Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
NIKOLAI
Roman Vasiliev is still one tough motherfucker.
Some say love and marriage soften your edges and tame you, but Roman’s an exception. Even happily married to Liza Ivanova, when it comes to business, he remains the same cold, calculating force he’s always been. And as much as I respect that about him, right now, I’m finding it irritating as fuck.
“We’re not looking for a new business partner,” Roman says, running a hand through his dark hair. “If anything, we’re consolidating our power, tightening up now that Maxim is fully retired.”
Maxim Belov remains the figurehead of the Syndicate, but he has stepped back from day-to-day operations to focus on raising his children with his wife, Kira. Roman and his partner, Pavel Federov, sitting directly across from me, now handle most of the Syndicate’s operations.
With a flick of his wrist, Roman signals the waitress. She nods, slipping away to grab another round of vodka. We’re in the back room of one of the Syndicate’s clubs. The kind of place where men like us can speak freely.
I run my knuckles over my jaw. “I’m not a fucking new partner. I’ve proven myself to be loyal. You see what I’ve done with the Zhukov Bratva. You know what I’m capable of.”
I let that statement sit as the waitress delivers an ice bucket of premium vodka, sliding fresh shot glasses across the table. She throws me a flirty smile before stepping away, but I barely glance her way.
I’m not here to get laid. I’m here to secure a deal.
The minister of finance is close to awarding my legal business a contract to operate casinos across Russia. For the Zhukov Bratva, it’s the perfect setup.
I’m involved in everything from drugs to arms to counterfeits, and business is booming. Those illegal profits mean I need better, more efficient ways to clean the cash. That’s where casinos come in—an industrial-sized laundromat for dirty money.
Not only that, but it will give me access to power players—politicians, oligarchs, and billionaires who shape economies and governments.
Our contact in the government guarantees the contract is ours on one condition. We have to build the largest casino in Moscow. It’s the capital of the country and the seat of money and power.
The catch? Moscow is Belov Syndicate territory. It’s a death sentence and a violation of bratva code to operate on their domain without their permission and cutting them in on the deal.
Roman leans back, spinning a shot glass between his fingers. He exchanges a look with Pavel, that says everything without uttering a word. They’ve always been like that, able to communicate in silence.
“You know we value your partnership,” Roman says, gaze drifting around the dark room. “But we have to protect our business interests. We’re not looking for any new ventures.”
I glance beside me at my second-in-command, Vadim Lazarev. We’re both very fucking aware that without the Syndicate’s approval, we will not be granted the casino contract.
Vadim runs a palm over his jaw. “We’re offering to cut you in on the deal as a silent partner—no further investment from you, manpower or otherwise. It benefits us both.”
Vadim pushes the stack of paperwork across the table, each page filled with financial breakdowns and projections ready for review. But neither man so much as glances at the documents.
Roman’s jaw hardens. “The Zhukov Bratva runs St. Petersburg; the Syndicate runs Moscow. That’s all there is to it. We don’t allow anyone else to operate in our territory.”
That’s what he says, but there’s more to it. Running casinos across the country will make me as powerful, wealthy, and influential as the Syndicate, and they’re not about to let that balance shift in my favor.
But I’ve clawed my way back from the depths of hell to regain my seat, and I won’t let anyone stand in my way—not Roman, not the Syndicate, not even my own fucking demons.
It’s time for me to remind them precisely what they owe me.
I press both palms against the table, locking gazes with Roman. “I saved your life, Vasiliev, and now it’s payback.”
Roman’s dark eyes flash with fury. Maybe he doesn’t appreciate the reminder, but it’s the truth, and he knows it. That moment and everything that led up to it is etched in my memory forever.
My head hangs low, hands braced against the wall of our basement office, the weight of Sergey’s admission pressing down on me. I’ve only been out of prison for a few weeks, but it didn’t take long to realize something was off. After two years locked up on trumped-up drug charges, taking the fall so Sergey didn’t have to, I found myself questioning whether the sacrifices I made were worth it.
