Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Arlo

P etrov wants to meet you tonight at Sdat'sya . Midnight. Sharp.

That was the text I'd gotten an hour ago, and as I pulled my car to the side parking of Sdat'sya , I checked the clock on the dashboard. Ten minutes until midnight.

When Leonid wanted to meet you personally, it was never a good thing. He always wanted something. Always tried to squeeze the last drop of blood from your body before he tossed your corpse aside.

And I knew what this was about. I knew Leonid was going to try to talk me into joining the Bratva instead of being a free agent—a mercenary even—with the Ruin. He'd tried before, but with men like him, they were never satisfied if they didn't get exactly what they wanted.

Leonid was one persistent bastard.

I made my way toward the front entrance, pulled the heavy black door open, and immediately heard the soft sounds of traditional Russian music playing overhead. There was a Bratva soldier situated in the corner of the room, his long leather jacket concealing the no doubt numerous guns and knives he had attached to his body underneath.

This front entrance room was nothing but the first layer of Sdat'sya . It was the makeup before you got to the meat and heart of what this establishment really was.

There was a bar across from me, a few of the clientele lounging on the dark brown leather couches situated around the room. The majority of the people were in the other rooms, each one blocked off from prying eyes and ears, all of them housing a powerful, influential, and wealthy clientele. This wasn't just a bar; it was a place where a lot of the Bratva and powerful associates and allies who worked for and with them made deals, talked business, and used the amenities the Desolation Bratva had in abundance.

Drugs, booze, and women.

Behind the red and blacklight illuminated bar was a saying a lot of Leonid Petrov's men lived by.

Мы грешим, так как бы беспечны и не думаем об этом

W e sin because we're careless, and we don't think about it. Or so it was translated loosely into English. But the truth was, that was a lie. Anyone involved in our world knew what the fuck they were doing. They were aware of their "sins," ones they didn't even see as such because the fuckers got off on giving pain to others. Like me. Like anyone associated with the Ruin.

No one bothered me. No one tried to stop me. Some even looked at me with clear fear and hesitancy in their eyes. Anyone who worked at Sdat'sya was part of the Ruin and therefore knew exactly who I was. They'd seen me at Yama, watched me destroy my opponents. They knew my reputation… the fact that I was a father killer. I wore that badge of patricide like a fucking honor.

I passed the bar and made my way down the hall. There was a Bratva soldier standing at the end by the elevator. He straightened from the wall and gave me a nod of acknowledgment. He said nothing as he hit the button for the elevator to go upstairs, and a second later the elevator doors opened.

I stepped inside, the soldier following me in. Once we were ascending, I sorted through what would happen tonight. The one other time I had personally spoken with Leonid was right after I'd killed my father. He wanted me to join the Bratva then. I'd professionally declined. He hadn't pressed it, but I knew men like him. I knew him specifically. The way he worked, the things he demanded. How he expected the world to fall at his feet. And for the most part, it did.

But I wasn't like most of the world. I'd never submit to any man.

Leonid Petrov was dangerous and violent. He was a sociopath who killed simply because it was Sunday or he'd just finished a family meal. And his two sons, Dmitry and Nikolai, followed perfectly in his footsteps. Baby psychopaths in the fucking making.

"He's in his office, waiting for you," the soldier said in Russian.

I headed toward Leonid's office, passing closed doors that led to private rooms for his clientele. There was a soldier standing off to the side beside Leonid's office. He gave me a nod before turning to open the door for me.

I stepped inside and instantly took in the surroundings. You had to know the layout of any place to be prepared. I saw Dmitry and Nikolai sitting on the couch in front of the fire. Dmitry, eldest son to Leonid and heir to the Desolation Bratva underworld empire, watched me with the same sociopathic glint in his eyes I knew was reflected back from mine. I'd heard the stories of Dmitry, of his initiation, of how he'd slaughtered five men with brutal clarity and force that had even momentarily impressed me. He'd be the perfect Pakhan one day, no doubt, a leader who made Satan cower in the dark.

Nikolai, Petrov's youngest son, let a slow, sardonic grin spread across his face. He might have been the "lighter" of the two in terms of brutality, but his easygoing attitude and what others might see as "soft" was nothing but a twisted facade of a man who I knew had once torn off the finger- and toenails of a poor bastard who'd cut him off in traffic.

Nikolai didn't bother with the glass for his alcohol and instead held up the whiskey bottle and tipped it in my direction in greeting before giving me a wink as he brought it to his lips and took a long drink.

Leonid was in the middle of a conversation on his cell phone. My shoulders tensed and my fingers twitched to go for my gun just being in the same room with the bastard.

