Prologue
Boom!
The floor beneath my feet vibrated, an intense rumble skimming across the landscape. I stood at the window, more frightened than I’d been in a long time from an act of Mother Nature. As night continued settling in, fueling the ominous atmosphere, my pulse raced while every inch of my body trembled in a nonsensical manner.
The sky had already turned to a bruised, ugly violet with clouds piling up into a black, angry anvil of menace. Lightning crisscrossed the sky, the vibrant blues blinding.
I pressed my hand against the glass, fighting the anxiety that had already left me feeling suffocated. With the wind whipping across the decorated landscape, chaos ensued, thunder bellowing its rage. Even though the house was built of stone and mortar, the violent storm shook the foundation.
The light in my room did nothing to abate my fears, the slight glow barely illuminating anything. Even the ugly shadows seemed larger than life.
I’d never felt so all alone in my life, cut off from anyone who cared. Yet I’d been told I was safe even as the rain lashed across the windows, thunderous sounds echoing in my ears. When a branch slapped against the glass, I bit my lip to keep from screaming while backing away.
Even with the bolts of lightning awakening the dead, shadows filled the area just outside my window, my wild imagination creating monsters in various shapes and sizes.
All bloodthirsty beasts with one thing on their mind.
Satisfying their hunger.
With another even more powerful rumble of thunder, I turned away from the window, folding my arms. A horrific chill continued to tear through every muscle and the second the branch slapped across the exterior of the house once again, I yelped and jumped back into bed. The ominous figures I’d created in my mind continued to crawl from the distant corners of my room, inching toward me.
This was ridiculous. I rolled over, determined to fall asleep, finally able to close my eyes.
Yet the storm raged on, my heartbeat matching that of a strange, new thumping sound. Like a metronome torturing a pianist. I envisioned smashing the small wooden box in my crazy mind and finally managed to take a deep breath.
Thump.
My head shot up, shifting so I could glare out the window. Was the tree threatening to give way, crashing into my bedroom? While the wind continued to howl, there was no sign of any major destruction.
Thump. Ting.
I snapped my head toward my bedroom door. The sound wasn’t coming from outside the house. Something or someone was inside.
Not usually prone to panic, I sat up in bed, pursing my lips shut to keep as quiet as possible. While the storm prevented me from catching every noise, I sensed someone was in the house. Someone who didn’t belong.
My parents slept in a different wing of the estate, each with their own personal space. My brother and I shared another wing, yet tonight I was alone, my parents at some glitzy event and God knew where my brother had gone. He was almost never home and when he was, he was a surly son of a bitch I preferred not to be around.
Thump. Thump. Crackle.
Glass breaking?
Why wasn’t the alarm going off? Why weren’t the guards rushing into the house?
I threw back the covers, slowly sliding my feet onto the floor. Terror skittered through me as I moved to the door, very carefully opening it a crack. There was a light downstairs just like before.
Then there wasn’t, the light downstairs and the one in my room flipping off. Whether from the storm or from an intruder, it didn’t really matter. What did was what I needed to do.
While the fear was crippling, my mind quickly shot to a place of reserve, hearing my father’s stern voice telling me how to handle a situation like this. I’d been trained how and when to hide, put through exercises simulating a kidnapping, which had seemed so pointless at the time.
Now I understood why my father had insisted on claiming my free time for practicing. My father had enemies. I was a mafia princess. I was worth my weight in gold.
And someone wanted a payout.
My throat was close to being shut from icy fingers squeezing my neck, but I walked through the steps I’d been taught. There was a special place I could hide in the house where no one would find me.
I was about to slip from my room when I sensed someone on the stairs. There was no way I could rush by whoever it was. They’d catch me. Then I’d be screwed.
There was no other choice but another plan of action my father had shared. I swept the room with my eyes, desperate to find a weapon of any kind. I wasn’t old enough or tough enough to have a gun. My father wouldn’t allow it.
Besides, I was just a girl, nothing special in the Marichetti house. Another flash of neon lightning and my eyes settled on my brass dolphin statue I’d gotten while on vacation in Sardinia. My good luck charm because I’d seen dolphins that day.
Still shaking, I crawled under the bed, gasping for air as ugly claustrophobia set in.
Breathe. Just breathe.
