Chapter 4
?
Roman
That sound. God, I hate that sound. Eleven years of hospital visits and it still turns my stomach.
Is ironic, really. Blood and torture? Those bring me peace, sometimes even pleasure. But these machines at Northwestern? They set my teeth on edge.
I've walked these halls monthly since Victoria was six, since epilepsy decided to make itself at home in my baby sister's brain. Darkest day of my life, that diagnosis. You'd think watching our parents die would've been worse - hell, running Chicago's Russian mafia, death's just part of the business. But seeing Victoria seizing on our kitchen floor that Christmas Eve? That image is burned into my soul. I was twenty then, and even now, over a decade later, the fear of losing her still keeps me up at night.
"Mr. Borisov?" A voice cuts through my thoughts. I look up to find a nurse watching me with that familiar hint of unease in her eyes. It's nothing new - everyone in Chicago knows who we are, or at least they think they do. To most, we're just another success story, a family that struck gold in business. Sure, some suspect there's more to it, but with half the police force in our pocket, suspicions are just that - suspicions.
"She done?" I ask, already knowing Victoria's checkup schedule by heart. She should be walking out any minute now.
"Yes, sir. The doctor will be right with you," she manages, scurrying away with one last anxious glance over her shoulder.
I could've put Victoria in any private hospital, kept her under constant watch. But thankfully, her seizures are rare - they only hit when something triggers them. Truth is, I keep coming to this public hospital for one reason: Kai. Known him forever, and he's the only doctor who'll give it to me straight, no sugarcoating. Not afraid of me either, which is pretty damn ironic considering he saves lives while I take them. But hey, I've seen weirder friendships. He gets my world, and I respect his need to stay in his.
“Roman,” he says, already heading to his office, “we need to talk. Victoria will join us in a minute - she's already up to speed on what I'm about to tell you.” His office is basically a glorified closet - honestly, I've seen walk-in wardrobes bigger than this. I've offered to throw some money his way, get him a proper space, but Kai being Kai, he redirected every cent to the new oncology wing. Even someone like me knows cancer's the real monster in this world. If my blood money can help fight that battle...well, at least some good comes from what I do.
"What do you want to discuss? Is something wrong with her tests?" I ask while sitting down and notice a bit too late the tone I've started with. It's the one I use with my employees and soldiers and sometimes it's too much for normal people, but Kai doesn't even blink twice and answers me while pouring coffee into his cup.
"I want Victoria to wear a monitoring bracelet," he tells me while sitting down and taking a sip of coffee, and I gesture for him to continue.
"We're collaborating with a small company that's trying to help the medical field, and their latest prototype they sent us has been very useful, so I thought we could test it on Victoria," he says and looks at me waiting for a reaction.
"Why does she need monitoring?" I ask while taking his cup to get two sips of coffee because, damn, it's eight in the morning and my head already hurts.
"Victoria still has seizures where we couldn't identify the stress factor, and I was thinking that if we could have some concrete data at the moment they happen, we could deduce what's causing them," he tells me, and I understand what he's talking about. Although Victoria's episodes are rare and many are justified by school stress or when something upsets her strongly, there have been episodes for which we have no explanation, and the only way I can keep her safe without locking her in the house is to know what triggers these episodes.
"Alright, if you think it can help us," I tell him while taking my phone from my suit pocket and calling my brother, Niko, who answers almost instantly. I don't even let him say good morning before I tell him the decision I just made.
"I need to buy a company. Now!"
Kai confirms Victoria’s next appointment and says something about a visit to test the new bracelet and its statistics.
After dropping Victoria at her ballet studio, I head to one of our warehouses, where a weapons shipment is due. Lately, I've been trying to delegate more responsibilities because of these daily migraines.
Fury floods my veins as I feel control slipping between my two personalities. The monster in me wants to break free from my 'CEO' version - too charismatic and soft for its taste. Maintaining these two facades daily is becoming increasingly exhausting.
Niko's already at the warehouse, talking with Denis, our cousin. We grew up together - his father died when he was a child, and his mother moved onto our property with him when my mother decided her sister couldn't stay in Moscow with a five-year-old boy.
“Ro, heard we acquired a medical bracelet company,” Denis says, amusement making his blue eyes sparkle.
