Chapter 1 – Egor
Present Day
Los Angeles
May 2024
The elevator made a mechanical chime as the doors slid open. I entered, and Arlo followed, planting himself by my side with a straight, no-nonsense business face and one or two occasional glances at the glinting Cartier on his wrist every five minutes.
With my permission, he clicked on the button 8 and stepped back. The silver steel doors closed, and his feet started their usual rhythmic bouncing against the floor.
I tilted my head to the side, only curving enough to see him clutch his leather Brown briefcase with a death grip and watch his eyes burn holes through the gleaming red floor-selection buttons on the panel.
My lips twitched, and I turned away. “Nervous?”
He barked a short, strangled laugh. “Never. Let’s just say I’m running late.”
“Oh?” With another tilt, I assessed him: dark suit, no tie, one button unfastened below the collar, and a strong scent of Versace Eau Fraiche, which, to me, smelled a lot like the man was up for some fun.
Plus, he was freshly shaven.
“A date, then? Who’s the lucky girl?”
An elvish glint flickered past his eyes, and he ran a hand over his buzz cut. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “She’s…German. Doesn’t speak much English. Her name’s Star.”
Catching up quickly, I couldn’t help it; my lips slid into a sideways smile. “A German girl named Star. Sounds…exciting. So, an appointment, then?”
He glanced at his watch and made a light shrug with his shoulders before his arm dropped limply by his side. “Might as well say that. She’s a masseuse.”
I chuckled under my breath. “Cancel it. You won’t have enough time tonight to get your massage .”
“Already on that, Korol .”
King .
I spared him a glance. His phone was out, his fingers moving rapidly across the screen. I’d known the man for decades and still found it funny whenever he wore a silly, disappointed frown when things didn’t go according to plan.
Silence fell between us once more.
I stuck one hand in my pocket and, through the blurry reflection against the polished silver doors, smoothened the side part of my hair.
“Nice haircut,” he commented.
“Thanks.” I stepped back when the floors stopped moving, and the doors opened with a quiet whoosh. “I thought I’d do something different for the big night.”
We stepped out.
The big night being this night.
The night when I’d finally get to exterminate one of the biggest fucking pests that had tried to be a nuisance for as long as he could. Pest description? Irish. With annoying resilience and a fierce determination to watch me crumble.
Ronan Gallagher.
Arlo cleared his throat beside me, a hint of uncertainty in the timbre of his voice when he asked, “Are we sticking to the torture plan, or are you going to kill him?”
I cracked a smile but didn’t respond.
He moved his briefcase from one hand to the other. “Do you want my advice?”
“Not tonight, Arlo. Tonight, try not to be my lawyer, okay? Don’t start springing any of that legal advice shit on me.”
“Copied.”
We turned into a longer, quieter hallway. Pearly white walls were adorned with framed mountain view landscape photographs and reflective tiles.
Arlo nodded to me. “I got the feeds looped. The cameras are showing a repeating cycle of empty corridors. We’re ghosting the system. Paid one of my men on the inside to hack into the CCTV system and put the cameras into a permanent timeout. We’re clear.”
I returned a curt nod, acknowledging his efforts. He always did a good job dealing with technical challenges. “Great job, well done.”
He knew better than anyone else how I operated: Leave no evidence behind. In my opinion, only simple-minded fools made such costly mistakes. And I was neither.
No evidence meant no case—clean hands and freedom. I could walk around however I damned pleased without some insignificant speck on the earth lifting a finger in my direction.
We stopped at the door with a gold-plated 242 , and I knocked. There was no response. I knocked again. Still, no answer.
Sighing, I moved aside, raised a brow at Arlo, and gestured to the knob. “Care to do the honors?”
A smirk settled on his mouth, and he lifted his feet and kicked open the lock side. It jittered and came loose under the impact. He held the door open, and I strolled inside with my hands tucked into my pockets.
Arlo shut the door behind us.