The little voice inside my head wasn’t helping. I was almost frantic, trying desperately to stay in my hiding place while straining to listen. Every rumble of thunder brought another knot to my stomach. Soon, I was nauseous, almost lightheaded and fearful I’d pass out. That would be better at this point.
Footsteps. Were those footsteps?
I sucked in and held my breath while fisting my hands. There was no mistaking the sound as someone opened the door. Footsteps indicated one person had entered my space. Whoever was in my room stopped, remaining as silent as a church mouse. There was no light, no indication of what he was doing.
My mind was foggy, my chest burning from lack of air while holding my breath. I had to remain quiet. I had to follow instructions. Don’t panic. Don’t breathe. Don’t cry.
Every command my father had issued lingered in my ears. I was trying to be a good girl. When the intruder shifted, taking a couple of steps that seemed as if he was heading for the door, I almost took another breath.
A few seconds passed, sweat sliding down my face and tickling my nose. I was close to freaking out, desperate for air while so terrified I was already at the point of losing my mind.
There was no sudden movement, no indication the intruder had found me.
Until a hand was snapped around my ankle and I was ripped from under the bed.
A sharp scream erupted from my throat as I was tossed onto the bed. The shadow was huge and the person was so strong. Whoever had cornered me had to be a man from his size and strength. Even as the assailant slammed his large hand over my mouth, I reacted not on instinct but on my training, slamming the statue against his head.
“Stupida stronza.”
Stupid bitch. The man was Italian. Now I was furious. No one called me stupid or a bitch, even though the last insult I wore with pride.
I fought him, kicking and screaming as he tried his best to silence the agonizing sound.
His howl indicated anguish and the second he yanked his hand free, I reacted, almost managing to scramble off the bed.
But he was too fast and too strong, slamming me down and using even more weight and pressure to keep me from escaping. When the statue was ripped from my hand and tossed across the room, I prayed the horrific thump would be heard by the security guards.
Tears flooded my eyes when the horrible man leaned over. “Sei una cosina così carina. Mi divertirò un po’ con te.”
You are such a pretty little thing. I’m going to have some fun with you.
His voice was gruff, his accent smooth and one highlighting education instead of street talk. That didn’t matter. I had to get away. When he touched my arm, I shrieked under his hand, the sound nothing more than a muffled moan.
He laughed and rubbed the fingers of his other hand down my arm, Wretched, ugly tears began to fall, my chest heaving as the terror wrapped around me, spiraling my mind in horrible images.
“Non preoccuparti, ti farò sentire davvero bene.”
Don’t worry. I’ll make you feel so good.
The second the horrible man yanked at my pajama top, I shifted enough I managed to bite his other hand.
Another agonizing howl was ripped from his lungs. Before I had a chance to scream, the bastard backhanded me, pitching me off the bed. Stunned, the ambient noise of the room and the sounds of the raging thunderstorm vanished, replaced by a rhythmic roar.
His howl turned into a manic, evil snarl as he jerked me off the floor. But the paralyzing fear was tossed aside, my scream cutting through every noise, reverberating off the walls.
Lights snapped on, blinding me as I struggled to breathe.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
The horrible battering of gunfire filled the room and I was dropped like a rock, another hard thud followed by a crushing weight.
Scrambling and hysterical, I pushed him off, still wailing as I opened my eyes.
To stare into the vacant eyes of my assailant, half his head blown off.
[divider]Chapter One
Kazimir
Three years later…
“We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.”
Oscar Wilde
In Russia, I was called D’yavol. In Italy, Il Diavolo. And in America, where my reputation had recently grown, the devil.
Even the family’s name in Slavic meant the same. It was as if I was born to be a monster, a bloodthirsty creature with no regard to decency or humanity. If anyone believed the name troubled me, they were wasting both time and energy within their feeble minds.
To the caged animal inside, the moniker was a boost in reputation, adding to the fears and trepidations of all those who opposed our family’s power. And even with others who had the common sense to stay far out of our reach.
With no conscience, I couldn’t care less about impressions or feelings, and rarely did I feel or express a single emotion.
Except for today.
Today, my family and the people of Moscow had lost a great man, a powerful man. A man who’d spent his entire life serving the people. I smirked from the thought. At least that’s what the priest had said in part in his lengthy eulogy.
Now, standing in the ruthless, unforgiving man’s office on a wintery day, staring at the flakes of snow littering the ground, instead of embracing despair, all I could feel was rage. If the situation were different, his death caused by betrayal or violence, the pure white snow would already be blanketed in a wash of crimson.