I was supposed to be the brains on the inside, Sergey the muscle on the outside. But from the moment I stepped back in, everything felt different. He was secretive, had cut my loyal men and replaced them with thugs who looked more like they couldn’t rub two brain cells together.
Sergey swore to me it was business as usual, that nothing had changed. But the deeper I looked, the clearer it was that he’d entangled the Zhukov Bratva, a bratva I started from nothing, in a realm of business we agreed never to touch.
I can feel Sergey looking at me, waiting for my reaction to his confession.
“You’re trafficking girls?” I grit out, meeting his gaze. “I spent two years locked up, and this is what you do behind my back? I told you we’d never go near that filth—not after we lived it every single day of our childhood.”
Our mother was a prostitute, dragged into the life by a boyfriend who got her hooked on drugs and then forced her to sell her body. We went through hell and agreed never to touch that shit.
“Power at any cost, Nikolai. You taught me that!” Sergey sneers, pacing the room.
My hand curls into a fist, and I thump my chest. “I lead this bratva. I make the deals, not you. If you’ve got a problem with that, I suggest you rethink your position, or you’ll find yourself on the wrong side of my mercy."
“Why don’t you see which of our men are still loyal to you? I have a feeling you’ll be disappointed, pakhan .” Boss .
His final word is delivered with a mocking lilt.
He’s trying to cut me out of my own bratva. Taking my place with no remorse.
My heart drops like a stone. The little brother I stole for, the one I went hungry for to make sure he ate a proper meal, the kid I shielded from our mother’s fits when she couldn’t score… that Sergey is gone. All that’s left is a hollow stranger, willing to betray his own blood.
Gunfire erupts from the other room, cutting our standoff short. Instinctively, I drop to the ground, taking cover and pulling out my own pistol. I prepare for an attack, but that’s not what this is. As the fighting dies down, a tall man who’s vaguely familiar strolls into the center of the room, arms raised.
The guards take their positions around the room, but Sergey instructs them to stand down. Instead, he raises a gun in the stranger’s direction.
“Morning, gentlemen,” the man announces. “I believe we have some business to discuss.”
Sergey’s smile turns predatory. “Roman Vasiliev. I was wondering when you’d show your face.”
I know Roman by reputation—the feared right hand to Maxim Belov. But the fact that he’s here in person? That’s not exactly a comforting sign.
“I’ve been looking for you, Sergey. Do you know why?” Roman asks, his tone dangerously calm.
My brother smirks, a smug expression I’d like to punch off his face. “I may have an idea. We’re overdue for a talk.”
“What the hell is this about?” I demand, stepping forward. I’m done being kept in the dark. That ends now.
Roman’s eyes flick to me. “This is about your brother and Anatoly abducting women from the US to be sold in Europe, sneaking them onto Syndicate-chartered ships. For the record, that really fucking pissed me off.”
Seems Roman and I are on the same page—at least on this.
The conversation veers into darker territory as Sergey lays out his plan to marry a girl named Sofiya Ivanova, while Anatoly will marry her sister, Liza. I’ve never heard of either, but I understand what Sergey’s after—an alliance cemented by family ties with Anatoly Petrovich, and he’ll destroy anyone in his way.
“Your marriage isn't happening,” Roman snarls. “Liza and Sofiya are in hiding, and Anatoly is as good as dead.”
“I think you’ll find that’s not the case at all. Have you spoken to your beloved Liza recently?” Sergey’s voice drips with venom, and a cruel laugh escapes him as Roman’s face goes stone-cold. “That’s right—you haven’t,” Sergey taunts. “And you won’t be speaking to her ever again. Because you’re not walking out of here alive.”
Roman roars and charges forward. Time seems to slow, each second stretching out as Sergey’s arm rises, the barrel aimed squarely at Roman’s heart.
My thoughts collide, but I know there’s only one way forward. I raise my pistol and fire.
The shot is deafening—Sergey stumbles back, eyes wide as he hits the ground. His blood pools like ink across the floor.
And though I know he would’ve turned that gun on me, something heavy and painful settles in my gut, and a part of me dies with my brother.
