Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
NIKOLAI
“You’re a fucking dead man, Zhukov.” Roman’s voice cuts through the line, sharp with fury. “If you’ve hurt her?—”
“Is that any way to talk to your brother-in-law?” I lean back in my office chair, boots propped on the desk. A slow grin spreads across my face as I savor every second of his reaction.
The package I sent with the marriage license and pictures of Sofiya on my plane hit its mark. Instead of keeping his cool and having a rational conversation, he’s frothing at the mouth. He’s showing his hand that he’ll do whatever it takes to get Sofiya back.
“Sofiya’s safe—for now,” I continue. “But you need to understand you don’t have a choice. You try to attack me, you put her in danger. I don’t think you want to take that chance.”
“You don’t know what I’m willing to do. And if you think you can force me into this deal, you’re dead wrong.”
Roman’s breaths are ragged, like he’s fighting to stay in control. I can picture him pacing, fists clenching and unclenching, wishing he could reach through the phone and rip me apart.
Too bad he underestimated me. Now, he has to live with the fallout.
“This is all on you. You claim you only allow family to do business on your territory. Well, look at that, we’re fucking family. Sofiya is my wife and has been for a long time. I granted her freedom, but that ended the moment you tried to keep me under your thumb.”
“You motherfucker,” he snarls. “All this time we worked together, you were a snake. You knew exactly what you were doing, biding your time until you could bury the knife in my back.” The line crackles with his harsh, humorless laugh. “You’ve messed with the wrong family. There’s no world where this ends well for you.”
“Enough.” My hands slam onto the desk. “I’ve tolerated more than enough of this bullshit. The clock is ticking, Vasiliev. This is a simple proposition. I want access to your territory. That’s it. Make this easy, and I’ll even cut you in on the profits. As I said, Sofiya is bound to me for life. I’m sure your wife would be devastated if she never saw her sister again. So make the smart choice.”
Mentioning Liza is deliberate. Roman would carve out his own heart for his wife, and I’m sure she would do anything to get her younger sister back. They don’t trust me with her, and they shouldn’t. My control is hanging on by a thread.
She looked fucking edible in Eva’s dress this morning, but seeing her in my shirt, knowing my scent and heat surrounded her, was nearly my undoing. It took everything in me not to order everyone out of the room, hike up her dress, rip off her panties, and fuck her with my tongue until she came all over my face.
She felt it, too. I could tell in the way her body tensed. She might hate me, but she sure doesn’t mind how I look without a shirt on.
“What are you saying?” Roman snaps, his voice raw.
“I believe I was crystal fucking clear. I’m done with this conversation. The next time we talk, it had better be because you’re agreeing to my terms.”
“Wait.” Roman’s breath hisses from his lungs. “I need proof of life.” His voice stays strong, but I can hear the desperation bleeding through his tone.
He’s in no position to be making demands, but in this case, it suits me to show him my bargaining chip is alive and well.
“Since you asked so nicely, I’ll think about it.” I hang up, satisfied I’ve made my point.
The leather chair creaks as I push to my feet, crossing to the bar cart stationed near the window of my office. From here, on the second floor of a nightclub I own, I can see the faint morning glow of the city filtering in.
I grab the whiskey decanter and pour a double shot into a crystal tumbler. In one fluid motion, I toss it back, the burn sharp and welcome. It’s early for a drink, but after Roman’s call, I need it.
Roman and Liza are still in New York, but I imagine they will be racing back to Moscow to manage the situation. He’ll want to loop in Pavel and Maxim Belov. Belov might’ve stepped away from daily business, but the Syndicate still runs on his authority.
Footsteps sound through the hallway, announcing Vadim and Eva before they step in—my two right hands. Eva oversees all financial operations, from laundering to investments, keeping the books airtight and the authorities blind. Vadim runs the syndicate’s day-to-day logistics, managing shipments, crews, and making sure everyone falls in line—or faces the consequences.
While Eva and I share a history shaped by survival, Vadim’s story is different. He came from a working-class family, joined the army young, and climbed his way into the special forces. For a while, he thrived in that structure. But stability has its breaking point, even for someone like him. When his sister’s bastard husband laid a hand on her while she was pregnant, Vadim made sure it was the last time. Beat the man within an inch of his life. It cost him years behind bars. That’s where we met. And when I walked out, I walked out with him.
After everything, Sergey’s betrayal had left me raw. I didn’t trust anyone, and I needed people I could count on to rebuild the Zhukov Bratva from the ground up. Eva had always had my back. She was sharp, unyielding, and knew how to handle herself in a fight. After what Sergey pulled, loyalty wasn’t just important, it was everything.
At the time, Eva was scraping by as a cocktail waitress. She agreed to join my bratva and suggested we look up Emil. We’d lost touch with him over the years, but word was that he’d been hanging with the wrong crowd, heading nowhere fast. I hoped the discipline of the bratva could keep him in line.
That was five years ago. We’ve had our share of fights, but we’ve built something solid. They’re as close to family as I’ll ever have again.
Vadim steps in ahead of Eva, nodding at me as he loosens his tie and undoes the top button of his shirt. His dark hair is slightly disheveled, and faint shadows circle his eyes. He’s just back from Moscow, where he set up a team to monitor Sofiya’s friends. He looks like he’s been running on too little sleep.
I gesture to the lowball of whiskey in my hand. “Breakfast?”
“What the hell, I could use it.” Vadim shrugs and sinks into the office’s leather couch. Eva drops down beside him but waves off my offer of a drink. She’s more the green juice type than whiskey.