But that wasn’t the case, his life-ending heart attack a product of a lifetime of excess, gluttonous behavior he’d been warned about for years. My father had never taken advice from anyone, especially not his doctors.
How appropriate that the day of my father being buried in the ground snow had fallen, April’s warm weather giving way to ice crystallizing the surface.
“Chashche vsego gromche vsekh govoryat mertvyye.”
The dead often speak the loudest.
My cousin Dimitri chuckled. His father, my uncle, had used the phrase as much as my father. We’d both been told the saying was an old Russian proverb, but as kids with more time on our hands than common sense, we’d tried to test it and failed. That didn’t take away from the vitality of the statement. Even with dying by natural causes, there were still stories to tell.
If my uncle were alive, he’d be painting the streets in gallons of blood to find the cigar dealer. That’s how close they’d been.
My cousin was studying the various photographs in sterling silver frames on the mantel. The two dozen pictures were a perfect representation of a family’s legacy. Baby pictures. Graduation pictures. When I’d become a soldier in my father’s army. Every celebration was commemorated with smiles and laughter.
Behind a cloak of evil and lies.
Dimitri shook his head while picking up one centered in the middle. I knew it well, a photograph that was difficult for me to look at, impossible for Mikhail, and just another jab in Stash’s side since he’d only recently joined the family. One big happy family.
At twenty-one, I’d finished college, graduating in two and a half years from Cambridge, had racked up several brutal and necessary slayings, and had enjoyed my share of virgin beauties.
Stash rarely drank, was a straight-A student and I’d yet to hear him swear, but he’d asked me directly before the funeral if he could become part of the regime. Why not have him jump into the fire?
“That was our first and last vacation as one big happy family,” Dimitri said with both sadness and guilt in his voice. “Do you remember when Pops tried to use the outdoor grill at the villa and caught the house on fire?”
I laughed, although the sound was terse. “Yeah, and our fathers had to play fireman. They argued for the remainder of the trip about whose fault it was.”
“Almost the entire trip,” my cousin said, gingerly returning the frame.
When the entire room remained quiet, he lifted his head, studying me. We both blamed ourselves for the events that had cut the vacation short and forever altered our family. That’s one reason Uncle Boris had split the family in two, moving his half to the United States, an expansion my father had wanted no part of.
Now, my cousin was Pakhan in New York while I was about to take the helm in Moscow.
Behind me stood several of my father’s men as well as a few of my own, my brothers off to the side. This moment and my reaction less than an hour after the funeral would shape the future. That’s why their silence was out of respect and reverence. As the new Pakhan, it was my birthright and my responsibility to keep the regime moving forward no matter the circumstances.
That didn’t mean the fury hadn’t festered into the utter dark requirement to console my beast. There were only two ways that was possible.
Bloodshed or sex.
And at this point, succumbing to either one would be dangerous, a weakness and nothing more. My needs would wait. I had an empire to run. The idea wasn’t new to me or anyone else. As firstborn, my entire life had revolved around the training required to take over as Pakhan. Only not so soon.
“Pust’ vash otets pokoitsya s mirom.”
Hearing Kirill’s sentiment brought the first sensation of amusement since learning the news of my father’s demise. I allowed a low, husky chuckle while turning to face them. “You know as does everyone else in this room my father won’t be resting in peace. He is currently sharing cognac with my uncle and the devil himself while being seasoned and roasted on a spit over a roaring fire.”
Kirill Aristov was my commander, a man who shared the same temperament as I did. He’d been the person responsible for sharing the news of my father’s untimely death.
Nervous laughter ensued. The words weren’t born of disrespect and nothing my father wouldn’t have said. Vladimir Chertov valued his multitude of sins, coveting every act of violence as if placing notches on a leather belt. He’d once told me the best men committed the worst offenses. If his actions were any indication, he had been a king among kings.
“To a great man,” Dimitri said as he raised his glass.
“Who are you kidding,” I teased. “He was a pain in the ass.”
We all laughed, yet the tension remained high.
“You should be careful, cousin,” Dimitri added. “You’re well aware your father’s enemies are already prepared to try and erase your father’s good name.”
“Then they have no understanding what I’m capable of. And you just worry about New York, cousin. Let me handle Russia.”