“Yes. Kai thinks they have potential, and I agree.” That's all I offer because he doesn't need to know about Victoria and how this bracelet will help her.
“Is it profitable?” Denis asks, glancing at Niko, knowing who's the numbers guy between the two of us.
“Not yet, but it will be,” Niko offers before looking my way.
His hair's messy and his navy suit looks slightly rumpled.
“Rough night?” I ask though I know the answer.
My brother probably has a woman on speed dial for every square foot of this city. I swear, if I didn't know he had brains, I'd have him tested for every disease, with all the sex he has.
He fixes me with his sage-green stare while that stupid smile plays on his lips - his eternal expression that I bet his lovers adore.
“You should ask Lorelai. She spent all night on her knees.”
Denis and I both laugh at that. Knowing Niko, that woman probably had to beg him to get on her knees.
“Friday's shipment secured?” I ask Denis.
Even though Anton handles these details, he's not here today, and I need to know if anything's missing. That shipment needs to reach Denver by Monday.
“Everything's been checked and double-checked. We've got one of our best drivers on it, and Ricardo knows when to expect delivery,” my cousin confirms.
“Have Anton verify the route again,” I tell him, and I see it bothers him that I'm asking for reconfirmation, but he's not the one responsible for these shipments and warehouses.
“I've checked and double-checked, Ro,” he says, and I see his jaw clench.
Denis is an imposing man at six foot three. My cousin resembles us physically, but he lacks discipline. That's why he doesn't have Anton's responsibilities. His lack of trust in my decisions and the idea that he can challenge my right-hand man's eleven years of experience show he's not ready. He's always questioned my decisions, and I can't put someone who challenges me at every step in such a position.
“And Anton will check again. Am I clear?” He knows this discussion is over and just nods.
I leave with Niko and head toward the car, and as soon as we're alone, he speaks.
“I know you make these decisions, but don't you think he's ready for more responsibility?” he sighs.
Just what I need with this migraine starting - reopening this discussion. I might strangle someone.
“You know as well as I do he's not ready. He’s still unpredictable, Niko. I can't send my men to fight alongside him when he hasn't learned to follow orders. Denis is family, but he's not ready.”
Because that's the truth. Though we grew up together, Denis was always kept at arm's length, mainly by my aunt Sonia.
He might not see it this way, but it was a blessing for him. He never had to torture anyone at fourteen, never endured hours of beatings and abuse from my father, who would've loved watching him break.
I gave Denis the choice to join the mafia when he turned nineteen. Thought that was old enough for him to know if he wanted this life, and since then he's been trying to prove he belongs here. And he has.
But Anton has eleven more years of experience. Has connections Denis hasn't had time to build. And I can't understand his stubbornness. He's paid like a king. Probably just wants to feel more useful.
“I think he's ready. You won't know how much he can handle until you throw more at him, Ro.”
He's right, but if my gut says wait, that's what I'll do.
?
“Acquisition papers ready?” I ask, stuck in Chicago traffic, changing the subject. I've had enough of Denis - don't need Niko questioning my decisions too.
“Yeah. I spoke with the current CEO. I think he was shocked at our offer - didn't say a word for a full minute,” he laughs.
My brother can convince anyone with his numbers. There's no such thing as someone Niko can't buy - just someone whose price he hasn't figured out yet.
“What about current employees?” I ask, pulling into the company parking lot of our head office.
“All staying on. Thought we'd make the transition smoother with signing bonuses,” he says, fixing his hair in the mirror.
“Good. Keep me posted if anything comes up.”
Even knowing nothing should go wrong, I instinctively expect something to fall apart.
“Company's yours, Ro. Relax.”
Relax . What a joke. With that, we head up to handle the legal side of our lives.
In my office, I try to review the latest contracts. Felix drops off two stacks of reports needing signatures, and I give him a look that would send most people running - but not my assistant.
“Stop trying to seduce me with that look, Roman. My birth certificate doesn't say Borisov - I'm not signing these for you,” he dares to throw back.
“I pay you to make my life easier, but I still get headaches every time you walk into this office,” I tell him as I start signing the first stack.
Most of our legal business is real estate - lots of permits and authorizations needing my signature. We've got several clubs in Chicago, a mall, and various residential complexes generating the money and authority we need to keep the right politicians, judges, and cops in our pocket.
