Chapter Two - Lukin
I sit back in the shadows of my private booth, my glass half full but barely touched.
The amber liquid swirls lazily as I turn it in my fingers, but my mind isn’t on the drink.
It’s on the business at hand. There’s always business to handle, deals to be made, debts to be collected.
The Bratva doesn’t run itself, and I’m not the kind of man who waits for things to happen. I make them happen.
The main deal tonight is with a contact from Eastern Europe, Chris Warlock.
A man who thinks he can outplay me, thinks he can back out of a profitable alliance because he has other connections.
He doesn’t understand how the Bratva works—loyalty isn’t something we throw around like coins.
It’s everything. And if you betray us, the price is high. A mistake he’ll soon regret.
Then there’s the matter of another rival, a smaller faction out of the city, the Dmitri family.
They’ve been eyeing my territory, trying to carve out a piece of what’s mine.
They think they can slip under my radar, steal from me while I’m distracted.
They don’t know the first thing about running this empire.
They think they can be clever, make a quick buck, but I’ll make sure they understand exactly what happens to men who try to steal from Lukin Rusnak. They’ll learn the hard way.
My mood is lethal tonight, and I’m not in the mood for distractions.
The club around me buzzes with the usual noise—clinking glasses, the low murmur of conversations, the occasional burst of laughter.
But all of it sounds distant. My men are around me, some lounging, some standing nearby, discussing the usual Bratva business—the kind of talk that doesn’t concern anyone outside of this world.
Deals that require careful negotiation, debts that need collecting, new alliances to be tested.
They speak in low voices, in thick Russian, a language I don’t need to focus on anymore.
It’s all routine, and I find my mind drifting in and out of the conversation.
I could shut them up with a simple word if I wanted, but I don’t.
We’re all here to relax a bit before our night truly starts because a few hours from now, I’ll rain fire on the Dmitri faction; they’ll beg for death and not find it. But for now, let’s have a few drinks.
I scan the crowd, the usual mix of wealthy patrons, local hangers-on, and opportunists.
The club is busy tonight, but what I need is a woman.
A soft, willing body to spend the next hour with, until it’s time to unleash the violence curled in my belly.
I’ve found that nothing makes me happier than a quick fuck before I take someone out of this cruel world.
My gaze drifts lazily across the crowd. The usual faces flicker by—men in suits, women draped in jewels, all pretending to be someone they’re not. Then, I see her.
She’s already seated at a booth, alone, nursing a drink. I don’t know what catches my attention first—her sexy, unruly auburn curls that frame her face perfectly, the fact that she’s isolated in the midst of the crowded chaos, or the way she looks like she doesn’t belong here.
Even though the table is overflowing with expensive drinks and bottles, her posture is too stiff, too cautious. There’s no ease to the way she holds herself, no certainty in the way she moves. She’s out of place, standing out like a sore thumb in a room full of perfect facades.
Her curvy figure is wrapped in a maroon dress, fitting her form in a way that should draw admiration, but she doesn’t seem to care for the attention.
She’s not engaging with the crowd. Instead, she stares into her drink, her fingers fidgeting with the glass as if she’s trying to escape something.
She’s too soft for this world. Too fragile.
I take her in, my eyes narrowing as I study her.
There’s a hesitation in the way she sits, a tension in her body like she’s waiting for something, but not sure what.
She doesn’t belong here, not in a place like this.
But there’s something else that draws me in—something about her that reminds me of things I’d rather not remember.
She looks too much like someone who’s been lost, someone who’s afraid of standing out, even though she already does.
The more I look at her, the more my curiosity grows. Why is she here? What is she doing in this world that doesn’t care for softness, for vulnerability? I can’t help but watch her, as if I’m trying to piece together the story she’s hiding behind those wide eyes and that tentative smile.
She’s not like the others. I can tell that much already. The women here know what they want. They know how to play the game. But this one… she’s different. And that’s what catches my attention.
I shift slightly in my seat, my gaze still fixed on her. The others around me keep talking, but I’m no longer listening. My focus is entirely on the woman at the booth.
I’m still watching her when she suddenly looks up, and for a split second, our gazes lock.
Hers widen, the surprise flitting across her face for just a moment—before something unexpected happens.
She rolls her eyes at me, sharp and deliberate, as if she’s had enough of my silent scrutiny.
The action catches me off guard, but I can’t look away.
Without missing a beat, she turns her head, quickly diverting her attention to her phone as if to bury herself in it, her fingers pressing the screen a little too urgently.
She might think she’s distracting herself, but I see through the charade.
She’s trying to act unaffected, trying to pretend that my gaze doesn’t have an effect on her.
I lean back slightly in my seat, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of my lips.
I didn’t expect that reaction. Most women, especially in a place like this, would shy away, maybe fluster, but not her.
She met my eyes, held them for just a moment, then rolled her eyes—bold, unbothered. It’s almost… refreshing.
Adrian leans in close, his voice low as he cuts through my focus. “This noise is getting to be too much. Let’s move to another booth.”