His booming laughter could fill a room. Even Mikhail laughed, a sound easily identifiable as well as rare. My brother’s return visit to a dark place was evident by the circles under his eyes. Life had been difficult for him.
There were nerves to squelch, and a billion-dollar business that required moving forward without adequate time to mourn. That was the way of the Bratva.
“We do need to worry about how we move forward. No disrespect,” Kirill offered.
“Understood.” And I did. There was too much on the table.
I glanced at Mikhail and Stash, making note of their grim expressions. While our father hadn’t been the kindest or the warmest of men, they’d both taken his death hard, Stash especially. As a half-brother to Mikhail and me, he’d only recently become a permanent part of our family, our father marrying the woman he’d had a long-term affair with.
While Mikhail had taken the discovery of the secret harshly, Stash had never been to blame. But he’d yet to prove himself within the organization.
“Now they’re together,” Mikhail said absently.
When his comment registered, I narrowed my eyes as I looked at him. “They?” I had a feeling he wasn’t talking about an uncle he’d barely spent any time with. He’d barely been a teenager when the life-altering incident had occurred.
“Our mother and father. No offense, Stash, but our mother was the love of our father’s life.”
Another ugliness. My father’s enjoyment of brothels had allowed him to fall in love with a beautiful Russian girl that had led to his illegitimate child, Stash unaware until only a couple of years before who his father was. Mikhail hadn’t taken the news of our father’s remarriage kindly.
Stash bristled. “At least my mother cares about you.”
“Are you trying to tell me my mother didn’t care about me? She was an angel.”
Mikhail’s exclamation was out of character. He was typically stoic with all aspects of his life. “Enough. Our father cared for Stash’s mother Marta very much. You will respect her position within this family.”
In the world of the Bratva, death was an everyday occurrence. Life expectancies usually maxed out at age sixty. While our father’s untimely death was a hiccup, Mikhail had taken our mother’s death very hard. He’d become almost inconsolable after the accident. Accident. Who the fuck was I kidding? She’d been murdered, but the bomb planted under the rental car had no doubt been meant for our father.
On the very vacation where the entire family had been together for the first and only time.
The same vacation that had nearly torn everyone apart.
Dimitri lifted his gaze, finding mine. We didn’t need to continue commiserating over our own levels of guilt. That past had been laid to rest.
Sadly, the horrific time was difficult to shove aside on a day like today. Our father had just swept our world clean of several dozen enemies from various crime syndicates and after the massive undertaking, he’d rewarded our family with taking us on a vacation to Sardinia. I’d been far too old to join them, but our father had insisted.
Same with Dimitri.
Fuck. I shook my head as the memories took a bitter turn. I’d been bored to death, seeking an adventure on my own with my favorite cousin Dimitri. We’d thought we were something special, our fathers’ reputations providing us a road paved in gold to do what we wanted. Our arrogance led to utter stupidity, getting drunk and disorderly, both tossed inside a cold and dark jail cell. My father had been so fucking angry he’d refused to bail us out.
So had my uncle.
My aunt had been too fearful of her husband’s response had she gone against him, but not my mother. She was fearless even while being pissed.
She’d defied them all, taking the rental car with a fistful of cash in her hand.
If only I hadn’t been such a fucking dickhead, she might still be alive.
Fuck. Since when did I allow my mind to be constrained by a single concept of guilt? Never. That wasn’t who I was as a man and I couldn’t let it happen as the leader of our family organization.
“Yes, Pakhan,” Mikhail hissed.
The kid was fighting reopened wounds. Stash eyed me carefully before taking long strides toward the door. Kirill was prepared to follow until I shook my head. While I might not have spent much time with Stash, he was very much like our father and almost a carbon copy of the man I’d become. Only his level of anger was from years spent in utter poverty, learning to steal food from local vendors to try to keep himself and his mother alive.
Families were complicated at best, our father’s infidelity nothing new, but an illegitimate offspring was a new and unwanted twist.
And Mikhail? Well, he’d never fully recovered from his grief or the effects of the horrible disease that had almost taken his life.
The last few days exhausting, I closed and rubbed my eyes, instantly thrust back into the last few minutes of our mother’s life.
Our mother was merely a distant memory, little more than a pawn in the very dangerous game my family had played for generations. Not a single holiday had meant a damn thing since then, and certainly there’d been no more family vacations.
Except for my father’s funeral.
How many people had our father blamed for her death? How many new enemies had he made from accusations made? And the person responsible for her death had never been found.
