Chapter 2 —Lev
Two Months Later
I stood near the edge of a rooftop terrace at another Tarasov social gathering masked as a gala. To the outside world, it was just another one of those parties the rich and powerful threw to spend some time with one another.
That couldn’t be farther from the truth. Spending time together was never the goal, especially since half the people at this event hated each other. In our world, fun and trust were the quickest way to go down.
This gathering wasn’t for fun, and no one here trusted anyone but themselves. The gala was just a front to hide the real underground deals going on behind closed doors.
Men like me from various organizations, such as the Bratva, were present, each with their own personal interests at heart. Politicians, even the so-called philanthropists and humanitarians revered by half the city, were looking to close a deal for themselves.
Those wolves in sheep’s clothing—I hated them. They masqueraded, deceiving the masses, tricking them into believing they were the good guys and we were the bad guys. They claimed to have the interests of the common people at heart when, in reality, they were only after their own pockets.
Good guys by day, evil motherfuckers by night, making deals with devils in suits.
Personally, it was the deception and self-righteousness that I loathed so much. At least I owned my shit—I was evil, and the rest of the world knew where I stood. They were cowards, hiding their monstrosities behind smiles and waves.
The people of Chicago didn’t understand that my kind and I weren’t the real problem—their leaders were. Those sneaky bastards pretending to be what they weren’t were who they should be worried about. Not us.
If they knew just how many bombings, human trafficking, and drug smuggling their favorite philanthropists and humanitarians were involved in, they’d turn the city upside down trying to hunt them.
However, as much as their deception pissed me off, I knew it was the natural order of things. Those bastards didn’t get to the top of the food chain without staining their hands with blood.
Those power-hungry sons of bitches only gained that much wealth and influence because they made deals with devils like me. They didn’t give a rat’s ass about the people they swore to protect, and although we worked together in the dark, I knew they were never to be trusted.
They claimed to be honest, but they were the greediest and most dishonest people I’d ever worked with. Not to mention dubious, always trying to cut corners and outsmart everyone else in the room.
Unfortunately for them, they never got their way with us. We dictated the tune, and they danced to it because they merely adopted the game, whereas we were born in it.
I lifted the glass of whiskey to my lips, my watchful eyes scanning the surroundings, taking in every little detail. In a quiet, secluded corner of the garden below, a senator was busy making out with one of his mistresses.
She had her back pressed against a tree as he lifted her leg, thrusting into her with relentless strokes. His pants pooled at his feet, his hips moving a little too quickly for a man his age. His hands were still, squeezing her breasts as she wrapped her arms around him.
To my right, a certain Mr. Oscar White, a well-known philanthropist in the city, was chatting with two of Chicago’s most wanted drug lords.
Laurel Hilton from the DA’s office stood at a corner, cigarette between her lips, a champagne flute in her hand. She was talking with my lawyers and two other Bratva leaders.
Hilton was my little puppet. I had her in the palm of my hand.
The dirt we had on her was enough to put her away for good.
She knew this, and that was why she did exactly as I told her.
She was my eyes and ears in the legal system, with just one job: to shift the attention of the law from my business.
She’d been reluctant at first, saying that if she got caught, her career would be over. But after I showed her how much dirt I had on her, she realized that the career she was trying so hard to protect was in my hands.
If I released the evidence of her money laundering—amongst other crimes—to her superiors, her career would be the last thing she needed to worry about.
Others might call it blackmail, but I preferred to see it as insurance. If she stayed in line, nobody would get hurt.
While I took a mental note of everything and everyone around me, I spotted a familiar face in the crowd. Her long, honey-blonde waves, styled to perfection, caught the light as her blue eyes, rimmed with thick lashes, darted across the space.
She stood tall on her heels, poised and elegant, manicured fingers wrapped around her designer purse. It was the same girl from the fundraiser two months ago. Viktor’s girlfriend.
My younger brother, the charming and carefree soul, worked the crowd, proud and arrogant with the girl by his side. She wore a beautiful smile that lit up her face. However, the tension in her shoulders told of a different story, a feeling suppressed beneath the surface.
I recognized that look; I’d seen it too often in women caught in Viktor’s orbit. Eyes glazed with devotion but flickering with suspicion of something they couldn’t prove. I wasn’t sure how he did it, but that unfaithful son of a gun somehow knew how to keep the good girls tethered.
I’d overheard her talking to a friend once before at another gathering like this one. When she opened her mouth to speak, she spilled wisdom, displaying her intellectual prowess.
