece. "How did it go with our problem from Florida?" he asks, still scanning the crowd.
"He was convicted yesterday. Three counts of manslaughter." I chuckle softly. "He's about to find his unfortunate end on Riker's Island. I have men sharpening their knives as we speak. His mafia daddy won't be getting him out of this."
"Good work," he nods approvingly. "I'll see you later."
I hear my mother's laugh. She's linked arms with Aunt Ella, they're giggling over something and I'd prefer not to know what it is.
The two of them together are a menace, even after these many years they have a very troubling sense of humor.
My gaze drifts again, watching Roman smoothly inserting himself between his sisters-in-law and the already enchanted ambassador.
Messy. Emotional. It's exhausting just to look at it.
Wading back into the party, I overhear some pompous asshole bleating at Mayor Cavanaugh. "But Morozov has never been a judge and now he's going to be on the New York State Supreme Court? Is that even possible?"
Cavanaugh laughs. Loudly. "You want to tell him he can't?"
It is well known that there are a million dire Russian pronouncements of good luck invariably followed by misfortune. The party was a success, so it should not surprise me that once it’s over, I'm called into one of the big meeting rooms downstairs.
Walking in, my spine stiffens. Father's seated at the long ebony conference table, along with Uncle Maksim and Aunt Ella. Dmitri's seated next to his father, along with Roman and Alexsey. Nikandr smiles at me, he's surrounded by a handful of Dmitri's top advisors.
"Was there something wrong with the vodka?" I inquire, straightening my jacket. "Or were you, perhaps, unhappy with hors d'oeuvres?"
Dmitri is having none of it. "Come sit down, would you?"
I've been looking forward to going home and getting in a workout before bed. I'm going to get soft under all these suits, if I don't lift weights every day. "What is on your mind Pakhan?" I ask, settling at the foot of the table.
"There's been some rumblings about your unmarried status and suitability to be a Supreme Court Justice," Dimitri says with a wry twist of his mouth. He obviously finds this bullshit as tiring as I do.
"Since when do we worry about rumblings?" I ask, lacing my fingers together.
"It's both Bratva insiders and some of the government higher-ups. Like the governor. Marian called me yesterday."
I break into laughter until I realize no one's joining in. "The governor called you, concerned about my marital status?"
Uncle Maksim speaks up. "It is clear that she knows that this nomination is going through with, or without her approval.
She's too smart to oppose it. But in all things, particularly politics, appearances matter.
" He spits out the last sentence as if it tasted bad in his mouth.
As Pakhan, Uncle Maksim was always used to doing whatever the hell he wanted and other people would have to adapt.
I've always found that position refreshing.
"Well…" I gather my thoughts. "Everyone was quite aware of my marital status when I was nominated. They're still aware of it now that I'm about to take the position. So, what is our problem?"
"She's concerned there might be enough pressure from some of the state's politicians and higher ups to derail your nomination.
" Dmitri says. "While we're proud of your spectacular record and your powerful stance in the legal field, you know that they're looking for any reason to deny you this position. "
"Just so I'm clear," I say slowly, "you are quite serious in telling me that I need to select a wife?"
Roman gives me a sympathetic smile, holding up a thumb drive. "We have a list of twenty well-bred young ladies all, from what I am told, boasting highly superior backgrounds-" Alexsey snorts and tries to cover it up when Roman glares at him. "They would be delighted to make your acquaintance."
Looking over at Mother, I can see her mouth is tightening, and her eyes are beginning to spark. She's not enjoying this conversation.
"While I recognize that we are not past arranged marriages," she smiles at Alexsey, "it doesn't change the fact that my son should have the right to choose who he's going to be with for the rest of his life.
She's going to have to have a certain…" She looks at me with something close to a smirk.
"A certain personality in order to fit well with Andrey, and I don't think these potential brides, these young ladies of superior breeding are going to be suitable.
Son, what if you just pick someone who's willing to act as a prop, as a fiancée, until everything settles down? "
I nod at her gratefully. Mother has always understood me, from the beginning. She never took my lack of emotion personally.
Dmitri groans, rubbing the back of his neck.
"You know, Andrey, that I find this almost as distasteful as no doubt you do.
But the rumblings are very clear and we don't need the pushback against your appointment.
If you're unwilling to look at these potential candidates, is there someone you're interested in? "
For the first time, I look around the table and feel a growing sense of unease.
They're serious.
My family is expecting me to grab someone off the street and marry her.
Tapping my fingers on the table, I think about it.
I could marry someone appropriate, put her up in one of my houses and then politely ignore her aside from trotting her out to occasional events.
That scenario should please them. But somehow, it doesn't please me.
They're all still watching me. The sound of my tapping is painfully loud in the quiet room.
"Very well." I force the words between my stiff lips. “We have three months before the hearings. I will look at suitable candidates. At this time, that's all I can promise you."
Dmitri and Uncle Maksim nod at the same time. Even as a twin, I find it eerie how much those two move and speak alike.
"That's all we can ask for," Father says, eyeing me sympathetically. He knows how much I'm hating this. "Let me know if you need any suggestions.”
"Thank you," I say before looking around the table again. "Is there anything else?"
"That's it," Dmitri says. "Please keep me up-to-date on your decision."
Something's sour in my stomach, twisting. I know how to play the game, but these demands about something that is my choice alone enrage me, and it's best to get out of here while I can still control my temper.