“When the dust settles,” Dimitri interjected. “Why don’t you consider moving the business to New York?”
Now I laughed in earnest. “Not a chance.” My uncle had tried to convince our father for years to leave the old guard and head to the new world. No, thank you.
He walked closer, clapping me on the shoulder. “I’m sorry I need to return to New York so soon. I have certain business of my own that can’t wait.”
Dimitri knew when it was best to walk away. Our businesses were separate for a reason. “I appreciate you coming all this way.”
“I meant what I said. You’re always welcome.”
“You never know. I may take you up on it one day.”
I stood with a drink in my hand, mulling over options while Dimitri said his goodbyes and left. Death was a typical occurrence in our profession, but the older I got, the more difficult it felt to deal with.
In the last few days, I’d made the rounds in securing our warehouses, talking with our accountant and trying to reassure our employees that nothing would change. Meanwhile, other Russian Bratva were breathing down our necks. They were like vultures waiting for clean and easy pickings of roadkill.
The house was filled with people, the wake a cornerstone of being Orthodox Christian, and my stepmother was active in the church. I couldn’t care less, yet on this one subject, I heeded to her request. For me, the idea of walking into a church was blasphemous.
“What about the attorney?” Mikhail asked. “And the will?”
His words dripped of contempt. “That is the last thing on my mind.” At least my answer pleased him. For now, Marta would stay in the house. I was a cruel bastard, but I certainly wasn’t planning on kicking her out on the street. She and Stash had been through so much over the years, homelessness included.
“How do we move forward from here, Pakhan?” Grigor Kierev asked, another soldier who’d come up through the ranks.
“My father already scheduled a meeting with the Cosa Nostra Don the day after tomorrow, and he’d want us to keep it. The meeting will continue as scheduled.”
Our father hadn’t been prone to making alliances with anyone, but the radical Bratva to the north and south were like Vikings hell bent on invading our territory. By taking control of several major roads and ports, the ruthless syndicates had made getting our product across country lines much more difficult. The Italians could provide relief.
“While I mean no disrespect, Kazimir, your father was quite insistent that his last will be handled right away.” While my father valued had Sergei’s counsel, I found him to be nothing more than a money-grubbing brown-noser. In my mind, attorneys were synonymous with filthy cockroaches.
However inappropriate, I’d had revenge fantasies about the man and those like him for years. Now wasn’t the time for such indulgences. What a pity. “Yes, Sergei. Perhaps you are correct in that my father’s will requires my attention. My father’s riches must be distributed in accordance with his wishes. However, there will be no further riches added to the coffer should anyone within our business realm gather a whiff of hesitancy with my regard to handling business. The reading of the goddamn will can wait.”
While I hadn’t raised my voice, I didn’t need to. Several of the men were already back-stepping toward the door. In addition to my bloodthirsty reputation, it was widely known that the short fuse was attached to an impressive stack of explosives.
Right now I needed to exercise control. As with any tragedy, there were those eager to see if the family fell apart, fading into a weakness sufficient enough for one of our half dozen enemies to swoop in. I couldn’t allow that to happen.
With my direct stare at the attorney, his face paled and he lowered his head. “Yes, Pakhan.”
“Kirill, make arrangements for the trip. We leave in the morning. I want you as well as at least two other men on the trip.” The last thing I wanted was to vacate the country during the tumultuous time, but there really was no choice. My father had nurtured a relationship with the Italians after their initial approach. That had taken almost a full year.
To turn away now would be an act of abandonment we wouldn’t soon recover from. Besides, there were millions to be made in using their ports and connections. My father would roll over in his grave should I allow the opportunity to pass. Or he’d reach out from the depths of hell, dragging me down with him.
The thought brought a wave of images, which in turn brought another smile.
“I’d like to go with you,” Mikhail said while taking a step toward me. My brother had been my shadow for years, his love of his family one of many attributes I admired. While he was a talented young man, I wasn’t certain he was ready to be indoctrinated into the world of the Bratva.
Maybe our father had been too protective.
Or maybe I’d been.
“You’d be better suited remaining here, Mikhail. I need a show of strength for our soldiers.” In my mind a decision had been made and it was time to move on, but I should have known better with my brother. He was the one person who’d seen my softer side.