“Oh please. You wouldn't last a day without me,” he says with a smile as he leaves my office.
If a soldier spoke to me like that, I'd cut out his tongue and make him swallow it.
I found Felix five years ago when the little brat tried to pick my pocket during an event. I don't know if it was the fact that when I caught him and threatened to cut off his fingers one by one, his only response was 'Let go, weirdo,' but he caught my attention.
Felix grew up in an orphanage and was living on the streets when I found him. That night I offered him a job, and since then he's always been the first one in the office, learning all my habits and preferences in record time.
I know everything he does is to make my life easier. A few months ago, he started bringing me a mix of ginger, lavender, and rosemary tea instead of coffee to help with my migraines and stress.
I shot his teacup, and all he said was:
“I'll bring your coffee. When that vein in your head finally pops, I hope you've put me in your will.”
Annoying brat . My phone rings, Damien's name on the screen.
“Talk to me,” I say, still signing permits.
“One of my guys just called. Police stopped our weapons shipment at the New Hampshire border.”
Damien's the head of Chicago's Polish mafia and one of the few people I don't want to shoot when they open their mouth.
“Devin?” I already know the answer but need confirmation.
The Irish mafia's been trying to steal our territory and suppliers for a while now. They're most interested in the weapons smuggling. Damien and I control all of Chicago's arms transport, and only someone as stupid as Devin, the Irish mob boss, would dare attack our shipment.
“I'm gonna drill through his brain,” Damien says in a tone that makes me want to send condolences to the Irish for their upcoming loss.
“Tell me what you need, Damien. This isn't just an FYI call.”
The Irish have been circling us for a while, and though they haven't been a serious threat compared to other criminal factions, their boldness is growing. A message needs sending.
“My boys caught Ben, their accountant. Want to play a little?” Suddenly there's excitement in his voice.
I laugh. Damien's as twisted as I am and enjoys any chance to drop the gentleman act.
“Give me an hour to finish signing these permits and I'll meet you at your basement?” I ask, feeling his irritation in his breathing.
“Damn it! I'll try to keep him alive until then,” he sighs.
“Some of us have responsibilities beyond a self-operating club,” I say and hang up.
Damien's club isn't just any simple self-sustaining establishment. It's the largest and most exclusive club, where members pay a fortune just for access. You'll see poker games between senators, alliances signed over glasses of cognac older than the people drinking it, and the fulfillment of the most bizarre sexual fantasies and needs.
That bastard has so many governors and police chiefs in his pocket, he could walk down the street covered in cocaine during a parade and no one would blink. Apparently that didn't help with this shipment.
By the time I finish signing everything, I'm bored out of my mind and need to hit someone.
“If anything urgent comes up, you know where to find me,” I tell Felix as I get in the elevator.
I swear I hear the little shit mumbling, “I'm the only one working here.”
But I shake my head, happy I'll get some action tonight.
There's this calm before the storm feeling that I don't like. Something's brewing and I don't have all the pieces.
?
When I reach Damien's place, the guards at the entrance nod me through, and I take off my jacket. I've been here so many times I know exactly how long it takes to get there. Three minutes later I'm at the entrance to the basement, and when I open the door, I hear the first scream.. He started without me.
“Please, please! I'll tell you everything I know,” comes out more like a sob.
By the time I reach the bottom of the stairs, my sleeves are rolled up and several shirt buttons are undone. I already left my tie at the house entrance.
“Couldn't wait for me?” I say, irritated, taking a few steps into the room as Damien turns, and I see the madness of the moment written all over his face.
This is why Damien's among the few people I'd call...friend. I guess that's the word. We won't share popcorn or go on vacation together, but I'd torture a traitor and execute them for him just like I would my own. Friend, right?
“Mr. Kaminski, please!” the man in the chair gasps amid tears and snot.
What the hell does Damien think he'll get from this guy?
“Roman, pick your tool and start pulling his nails. This idiot doesn't seem to hear my questions.”
And I do exactly as he says. He is the host, after all. Our prisoner's eyes go wide, and he starts thrashing in the chair. When his gaze lands on me, I see exactly what my demon loves to see. Terror. Panic.