On the bed, two pairs of eyes stared back at us. One was hazel and excited to see us, and the other was blue. Both rapidly went through a series of emotions at once: shock, anxiety, and, finally, irritation.
My eyes moved from the naked woman, with the bright auburn hair and full, bouncy tits, to the half-naked man with his hands cuffed to the bedpost. Stretching her long legs, she climbed off him, fixed her pink blazer around her body, and grabbed her purse and heels from the corner. She kissed his lips and backed away from the bed.
Eyes sparkling, she fluffed her hair, cat-walked to me, and touched my shoulder. “Hi, Sugar,” she purred, smelling more like scented candles and cheap perfume than cologne. “I brought him here, just like you wanted.”
I stroked her hair. “Good girl. Arlo?” The sound of leather unclicking cut through the quiet, and Arlo handed her wads of mint dollar bills.
“Five thousand, like we agreed.”
Even with her heels, she tiptoed and planted a kiss on my cheek. “Pleasure doing business with ya.”
My lips crooked to the side, and she sashayed away.
“Such a shame. I really liked her, you know,” Ronan mumbled. He looked from me to his wrist and tried to tug his hands free.
I inched closer to the bed and sat on the edge. “Didn’t know an Irish pest like you would be into that BDSM shit. You look like a bloody twat who could only nail missionary.”
He smirked. “Aye. And the Russian mutt likes a good orgy, I see. Surprise, surprise. Didn’t know you found me attractive, Egor. You could have given me a heads up, though.” He motioned to his green Calvin Klein briefs, clinging skintight to his thighs, with a nod. “I would have dressed down for the occasion.”
Snorting, I crossed my arms over my knee. “Of course, I find you as attractive as the mold on rotten food. You make my heart beat fast, Ronan.” I placed a hand over my heart for emphasis. “For you, I think of more ways to kill a man.”
He shot me a smile and wriggled his wrist more roughly. The steel clinked, but the cuffs didn’t budge. “Super glad you dream of me at night, mate.” Then, he glanced over his shoulder to Arlo. “Who’s the bodyguard?”
“You mean the lawyer?”
“The lawyer?” Ronan’s eyes flashed with mirth. “Interesting. You sure know how to get your hands dirty, mingling the law and justice with your dark shit.”
“Yeah. Known him for almost a decade now. He’s great at what he does. We can get him to execute your will when you’re gone. Guess what…today’s his birthday. He turned thirty-nine a few hours ago. Want to know what I got him for a gift?”
Ronan cursed under his breath and flashed another faltering smile while his blue eyes burned with unfiltered hate. “I couldn’t imagine.”
I tapped my knees and clicked my tongue. “A gun.” The weary smile on my lips faded. “To put a hole in your head.”
Arlo pulled out a gun and aimed at Ronan’s temple.
His skin turned paler, and his eyes widened an inch at the sight. But the fear didn’t linger. Rather, he looked like a rat rationally analyzing escape options.
His tenacity ticked me off.
I wanted him groveling, sniveling like the dog he was, and begging for mercy, especially after the asshole had grown overconfident enough to torch one of my weaponry factories. The loss cost me enough to decide how far I was willing to go to kill the bastard in person.
Those who dared face off against me and my people left me with countless vicious options to choose from, and none of those included mercy.
The little Irishman had his fate signed and sealed the minute he set out with his plan to destroy me. How could anyone think it possible to destroy a destroyer?
Only an idiot. And Ronan Gallagher was undoubtedly one.
Death stood, knocking on his doorstep, and I wouldn’t delay its entry further.
He was glaring at Arlo now, his eyes flickering between the gun and the lawyer’s indifferent expression. “So, what? You’re going to shoot me?”
I stared at Arlo, and we shared a brief look, wondering if there was any other use for the piece of steel. I licked my lower lip and scratched my hair with my pinkie.