His smile and the fact he made direct eye contract meant he wasn’t letting this go. “Stash is perfectly capable of handling business for a couple days. I deserve a chance to prove to you and everyone else that Chertov blood runs hot through my veins. Plus, the show of solidarity and force will dispel any rumors of weakness the Italian pigs might have heard.”
He’d hated all things Italian for years, blaming them for our mother as much as he had everyone else.
“He does have a point, Pakhan,” Kirill encouraged. “A show of utter strength will be beneficial. And highlighting the family unit will be considered highly respectable.”
I took a deep breath while allowing the thought to linger. He did have a point. They both did. “I will consider your recommendation. Kirill, have extra security placed on our buildings and incoming shipments. We need to send a message to the people of Russia and beyond that our family is handling our father’s death with no interruption.”
Kirill moved closer, lowering his voice. “Why don’t I have a brief conversation with the reporter who mentioned the funeral? Just a few words. Their newspaper goes beyond Russian media. I will ensure people know nothing has changed.”
“Not a bad idea. But make it brief.”
“Yes, sir.”
I headed from the room, thinking about where I could find Stash. He was also a creature of habit, preferring the outdoors even in icy weather to a warm fire and a glass of cognac. Noticing him through the window in the kitchen, I grabbed my overcoat and joined him, both of us staring at the statue of Virtus, an artistic piece our father had insisted be placed near the fountain.
“Did you know Virtus is supposedly the personification of honor, bravery, and moral strength? A virtuous god.” His question was rhetorical and I knew the reason he’d asked.
“A little-known secret, Stash. As a young man, our father had his heart set on becoming an attorney, defending those wrongfully convicted of crimes.”
Stash was notably surprised, turning his head toward me. “You’re kidding.”
I grunted and studied the face of the unanimated Roman god. “No. Now, I assure you I’m likely one of the only people in the world who knew that.”
“What happened? Why didn’t he pursue his dream?”
“Because of our grandfather, the man currently residing in the Shamrock Glen.” The retirement center was well worth every penny spent, my grandfather safe and secure from the outside world and from himself. He had occasional bouts of lucidity but not enough for the funeral, but his anger was a family trait. He’d raged when told about his son’s death, blaming me for his murder. Challenging the former patriarch would mean disrespect, something I wouldn’t do.
“So he was forced to become a criminal.”
“He was required to follow in his father’s footsteps, an honor to be asked.”
Stash laughed in the same bitter sound I’d heard from Mikhail. “So now you’re being forced into becoming something you have no desire to be.”
I needed to find the right words to help him understand. “Stash, I’ve seen the world and been allowed to sow enough wild oats I should own a damn farm. My father encouraged me to find my place in the world and I took him up on the offer, but at the end of the day, nothing changed the fact I was the firstborn son of a powerful man in an even more powerful regime. Stepping into my father’s shoes is an honor. That doesn’t mean my methods of leadership will be the same. It just means I value the opportunity.”
He studied me for a full minute. “Understood.”
“Good,” I said and clapped him on the back.
“Do you think there’s a chance my… I mean our father was murdered?”
I honestly hadn’t entertained the thought. “The coroner was convinced it was because of his love of cigars.”
“That’s almost the only thing I remember about him as a child. The scent of his cigars. I’ve hated him for so long. What he put us through. It wasn’t just about never having a decent meal or nice clothes. I loathed the man because my mother loved him so much. She fell in love with him the first time they met. The first time they made love. When they conceived me. He never apologized for what he put her through even after determining she was good enough to marry.”
“Your mother is good enough to be anything she wants and you’re very lucky to have her.”
I had a feeling he sensed my compliments were rare, any sentiment kept as thought only. I wasn’t a warm man by anyone’s standards, but he needed to feel as if he was part of the family.
“Thank you.”
“Of course. Now, I need to ask a favor. I have an important meeting in Italy in the next couple of days and Mikhail is going with me. I need you to assume the Pakhan position until I return.”
“Won’t that piss off Mikhail?”
“He made the suggestion.” I remained quiet, allowing him to make the decision without pushing him. His eyes opened wide as he searched mine.
“Bezuslovno, moy Pakhan. YA okazhu tebe pochesti.”
Absolutely, my Pakhan. I will bestow you with honor.
“Just don’t burn the place down while I’m gone. If you do, there will be hell to pay.” As I grinned, he took a deep breath.
I could already feel the wolves barely being held at bay. They were hungry for blood.
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