Chapter 1
NIKKO
My footsteps pound on the pavement like the relentless beating of a drum.
My lungs feel like they’re going to burst, and my legs ache.
I barely notice the rush of cherry blossoms as I pass or the pedestrians by the park; I’m so blinded by the sweat in my eyes.
I push myself harder, faster, longer. It’s a mind game, a mind fuck.
Everything is.
I turn the left corner between Maple and Tower Streets and see my destination in front of me. I’m so far away it’s merely a blur, but as long as I can clearly see what’s in front of me, I can keep going.
My mentor Kolya told me that any training—all training—should be faced as if your life was on the line. Nothing’s in vain. You’re not running for the sake of a healthy heart or stronger lungs; you’re running from an enemy who’s going to slit your throat when he catches you.
So when I finally arrive at Mikhail and Aria’s house, I come to a stop, hands laced behind my head, heaving with the effort to catch my breath. I barely feel the brush of wind, a promise of stagnant summer heat later in the day.
I notice cars outside. Aleks and Harper are here, likely with their small crew of kids. Mom’s car is here, but no Polina. Viktor. Lev.
Frowning, I take out my phone and look down. I never miss a call or text, and today’s no different. Nothing missed. Then why’s everyone here?
I run my arm across my sweaty brow to clear my vision and trot up the stairs.
“There he is.” Mikhail jerks his head in greeting as he walks past the doorway, his one-year-old son Sasha in his arms. It’s fitting as pakhan to the Romanov family and older brother to all that Mikhail had the first child. It was time.
My brother Aleksandr holds his infant son beside his wife Harper, who’s holding the second twin.
Both babies have their daddy’s bright blue eyes and mama’s honey-blonde hair.
I turn to the sound of a child’s laugh and see my mom walking toward the dining room hand-in-hand with Harper’s toddler, Ivy.
Our family has grown in leaps and bounds as Mikhail and Aria’s baby just turned one, and Aleksandr and his wife just had twins. With Harper’s toddler completing the ensemble, my mother is in her absolute glory with four grandchildren. I haven’t seen her this happy in years.
It had to happen. If we’re going to establish ourselves as the premier Bratva group in the Cove, the area of New York nestled between Coney Island and Manhattan and the stomping grounds we own and operate, we needed to establish roots. Recruiting and expanding only go so far.
“Where’ve you been?” Mikhail snaps.
I gesture down to the sleeveless workout tee slicked with sweat and clinging to my body, my running shorts, and my running shoes. “Thought I’d try out my suit for the gala. Prepare for the paparazzi and all that.”
“He’s swimming in sweat from head to toe,” Harper responds. “I can smell him from here. Either he’s just come in from a run, or no one’s told us the zombie apocalypse is upon us.”
Aleksandr chuckles. shaking his head. “Nikko always goes for a run on Sunday at noon, Mikhail. You know that. Monday through Friday, you can set a clock by his five a.m. workouts, but he takes a break on Sunday and only goes for a run.”
“That’s why I pay you to keep track of this sh—stuff,” Mikhail says, scowling. The presence of children slows his roll. I’d bet he misses the days he could curse at whim.
I walk past both of them and head to the kitchen. “Did I miss something? Why’s everyone here?”
The two of them exchange a look as I grab a bottle of water. Mikhail nods. “Yeah. We have an urgent matter to discuss, but we wanted to wait and do it in person. Just us.”
In other words, they waited for my mother to come so she could watch the kids. None of the nannies work Sundays.
Interesting.
I toss the empty water bottle, reach into the fridge, and grab a protein shake, twist the cap off, and down half of it in a few gulps. “What is it?”
Mikhail frowns. “We’ve discovered a connection between the attempt at poisoning Harper and the attack on Lev.”
I stand up straighter, instantly alert. The type of retribution demanded by this situation will fall squarely on my shoulders.
When someone needs to die, I’m the one called.
Seven minutes later, I’m freshly showered and dressed, sitting on Mikhail’s balcony that overlooks the ocean.
Aleks sits on my left, and my younger brother Viktor is to my right, nursing a cup of coffee.
Mikhail’s on his way because he had to consult with his wife, Aria, our head hacker and cybersecurity pro.
“Aleks, what’s going on?” I ask.
Aleksandr, who works alongside Aria, broods, looking over the Manhattan skyline visible from Mikhail’s balcony.