My concentration snaps back to the present as Roman’s focus locks onto me.
“Don’t fucking kid yourself, Nikolai. You had your reasons for saving my life—you did it because it served you.”
Not untrue, but it’s beside the point. My steely voice drops. “I helped pull the woman you love out of hell. I put my own life on the line for her and Sofiya. Now, I expect some consideration in return. Not a big ask, given what I’m offering.”
“You called in your favor when you needed my help to negotiate a truce with the Volkov Bratva. I’m not in the business of gratitude, and as much as I’ve appreciated our alliance through the years, you are not connected to us by blood or marriage, which means you aren’t running a business in our territory. End of the fucking story.” He slams his hands down on the table with a force that rattles the glasses.
“Actually, I don’t believe it is,” I say through clenched teeth. Behind me, Vadim shifts. We left our weapons at the door, and he’s on edge. But I’m not looking for a fight. At least not yet.
Pavel raises his glass, giving it a slow spin. “What exactly are you saying?”
I crack my knuckles, shrugging. “I guess you’ll see.”
As Vadim and I head for the exit, Roman’s voice follows me. “Don’t do anything stupid, Zhukov. Consider that a warning.”
“Appreciate it, but I’d save my breath if I were you.”
I walk out without looking back. Their position is clear, and soon mine will be, too, because I have an ace up my sleeve. One I’ve been sitting on for a very long time.
Our driver waits for us in front of the club. Vadim and I slip into the back seat, and we pull away into the warm night. I loosen my tie and take in the sight of Moscow, whipping by beyond the window. Even in the early days of summer, this city can be so gray and uninspiring.
A city, it seems, where I’ll never be welcome to do business.
Unless, of course, I’m connected by blood or marriage.
An interesting choice.
Over the years, I’ve done plenty of business with the Syndicate, but always from our own territories. They sit firmly at the top of the underworld food chain, with no intention of sharing.
But I’m not here to ask. I’m here to take .
That’s what I did five years ago. With Sergey dead, and too many of my men turned against me, I rebuilt from scratch. I took back my city.
Vadim was one of the first people I recruited as my right hand. We met in prison a few years back, when he saved my life. Word had spread fast that a bratva boss had landed in high security, and it didn’t take long for a few punks to decide they’d make a name for themselves by coming after me. They didn’t have the brains to be subtle—they went for me in the shower.
A blade sank into my shoulder before I realized what was happening. I fought with everything I had, but fighting in a shower is a losing game, especially when blood’s involved. Three against one, and I was barely standing upright when Vadim stepped in. I didn’t even get a good look at him before he ripped through them—cold, precise, and brutal.
The fuckers got exactly what they deserved. I was battered, but I’d lived through worse. His parting advice to me had been, “Shower with a blade next time.”
A few weeks later, I got my chance to return the favor. The guards had a hard-on for Vadim because he was former special forces, and somehow, a baseless rumor had started that he’d deserted his unit in Crimea.
One night, they dragged him out of his cell and started kicking the shit out of him in some dark corner of the block. I couldn’t see it, but the sounds were enough to know it wasn’t a fair fight, and I sure as hell had no loyalty to the guards.
I found the main power switch to our block and cut it, plunging all the cells into pitch black. In the chaos, with prisoners shouting and guards scrambling, Vadim was left lying in a heap on the cement floor. I couldn’t offer much, but I helped him back to his cell and called for the nurse.
After that, we didn’t exchange many words, but it was known we had each other’s backs. After I got out of that shit-hole of a prison and started to take my bratva back, he was the first person I called.
Best decision I ever made. To this day, he’s saved my ass more times than I’d like to count.
“Well, that was a clusterfuck,” Vadim mutters, running a hand through his close-cropped brown hair as he leans back, exhaling slowly. “I figured they’d counter, maybe ask for a bigger slice, even some control over the terms. But a flat-out fuck you?”
I shake my head. “Didn’t see that coming, but it doesn’t mean I’m not prepared.”
“Prepared?”