“Well, uh…that’s what a gun is for? Unless you want it used as a battery-operated fuck machine.” I swatted a hand in the air, and Arlo laughed. “Trust me, we don’t mind sticking it up your ass.”
Ronan’s face grew redder with rage. He spat, and the saliva landed on his thigh. “Fuck you.”
“Unfortunately for you, you’re not my type, your highness.” I kicked my feet off the bed, pulled out a blade from the side of Arlo’s briefcase, and unsheathed it. I swished it to inspect the sides and pointed it at the man on the bed, who now broke out in a cold sweat. “You shouldn’t have fucked with the Bratva if you wanted to fucking live.”
“I regret nothing! You’ve also caused us harm, yet you stand there, playing the victim? An eye for eye, you fucking piece of garbage!” he shrieked, but the trepidation in his voice was clear, causing it to wobble.
My lips quirked up.
Now, that was what I liked to see: the fear, so intense it was almost tangible.
On second thought, I was going to finish him off myself.
I played with the blade and ran my hands lightly over the edge. “You do know that being an heir to the throne doesn’t mean you’re on the throne, right? You’ve still got a lot of work to do to appease your people before they officially make an incompetent punk like you their leader. So, I don’t get why you go around this town like a fucking peacock.”
I was by his side now with the blade on his throat. I tightened my grip, and the blade made a slice on his skin. A horizontal streak of blood ran along the length of his neck, and beads of sweat trickled down the side of his face, matting the ginger hair now sticking to his face. He trembled and made a strange gurgling sound in his throat.
“Don’t tell me cat’s got your tongue now?” I pressed the knife deeper and watched him grow still, like a fucking statue. “You’re as dead as the grave you’ll soon be lying in.”
The doors busted open behind us, and heavy boots pounded on the carpet.
“Freeze! LAPD! Drop your weapon!”
Guns clicked, and I turned around to see a group of four fucking policemen with their arms in the air and fingers hovering over triggers.
Great.
“Put the knife down! Now!”
Shit.
“Show me your hands! Keep ‘em where we can see ‘em.”
That was not supposed to happen.
One of the men bundled Arlo out of the room, and another, with a strong jawline, unsmiling brown eyes, and grim lips, stepped up to me. He grabbed my arms from the air, twisted them to the back, and bound them in cuffs. With his eyes on me, he repeated the Miranda warning.
“You are under arrest for attempted murder. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand your rights?”
One major thing was wrong with what he’d just said. I could afford a dozen fucking lawyers if I wanted, but my attorney had hustled out of the room like a sack of potatoes.
We stood at eye level, so it was easy to see that this man—I peeked at his displayed badge— Officer Clark, was fighting to keep his fist off my face.
“Do you understand your rights, Mr. Yezhov ?” he repeated slowly.
I wore a smug grin. “Thought you said I have the right to remain silent, Officer? I’m only exercising my right.”
He didn’t return the enthusiasm. “You’re talking anyway, and it’s not an answer to the fucking question,” he mumbled under his breath, tapped the steel on my wrist, and backed away. Sounded like this man had been waiting for the day to have me in cuffs. “Let’s go.”
When I turned to Ronan, he was grinning like a fool. An officer helped him out of the bedpost cuffs, and he rubbed his reddened wrists. “You think I’m stupid, don’t you?”
I deadpanned, “Obviously.”
“You didn’t think I’d know the fucking whore was a setup? Well, I did. And I thought you’d like it if I played along because why the hell not? Two can play the game, Egor.”
I had to admit, I hadn’t seen this one coming. And it wasn’t because he was smart. Quite the opposite . The guy was a fucking idiot. Involving the police had to be the lowest of lows; even if people in our line of business played the dirtiest of games, not even an amateur would stoop so low.
My blood simmered with barely contained fury, but I kept the smug mask on as I walked beside the grouch of an officer.
I tipped a fake salute to the grinning fool. “Once I get out, Ronan, you’re a dead man walking.”