The girl was different from the other bimbos that Viktor associated himself with. She was smart, enlightened, and independent. She was leagues above him in every way, which made me wonder why she was with him in the first place.
As the night unfolded, Viktor disappeared without a trace, leaving his girl all by herself.
I watched from a distance as she sat at her table outside, discreetly scouring the surroundings for him.
Every now and then, she’d glance at her watch, sip from her glass, and then look around for her boyfriend.
When she couldn’t take it anymore, she rose to her feet and walked into the main hall. I set my empty glass on the nearest table and followed after her.
Waiters weaved through the crowd, trays of champagne and canapes balanced in their hands. Guests dressed in tailored suits and elegant gowns lingered in small groups, the soft hum of their conversations filling the air.
I stood by the champagne tower, watching her walk through the hallway across from me, her hips swaying as she moved. Her phone was clutched to her ear, a clear indication that she was trying his line.
She paused at the end of the corridor—a balcony—her black dress shimmering in the moon’s ethereal glow. Her head was bowed, eyes glued to her phone’s glowing screen as her fingers hurried across the keyboard.
About two minutes later, a door opened on one side of the hallway, and Viktor stepped outside. His fly was down, his tie loose around his neck, with red lipstick smudges on his collar.
He was giggling as he staggered out of the room, an arm slung around another woman’s waist.
The girl on the balcony froze when she saw him. Her shoulders dropped, but her expression remained blank. Unreadable.
When my brother noticed her, he flinched and pushed the other woman aside. Viktor rushed toward her, trying to defend himself, but she moved past him without looking back.
“Ravyn—Ravyn—listen to me!” he called after her, rushing to catch up.
“Leave me alone, Viktor,” she said, quickening her pace, her heels clicking against the floor.
It wasn’t until she’d made it to the main hall that he caught up and grabbed her hand from behind.
“Ravyn—”
Smack!
The slap was so loud it turned people’s heads in their direction. Voices fell silent, and even the live band performing on the stage stopped singing.
I locked my jaw, displeased by the humiliation.
Viktor’s frown deepened, his fingers clenching into fists at his side, but he didn’t react. He stood there in front of her, seething quietly.
“That’s for taking me for a fool,” she snarled at him.
“You ungrateful bitch!” The other girl stepped forward, her voice laced with disdain. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are that he’s your boyfriend?”
“Well, you can have him all to yourself,” she replied, expression dark as the night itself. “I’m done with him anyway.” She paused, glanced around at the eyes pinned on her, and then walked out of the hall, calm and confident.
My brows arched at her bravery. She knew exactly who Viktor was, who his brother was, what this place was, and who it belonged to. Yet, she pulled a stunt like this without a shred of fear and then walked out as though she was certain no one would dare touch her.
Her spunk was admirable.
Viktor’s face flushed red, his pride smarting.
Furious by the gazes lingering on him, he snapped at the guests.
“What’re you all looking at, huh? Mind your fuckin’ business!
” They shrank under his glare and the venom in his tone.
“And you…!” He swung toward the stage, barking at the band.
“Well, don’t just stand there like morons—play, goddamn it! ”
The music came back on, and the atmosphere returned to how it had been before the incident.
Viktor spotted me by the champagne tower and walked over to meet me, seething. “Brother, did you see that?” He halted before me. “That little shit embarrassed me in front of everyone. Can you believe that?” he grumbled, barely able to stand on his own two feet.
He reeked of alcohol; I could smell it in his breath. Everyone could tell that he was drunk.
“She…she smacked me across the face.” A crooked chuckle fell off his lips as he fumbled another glass off a waiter’s tray like he hadn’t already had too much to drink.
Wine sloshed over the rim, but he didn’t notice.
He continued, “If she—hah—if she thinks she can get away with this, then she doesn’t know my brother!” he announced, patting my shoulder.
I brushed his hand off me, and it fell loosely at his side. I should shrug this off and pretend it never happened, especially since Viktor was at fault. However, the humiliation wasn’t something I could simply turn away from.
The Bratva had rules, and in our organization, pride and perception were currencies—both of which she’d stolen from my brother.
The girl had been brave for a moment. And now that bravery had gotten her into more trouble than she could have imagined.
This humiliation wouldn’t sit well with the Bratva Elders because she hadn’t just slapped my brother; she’d slapped the Tarasov name.
And with that came some harsh consequences that she wasn’t ready for.