24. Matvey

24

MATVEY

The Jupiter Hotels office building is on the other side of Manhattan. This is intentional: I don't mix business with pleasure. What I do mix business with is more business, the kind that can't be conducted in the light of day.

Unless you're me, that is.

I stride into the conference room on the uppermost floor of the office building. As I walk by, secretaries scramble to pick up documents, make themselves look busy. I make a mental note to let one go by the end of the day, so they won't need to pretend any longer.

Yuri and Grisha flank me as I enter, always one step behind. They sit at my sides near the head of the long table.

Around us, the vory have already gathered.

Vor. That title is the greatest honor, second only to mine: pakhan. Being a vor means being one of the heads of the Bratva hydra, with the power to command legions. And, of course, serve the pakhan directly.

"Gentlemen," I greet curtly. None of us has time to waste on pleasantries, least of all me. "Let's begin."

It's the usual signal. Around me, everybody straightens. Once I push down the first chip, the others will fall accordingly.

"Araes Inc. has shown a 43.25% quarterly growth," the first voice says. It's Ivan, the highest ranking among them. He's the one who opens the dance: the subsidiary company he's in charge of, Araes, is a leading force in the firearms industry, and as such, brings in the big bucks. All perfectly legal and above board—unless you stumble by the warehouse on the third Friday night of the month, when our friends from the African coast come pay us a visit with presents aplenty.

I like letting Ivan go first. Rank aside, he always knows how to put the fear of God in the others: Araes is the North Star. And everyone, with no exception, will stew with envy at yet another incomparable report.

Competition—that's the key. If you want anything out of these savages other than the bare minimum, there's only one way to get it.

Pit them against each other.

Predictably, the room fills with awkward coughs. A few murmured words of congratulations, a few respectful nods. On the inside, however, everyone's seething.

Good. Stoke that fire. Use it.

Next up, Gora makes his report. To him, I entrusted Ceresial Green: a whole foods and supplements producer that makes us millions. The environment isn't particularly happy with us, but the vegans sure are.

12% growth, as expected.

It goes on like this for a while: M-Nerv, academic publishing, 9%. Hestiana Hosts, real estate, 11.5%. P.L.U.T.O., funeral services franchise, 14%.

After that, I zone out.

It's not that I'm uninterested. This is my empire, my creations. Of course I want to know how much money they're making me. If any heads need to roll, and which ones.

But today, I can't make myself focus.

"Boring," Stanislav says—or at least that's what I hear. "Boring, boring, boring." He's probably talking numbers about Venus Lounges, but I can't make myself give a shit.

There's only one person on my mind.

I look at the long conference room table and I can see her, spread out over the papers, dress undone and legs parted to beckon me in. Her gorgeous belly jutting out, filled with me and only me. A claim for everyone to see—and oh, how I'd claim her again in an instant. Right here, right now, in front of the whole world.

I'd rise from my chair, lifting her ankles to hook over my shoulders. I'd feast on her, every drop of her juices, until she's crying for it. Begging.

Then I'd take my rock-hard cock out and spear her open. I wouldn't care if anyone was watching; better, even. Let there be an audience to testify. Let them see exactly who April Flowers belongs to.

Who her body belongs to, that is.

That's the crux of the matter: I don't care about relationships. I don't want them. Never have, never will. It's why I agreed to a political marriage in the first place—how else would I have done it? Yuri may get all sentimental about it, but I never have. Love isn't for me. Trust isn't for me.

Almost everyone I ever trusted has either betrayed me or died.

But this thing with April isn't love. It's lust , pure and simple. The most common of all sins. And, unfortunately, I'm not immune to cliché.

My mind flies back to last night. It's like it never left, really. Mentally, I'm still there: my hands over her breasts, my tongue between her thighs.

So what if I'm in lust with her?

Really, she has no one to blame but herself. If she didn't want me to ravage her, she shouldn't have talked back to me. Shouldn't have made herself into the only type of woman I can't say no to: rebellious, drop-dead gorgeous, and made to be fucked into oblivion.

It's no wonder I lost my head. If I hadn't regained my senses, I would've fucked her until dawn.

But then she said, Stay.

And that's the one thing I cannot do.

"Matvey?" Yuri calls to me, leaning over slightly. I blink back to the present.

The vory are giving me concerned looks from around the table, but no one dares say a word. Good. I'm not in the mood to make up excuses. If anybody asked, I'd tell them the truth here and now: I haven't heard a single word you said because I was busy picturing the seamstress leaking all over your papers.

Alas, nobody asks.

"It seems like this quarter went really well," Grisha pipes up from his seat. "All-around growth, no issues. Well done."

"Yes," I quickly agree, clearing my throat. "Good job, everyone."

The looks don't stop, but a few nods come my way, acknowledging the praise. It's a rare gift—better if they make it last.

Finally, a voice rings out. " Moy pakhan. "

I lift my gaze. Ivan is sitting on the edge of his chair, fingers drumming on the dark glass table the way they always do when he's got a question on his mind. Out of all my vory , Ivan is the only one who's never given me problems.

I have a sickening feeling that that's about to change.

"The D.C. acquisition. Should we move forward?" he asks at last, cutting through the chase.

I appreciate how direct he is. I've never been a fan of mental gymnastics, and Ivan never struck me as the type, either. I've never known my grandfather, the original founder of the Groza Bratva, but if he was anything like me, he wouldn't have wanted his men to beat around the bush either.

"Of course," I answer. "I don't see a reason to delay it."

Some of the vory exchange uneasy looks. "It's just," Gora tries, "with the wedding…"

"The wedding will proceed as planned."

More whispering. What is this: lunch break at the kindergarten? "We thought, after what happened…"

"You don't need to think . We agreed a long time ago that I'd be the one to do that for the rest of us." I straighten myself, silencing their inquisitive gazes with a single glance. "All you need to do is act."

"It'd be helpful," Stanislav cuts in, "if we knew why we were doing it, sir. This whole acquisition has been shrouded in mystery ever since it began." A few approving nods. "If we knew what you were looking for?—"

" I know what I'm looking for," I interrupt, rising from my chair. "It's that building. Get it done."

Everybody takes the hint. They stand up, nodding their heads in respect. "Yes, moy pakhan. "

"Good. I'll see you next month."

They file out. One by one, until it's only me and my inner circle remaining.

It's Yuri who speaks first. "You shouldn't talk to them like that."

"Why not?" I retort. "They're my men."

"They're your top men," Grisha corrects gently. "And they matter. If you treat them like they don't, they'll get fed up eventually."

I look from one to the other. "Christ, you're creepy when you gang up. Can't you go back to bickering like an old married couple?"

"He's old enough to marry? I didn't notice," Grisha taunts, earning a scowl from Yuri.

"Don't you have a bullet to test?" Yuri retorts acidly. "Or a bingo game to host?"

Good. World order's restored. "Alright, break it up; I changed my mind. Grisha, you go back to the hotel. Yuri, with me."

Grisha gives a courteous half-bow and leaves, but not before pinching Yuri's cheek, to which Yuri responds by trying to bite his finger off, but that's to be expected.

Afterwards, to my growing surprise, Yuri says, "He's not wrong, you know."

I turn. "Alright, who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

"I'm just saying," Yuri insists. "The vory matter."

"The vory don't matter," I spit back as we head for the exit. "They're not blood. That's what matters. And that's you and me, Yura—no one else."

Yuri falls silent next to me. I get into the elevator and listen to my own words echoing in my head. No one else.

For now, anyway.