Since joining the bratva, she’s earned respect the hard way—by becoming a ruthless fighter, proving she can take on any man and win. She looks every bit as kick-ass as she is. Today, she’s wearing black leather pants, high-heeled boots, and a fitted tank top. The only pop of color is her bright red lips.
I know many consider her gorgeous, but to me, she’s family.
I could’ve set Sofiya straight earlier, told her who Eva really is to me. But I didn’t. I liked the way jealousy sparked in her eyes. She can act like she hates me, say she regrets spreading her legs for me, but her true feelings—the ones she might not even admit to herself—were written all over her face when she brought up my “girlfriend.”
“Just got off the phone with Roman,” I say, lowering into my office chair. “As expected, he was furious, but he got the message loud and clear. We have him by the balls, and the sooner he comes to terms with that, the better.”
Vadim grins, tearing into a box of Lucky Charms. He has it imported straight from America on our ships, moving product. He’s got a weakness for American sugary cereal—something I’ll never understand.
Eva’s nose wrinkles as Vadim shoves another handful into his mouth. She brushes off her disgust and turns toward me. “What’s the timeline for him accepting the deal?”
“Igor says the contract will be awarded in six weeks. We need the Syndicate’s buy-in before then.”
The Syndicate is too powerful and well-connected to go to war with. That’s why this plan works. With Sofiya as my wife, I have leverage. The Syndicate will fall in line on my terms, not theirs.
Vadim runs a hand over his two-day stubble. “If Roman values his sister-in-law’s well-being, he’ll come around before then.”
Eva frowns with displeasure. “Why would we hurt Sofiya? She’s innocent in all of this.”
Hurting a woman—any woman—isn’t something I take pleasure in, but the thought of hurting Sofiya stirs something inside me. It’s a feeling I can’t afford. I swirl the whiskey in my glass and knock it back in one go.
“As long as the Syndicate comes around, no one will get hurt.” Eva’s about to argue, but I hold up a hand. She’s tough as shit when it’s required, but she hasn’t lost her humanity—a rare thing in this world and something I usually appreciate. Except right now, it’s pissing me off.
Vadim tosses another handful of dry Lucky Charms into his mouth. Eva snatches the box from him and does the same. The moment she tastes it, her face crumples in disgust. “This is nasty. Why do you eat this shit?”
“Because it’s delicious.” His eyes narrow. “So cereal is a problem, but you have no issue that I’m nursing a whiskey before ten in the morning?”
Eva shrugs. “Whiskey is what adults consume. Only children eat this crap.”
“I beg to differ.” Vadim shoots back, a wry smile on his lips.
I stand and button up my jacket. “If you two are done bickering, I believe we have some real business to take care of.”
A container ship full of cocaine from Colombia is arriving this afternoon. Normally, this would be handled by my men, but I want to oversee the transfer myself. This deal has been months in the making, and it’s the largest shipment I’ve handled this year. With so much at stake, we need to be there.
Vadim stands, adjusting the holster strapped under his suit, while Eva grabs her leather motorcycle jacket off the back of the chair, slinging it over her shoulders.
I pause at the door, and a nagging thought pulls at me. I turn to Eva. “Was Sofiya still wearing my shirt when you left the house?”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Eva stops, a slow grin spreading across her face. “She was, but if you’re so worried, check in with Emil. I’m sure he hasn’t taken his eyes off your wife all day. As per your orders, of course.”
My hands clench into fists. The idea of any man who’s not me watching Sofiya burns under my skin. I don’t want Emil noticing all the sexy little things about her. The way she bites her full bottom lip when she’s thinking, or the soft curve of her neck when she tilts her head. That’s for me, and me alone.
“Go ahead of me,” I instruct them. “I’ll meet you there.”
Eva can barely hide her smirk as she and Vadim file out the door.
The moment they leave, I text Emil, telling him he doesn’t need to shadow Sofiya around the estate. Between the ankle monitor and my guards, she isn’t going anywhere, and there’s no chance of her contacting the outside world. All communication devices are locked down tight.
But I need to know if she’s still wearing my shirt or if she defied me. Part of me hopes she did, just so I have an excuse to go home and teach her a lesson.
I pull out my phone and scroll through the camera feeds from nearly every room. I finally find her in the old music room—the one part of the house I didn’t renovate when I bought this former imperial estate. I like how untouched it feels with its worn rugs and antique instruments.
Sunlight pours in through the arched windows, catching the polished surface of the piano in the center of the room. Sofiya stands beside it, her hand drifting along the edge before pulling out a worn piece of sheet music. She studies it for a moment, a faint smile tugging at her lips, and then grazes her fingers over the keys, testing their sound.
Satisfaction stirs within me as she adjusts the hem of my shirt and lowers herself onto the piano bench.
Her hands hover over the keys like she’s trying to remember something she lost. When she starts to play, the notes are rusty, her fingers uncertain. But she keeps going. Her forehead tightens with concentration, and soon, a sorrowful song emerges.
The longer she plays, the deeper she sinks into it, like the music is pulling her under. It reminds me of how she was onstage, completely lost in her own world, unreachable.
When the last note fades, she stays right where she is, her hands resting on the keys as her head drops forward and her shoulders tremble. Something I don’t want to name twists in my gut.
Fuck this. I turn off my phone and shove it back into my pocket.
Sofiya has her demons, just like I have mine, but that’s not my concern.
She’s a chess piece in this game, one I’ll move however I need to.