He shakes his head. “Wait for Mikhail. We all need to be present.”
Viktor, silent and hulking, sits brooding. Our group heavy’s mere presence— hulking, tattooed, and typically dressed in leather— can be enough to ward off enemies. And if it isn’t, he’s willing and able to get shit done.
Lev, however, gets to his feet and begins to pace.
Our youngest brother by several years, Lev is a trained fighter and our team strategist. With his athletic build, he’s the one we send in to maneuver through tricky situations and defend himself if needed.
Confident, with a magnetic personality that makes women swoon, Lev doesn’t ever get romantically entangled. He’s too occupied with other things.
“Ollie joining us?” Lev asks, his jaw tight.
“Remotely.”
Jesus. It’s been over a year since Mikhail and Aria had their son Sasha and our brother Ollie’s been working in Moscow. He came home for Sasha’s baptism, then went straight back to Moscow.
“When’s he coming home?”
Aleks shakes his head, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Don’t know.”
“We’re stronger when we’re together,” I say, shaking my head.
“While that might be true,” Mikhail says from the balcony doorway as he comes out to meet us, “in this case, it might not be.”
What does that mean?
Mikhail joins us and shuts the door behind him. I watch him curiously. I know that look on his face. Whatever he needs to tell us is big.
“Aria and Aleks unlocked some prime intel,” Mikhail says, walking past the chairs toward the edge of the balcony.
He leans against the wrought iron fence and crosses his arm on his chest. His deep-set dark brown eyes beneath heavy brows, golden, tanned skin, and dark brown hair tinged with flecks of gold make him look almost godlike.
And while Mikhail might appear a bit more civilized than the rest of us, there’s a reason he’s called the Siberian tiger.
“You know we’ve been on the trail of those who attacked us for some time now.
We’ve narrowed it down to rival Bratva and a few subsidiary groups.
In recent weeks, Aria has discovered that the subsidiaries weren’t actually behind any of the attacks but funded by the larger groups.
” His tone grows sober as his eyes harden.
Mikhail is known as the Siberian tiger for a reason.
“We have names.”
Unlike other rival groups in New York, ours is one of the only not held together by blood. Like other Russian factions before us, our father decided he would ensure allegiance to our family by adopting all of us. But blood isn’t what bonds us all together.
Loyalty. Honor. Trust. The ties of familial bonds run deep despite the way we came into the family.
When Mikhail calls us by name, it’s like a call to arms. A summoning. A flare that lights the night sky, calling all of us to action. Any one of us would lay down his life for the other, a claim some of our rivals could never make.
“Names,” Lev says, his jaw tightening. Recent years have hardened the softer features of his younger face.
He suffered during an all-out attack, resulting in a beating that left him hospitalized shortly after Mikhail was made pakhan in the wake of our father’s death.
He was outnumbered and left for dead outside a nightclub.
Mikhail straightens. While Lev was personally attacked, Mikhail’s wife was nearly poisoned to death. “Ivanov. Petr Ivanov.”
“Son of a bitch,” Lev says under his breath, shaking his head. “After all we did for him.”
“Right.”
When my father was still here and we were a fledgling group, we ran surveillance for Ivanov at our own risk for what turned out to be a pittance in hindsight.
“He doesn’t care. He knows we own The Cove, and he wants in.” Mikhail shakes his head; no further explanation is needed. They all want in.
After my father’s death, we took down our greatest rival, Fyodor Volkov. But after his death, other groups vied for power and attention in the coveted Cove.
Ivanov.
A chill runs through me at the knowledge that we have a target. This is where my area of expertise comes into play. I stand and straighten my shoulders. “Tell me everything.”
Mikhail shakes his head.
“The problem with the Ivanovs is that Petr is untouchable. He’s invested more time and money in his own protection than most invest in their entire family. Classic textbook narcissist. So he’s surrounded by an army of monsters who will stop at nothing to keep him safe.”
I snort. “Like I fucking care. Give me a sniper rifle and a sight and I’ll take him down no matter the protection he’s put around him.You know I will.”
Mikhail nods. “I know you will, but it isn’t worth the risk. Kolya and I have consulted, and we have what we believe to be a better plan.”
Fire thrums in my veins. This is my family that was attacked. I want to do what I do best.
“Mikhail. A better plan? Better than sending me to take him out once and for all?”