Physically, I'm not much more imposing than Damien, but unlike me, he looks like the type who'd tie you to a chair and pull out your nails. I look like I spend my days in meetings and expensive dinners. But not today. Today I'm letting my demon take some control.
“Last time I'm asking. Who's financing Devin's attacks?” Damien's voice echoes in the basement.
The room's empty and, like my torture basement, it's soundproof. A few LEDs light the space, and besides the chair where Devin's accountant sits, there are two tables on one side and a fingerprint-locked cabinet holding weapons and necessary tools.
“I don't have a name, I told you! But I know the money came from Russia,” he says.
I stop selecting tools and share a look with Damien.
The Russian mafia from the motherland doesn't have much influence here, but even they know our power and wouldn't risk pushing it into Irish hands. Unless we're missing something. We've always worked well with Ilya, the Moscow pakhan, which means either Ilya wants to stab us in the back or someone's trying to betray him too.
“Every report and invoice has a name attached, Ben,” I say, my tone calculating.
When I look at him, pliers in hand, the realization that he won't leave here intact settles on his face.
We're not stupid. As an accountant, you have to know at least one company name, even if it's fake. If Ben thinks we'll be nicer than the Irish, he's wrong.
When I see he's still silent, I take his hand and place it on the nearby table. Before he can react, his thumb nail is gone. His scream is exactly like a little girl's, and he instinctively clutches his hand to his chest, rocking back and forth. I roll my eyes at this reaction. He won't last fifteen minutes at this rate, and judging by Damien's annoyed face, he's realized the same thing.
“A name, Ben, or in five seconds your ring finger's going to look pretty sad. Then I'll take this hammer and make sure you never type again,” I say while Damien sits on the nearby table.
This dance between the madness of drawing out screams and the control that comes with it - we're both addicted to it.
I watch Ben swallow hard, looking at Damien for mercy or help. Ha . If I weren't here, Damien would probably skin him alive. He has a thing for tearing apart people who annoy him, but he always holds back when I join. Think I mess up his ritual somehow, who knows.
I grab the hammer, and though Ben's shaking his head and crying, trying to hide his hand, Damien grabs it and pins it back to the table. His ring finger nail flies off like the first, and this time the scream is much sharper. So piercing I can't help but wince. I swear my eardrum's bleeding too.
“To hell with this,” Damien says.
He takes the hammer from me, and just as it's inches from crushing Ben's fingers, he screams,“ROSNEK! ROSNEK ENTERPRISES!”
The hammer freezes midair, but two seconds later Damien slams it full force into Ben’s index finger. The sound of breaking bone is followed by Ben screeching like a trapped animal.
“You said if I told you, you wouldn't do that,” Ben whimpers.
Damien laughs, looking at him maliciously.
“Friend, you're in my basement, my house, my territory. You do the books for the people who sabotaged an important shipment. If I want to ram this hammer into your skull to check if your cerebellum's where it should be, I will. Clear?”
Ben starts shaking and his eyes roll back in his skull.
Seriously? He fainted? We barely started.
“What a joke. Shouldn't have mentioned the cerebellum. He'll have a heart attack before we really do anything,” I tell my friend, who throws the hammer down and turns to me frowning.
“Heard of Rosnek Enterprises?” he asks though he knows the answer from my face.
“I'll ask around. Must be new players - we know and watch all the major competitors,” I say, rolling down my sleeves and running a hand through my hair.
“Leaving already?” Damien asks.
“This isn't fun, it's boring. Bet when he wakes up, he'll either have a stroke or faint again.”
“I'll let him go. Want Devin to know we can grab any of his people anytime, but the threat remains, Roman. You're next and you know it.”
I turn to him and nod before heading upstairs.
I know they'll come for me next. It's what I'd do if I wanted to take over a city's arms trade. Attack on all fronts to create chaos. Easy to seize power when the biggest distributors are attacking each other and throwing accusations.
What these Irish idiots don't know is that Damien and I have always worked together. They'll find out if Ben tells them he saw me in the basement, but I don't care. Time they learned it's not just the Russian mafia, but the Polish too, coming for blood.
Getting into my car, I call Lev.
“Need everything you can find on Rosnek Enterprises.”
Lev handles all information, security, and computers for my organization.