I pour us both a generous shot of whiskey into the glass tumblers. I take a long sip, appreciating the smoky flavor. I hate vodka, but in a meeting like that, it’s more of a courtesy. Not that anything that went down was courteous.
I shrug. “Roman was very clear. They only do business with people related by blood or marriage. If that’s what he requires, that’s what he’ll get.”
His eyebrows pull together in confusion. “I feel like I’m missing something here.”
“Because you are.” I chuckle, leaning forward to catch the driver’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Take us to my Moscow residence. We’re not flying back to St. Petersburg tonight.” I turn back to Vadim. “When I helped Roman rescue Sofiya in Greece, I walked away with a little insurance policy.”
“The fuck you did,” Vadim mutters, crossing his arms, waiting for the punchline.
“I grabbed the marriage certificate we both signed before leaving the chapel. Once we were back in Russia, I pulled some strings, greased some palms, and made the marriage legal… using highly illegal means.”
“Are you serious? You’re… married to Sofiya?”
“Technically speaking. The marriage was a contingency in case I needed leverage over the Syndicate.” I run a hand over the back of my neck, my mouth twisting into a smile. “Seems that day has come.”
Vadim leans back, huffing out a laugh. “You’re fucking crazy if you think Roman’s going to welcome you into the family with open arms.”
“He will if I apply the right kind of pressure.” I lift an eyebrow. “It’s time I claimed my wife and brought her back to my world. And I know Igor would agree.”
Igor Bocharov is my silent partner in the casino deal. He’s also the senior advisor to the minister of finance, which gives him political sway that he uses to favor the Zhukov Bratva. And like me, he’s a man who believes the end justifies the means, no matter what.
“You’ve suggested some fucked-up things before, but this…” He makes a mind-blown gesture with his hand. “The Syndicate is going to come at us with some serious firepower.”
I down the rest of my whiskey. “Roman doesn’t know where my estate is, and if by some miracle he figures it out and attempts an attack, he risks Sofiya’s life. If they want to see her again, they’ll agree to our terms.”
“Is this worth it?” he asks, voice low. “Making an enemy out of them?”
My hands curl into fists in my lap. “Yes, it’s fucking worth it.”
If life has taught me anything, it’s that power doesn’t betray you like people do. My brother proved that. Power doesn’t lie. It doesn’t pretend to care, only to leave you bleeding. Power is absolute.
For the past five years, I’ve worked to make myself untouchable, and I’ll crush anyone who stands in my way.
“In that case, please tell me you have a plan, because Sofiya won’t be easy to get to.”
He’s right. She has a guard with her at all times, but even the best protection has weak spots.
Because of Sofiya’s strategic importance, I’ve kept her under surveillance over the years. I know she’s studying dance in school and about to graduate. She’s a dedicated student, with a few close friends but mostly keeps to herself. She’s only had one boyfriend, and he’s damn lucky she dumped him before I got the chance to take care of him.
She was beautiful at seventeen, but at twenty-two, she’s dangerously alluring. She’s still too young for my thirty-four years, but my dick doesn’t seem to care. I’ve only seen her from afar—video clips and photos that my man sends me. But that’s been enough to awaken a possessive hunger.
I clear my throat, staring out at the city lights. “She’s performing in a dance recital two days from now. Roman mentioned earlier that he and Liza can’t make it. They’ll be in New York. Seems like a shame to miss such a… cultural event, don’t you think?”
He releases a low whistle. “What are you suggesting?”
“A little reconnaissance,” I say, rolling my shoulders. “We’ll go to the performance, check things out. If we see an opening, we take it. The chaos of a live show could work to our advantage.”
“If you say so,” he drawls.
But my mind’s already miles away, fixated on the chance to finally see her dance in person. Over the years, I’ve caught glimpses of her talent, but they’ve been nothing more than fucking breadcrumbs, leaving me starving for more.
I know Sofiya is leverage, a pawn… and a dangerous addiction I need to shake. Letting her become anything more would mean losing focus, and after putting a bullet in my brother’s head and clawing my way close to the top of Russia’s criminal underworld, I’m sure as hell not about to lose it all now.