I don’t immediately answer. I’ve lost track of what he said because my eyes are still on her. She’s still holding on to the phone, pretending to be lost in it, but I can see the slight twitch in her fingers, the way her body stays rigid. She’s pretending, and I can see it, even from here.
I’m not done watching her.
We get up to move, but my gaze doesn’t leave her for a second.
We slip into a quieter booth, the noise of the club still pressing in from behind us.
But it’s as if the chaos around us doesn’t exist. I’m hyperaware of her, even though she’s far across the room.
The slight tilt of her head, the way she adjusts in her seat.
Every small detail calls me back to her, even though she’s trying so hard to ignore the attention she’s drawing.
A few moments later, she suddenly rises to her feet with a beautiful grace.
My gaze tracks down her figure as she walks to the bar, her hips swaying with a confident rhythm that’s impossible to ignore.
I can’t help myself. My cock hardens in my pants and a vision of her bent over the bar torments me.
There’s no denying it—she’s beautiful. But it’s not just her appearance.
It’s the way she carries herself, like she’s trying to blend in but doesn’t quite fit.
There’s something about her that makes me want to peel back the layers, see what’s underneath that carefully constructed facade.
I don’t know why I’m so captivated by her, but I can’t look away.
She reaches the bar, and a young man approaches.
He’s too eager, too loud, clearly tipsy, and his confidence is spilling over the edges of what’s acceptable.
He’s moving toward her with a grin that’s way too wide, his hands already outstretched like he’s entitled to touch her.
The way he’s looking at her—like she’s just another conquest—it makes my jaw tighten.
I watch as she tenses, her body language shifting from relaxed to rigid in an instant. She doesn’t want this. I can see it in the way she tries to smile, a forced politeness that doesn’t reach her eyes, her hand awkwardly pushing him away. She’s trying to escape him without making a scene.
It stirs something in me. Something irrational.
A desire to step in, to stop this before it goes any further.
I could do it easily. A simple word, a gesture, and this man would be gone, dragged away without a second thought.
My men are always close, always watching, ready to act on my command. But I don’t move. I wait. I observe.
As if my gaze has an invisible pull, she looks up again, her gaze finding me in the new booth. This time, she doesn’t even spare me more than a split second. The insolent boy whispers something to her, taking her attention away from me.
Fuck. I can have him killed just for that alone.
He attempts to touch her again, and she slides him a look that has a low growl falling out of my lips. I have never wanted a woman with such unbridled passion in my life. The boy raises his arms in surrender and disappears, leaving her alone.
But instead of looking back at me, she heads towards the exit and disappears, out of my line of vision and probably out of my life forever.
I grip the arm of my chair, forcing myself to stay in my seat and not chase mindlessly after her.
She’s just another fleeting distraction in a night that’s already filled with too many thoughts, too many responsibilities.
But even as I tell myself this, the image of her stays with me.
It lingers, clinging to the edges of my mind like smoke, impossible to shake off.
The curve of her lips as she sipped her drink, the way her eyes darted around the room, that moment of hesitation when she caught my gaze.
It sticks with me, running in loops, playing like a broken record in my thoughts.
I try to dismiss it. Tell myself it’s nothing.
Just a woman, just a moment, an attraction that doesn’t mean anything.
I’ve seen women like her before—beautiful, young, and out of place.
Nothing about her should stand out. And yet…
something about the way she carried herself, the way she looked at me—it unsettles me more than it should.
A misstep. A distraction. That’s all it is.
But deep in the pit of my stomach, there’s a gnawing feeling I can’t ignore. I know it won’t be the last time I see her. It can’t be.
And that thought—that knowledge—sticks with me as the night wears on. As soon as the clock strikes midnight, Adrian is back, his gunpowder-gray eyes dark with hate.
“Alexei Dmitri,” he growls. “We got him. He’s been caught. He’s sitting in one of our safe houses, awaiting interrogation.”
My body tenses, a rush of cold clarity sweeping through me. My pulse quickens, my mind snapping back into focus. This is what I’ve been waiting for, the closure I need. It’s time to deal with the problem—no more distractions.
“Good.” I knock back the rest of my drink, savoring the heat in my throat. “I want to speak to him myself. No one gets in the way.”
Adrian’s eyes lighten like they usually do at the thought of violence. “You’ll let me have a go, won’t you? I’ve been waiting for this moment for weeks.”
I rise to my feet and turn to my guards, who suddenly melt out of the darkness and appear in front of me.
“Keep an eye on Maria,” I bark. “Make sure she gets home safe.”
“Yes, Boss.”
As I march out of the club with my men, I think about my twenty-four-year-old daughter and pain in my neck. She’s here tonight, even though I’ve warned her severely to stay away. She thought she could sneak in and avoid me, but nothing goes unnoticed by me in my own club.
It seems Maria loves to do the opposite of what I tell her to.
My parents used to be strict. I dared not disobey them or I’d face grievous consequences, but Maria is my weakness, my sunshine.
She’s made me proud in so many ways; so if that means looking away whenever I see her at the club, I will.
Every man in that club knows she’s my daughter, and they’ll give their life for hers in a heartbeat.
She’s safe, I’m sure, so I take my mind off her and refocus on the task for tonight.