“You'll have it in your email tomorrow,” he says and hangs up.
Wish Ben had been more of a challenge, but at least I got to pull some nails. My hand trembles on the knife I carry.
Soon . I know a war's coming, and so does the demon inside me, waking up at the smell of blood.
Chapter 5
?
Luna
I spend the morning wrapping up Friday's loose ends before our team meeting. The moment Finn, our project manager, starts cracking jokes during our usual greetings, my internal alarm goes off. Something's definitely wrong.
The man wouldn't know funny if it slapped him in the face. I swear his sense of humor never made it past conception - he's the most insufferable micromanager I've ever met, and trust me, if he could find a way to breathe down our necks even more than he already does, he would.
"Alright, enough with the jokes," Finn chirps, his voice hitting a pitch that has me wincing and adjusting my headphones. "Just got an email from Gregory with some huge news - we found a buyer for the company!"
Perfect. Just perfect.
I mean, we all saw this coming. It was always the endgame - catch some big fish's attention and get bought out. Gregory's been running on fumes trying to raise capital, but the money well's nearly dry. Without a serious cash injection, we can kiss product development goodbye.
Nobody wants to invest money in products that don't generate colossal amounts of money, which our product doesn't. The whole thing started because of tragedy, really. Gregory and his friends launched the company after one of their own landed in the hospital. No one saw it coming - he'd just been feeling off for a while.
Then came the diagnosis: grade IB pancreatic tumor. That's when the idea hit them. If they'd had some way to track his symptoms, to see how things had progressed over time... well, maybe things would've been different. That's how the monitoring bracelets were born.
Now we're sitting in this uncomfortable silence, the kind where everyone's got something to say but no one wants to speak first. I've never been good with quiet moments like these, so I figure I might as well break the ice.
"Who's buying us out?" I ask, and I can practically feel Finn's relief that someone finally broke the silence.
Look, he's not terrible - he just thinks riding our backs twenty-four seven will magically make the product develop itself faster.
"All I know is it's some major IT player," he says, practically bouncing in his seat. "Big portfolio, deep pockets. And get this - you're all getting signing bonuses." The moment 'bonus' leaves his lips, the chat explodes with excited chatter. I stay on mute, just listening.
Cute how he says 'you're all' getting bonuses, like he isn't walking away with a check twice the size of ours.
But honestly? I didn't take this job for the money. I'm here because I believe in what we're building...and because I needed to disappear from my old workplace. From him . From those "visits" that never seemed to end.
These days, I'm practically invisible online - no LinkedIn, no social media, nothing. Just a ghost in our hyper-connected world. Can't risk him finding me. I made myself a deal: two years of silence from him, then maybe I'll rejoin the digital world. Until then, I'm not testing fate.
The meeting wraps up, and I dive back into my code. There's this bug in the monitoring system that's been driving me crazy for days - database records refusing to save properly. I'm deep in troubleshooting mode when Gregory's email pops up, officially announcing the acquisition. At least there's good news - he's staying on as a project manager above Finn. It feels right; this whole system is his creation, his vision. He deserves to see it through.
Obviously, I had to Google our new overlords. Nearly choked on my coffee when I saw BTech's revenue - 2.3 billion dollars. That explains why I'd never heard of them; they're one of those silent giants that just keeps absorbing smaller companies into their ecosystem. And their reach? It's mind-blowing. From e-commerce to social media algorithms - and now our medical tech - these people are everywhere. Like some kind of corporate octopus with tentacles in every imaginable industry.
A quick search reveals the power duo running BTech: Roman Borisov as CEO, his brother Nikolas as CFO. Every photo I find shows them at some high-society event, and the headline "Chicago's Most Sought-After Bachelors" suddenly makes perfect sense. These men look otherworldly. My eyes linger on my new CEO - God, those eyes. Gray like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. Hair black as midnight, cut sharp and precise. His brother's softer somehow, with forest-green eyes and chestnut hair, but they both radiate the same energy. Even through photos, dressed in their perfect suits, everything about them screams danger. They carry themselves like kings who know their worth but choose to let others orbit around them.
If there's one thing this past year has taught me, it's to trust my gut when it spots a predator. And right now? Every instinct I have is screaming red alert.