Once he was off the phone, he leaned back and clasped his hands to rest them on top of his abdomen. He gave me a slow smile, one that was anything but pleasant. The fucker didn't know happiness, not if it didn't involve slitting someone's throat and bathing in their blood.

Dmitry and Nikolai started a conversation with each other, the Russian too low for me to hear. Leonid rose and walked around his desk before leaning against the edge and staring at me with dark, unflinching eyes.

"I wanted to personally thank you for handling the… little issue we had the other night with Maksim." Leonid's words had his sons' conversation stopping. Although I kept my gaze on the Pakhan, I sensed his sons standing and walking toward him before they flanked their father. Their expressions were the same stony composure as the leader of the Bratva.

"No thanks needed," I said, focusing on Leonid. The other two little shits not something I was afraid of. "It's what I do."

Leonid inclined his head in agreement. "You can't understand how hard it was for me not to just dispose of that trash myself." He took his hands out of his pocket and smoothed them over his tie, one that was silk and colored bloodred, the same shade that seeped out of the hundred different wounds on the man who'd offended Leonid. "But you see, it wouldn't look good for me in our business. We don't deal with that messy side of things." He grinned and held his hands out. "Bad for business, you understand. We need to keep up appearances."

I wasn't sure why he was telling me any of this. He'd taken a fucking melon baller to the poor fuck's eyes. His fingers had been cut off and part of his scalp torn from his skull. Not to mention the other twenty brutal acts I'd noticed covering his body. Or missing from it. And all because the bastard had looked at Leonid's eighteen-year-old daughter. His precious Tatiana.

Although Leonid and his sons could've been called psychotic, and that would've been an understatement, I was pretty sure the fucker who had his life ended pretty damn violently had probably done more than just looked .

The kind of death the man had gotten would have been because of an act of aggression toward her, an insult whispered in her direction, or even an obscene look. The fucker probably hit on Tatiana.

His dick had still been intact—or so I'd unfortunately noticed, since he'd been naked when I'd been dispatched to get rid of the body—so I knew he hadn't actually touched Tatiana. If the poor bastard had, they would've cut his cock off and shoved it in his mouth to make a point.

I waited for Leonid to say what else he wanted. The real reason he'd called me here tonight wasn't to give me personal thanks for the job I'd done.

"Come, have a drink with me."

Before I could've said anything—not that I would've declined the invitation, which would've been in bad form—Leonid and his sons were walking past me and out the door. I followed the pack out of his office, the soldier coming up behind me as we made our way toward one of the elite rooms. On the door, a beautiful script in Russian was written in gold leaf.

Aнастасия . Anastasia.

The double doors swung open as if on their own, and I followed Leonid inside. He headed straight toward the bar that stretched along the entire back wall, the decor in Anastasia all black-lacquered and golden accents.

I noticed a drunk and boisterous man off to the side, his Bratva tattoos visible on his arms deeming him a high ranking member. His voice was slurred as he shouted in Russian at the sex workers who'd been brought in as entertainment. His words were crude and sexual, and it was clear by his heavy-handed intoxication that he was probably a violent drunk.

I curled my lip in disgust as he started manhandling one of the women, her high-pitched giggle practiced if not forced.

There were a handful of other Russian men in the room, their overly excited and loud voices, the illegal cigars they smoked, and the constantly filled glasses of liquor creating a dangerous, sloppy atmosphere. Too much groping, damn near fucking, and a lot of money being exchanged for "extras."

The furniture was set up in several loose circles of couches and chairs, men sitting on the leather with barely dressed women perched on their laps. An elaborate crystal chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, prisms of light cutting across the room and giving an almost hazy quality to the surroundings.

A fire roared between two large, dark couches, the flickering, low light casting shadows but unable to hide the debauchery currently taking place. Women were starting to become half-dressed as their breasts were exposed, hands disappearing into laps and through open flies and unbuttoned slacks.

The smell of Cuban cigar smoke filled the air, the low, sexually laced female laughter sounding in my ears. When we were at the bar, I kept my body sideways so I could see the entire room and have the entrance in sight. I kept my right hand free in case I needed it to pull my gun out. And then I just stared at Leonid as he ordered four glasses of whiskey. As the drinks were being filled, Leonid gave me another sharklike grin, his teeth white and straight, his incisors a little too sharp.

"I was discussing with my sons the tension rising within the Bratva and Cosa Nostra, as well as with the 'Ndrangheta, who have just claimed territory in the west. Pressure is very high right now, many deaths as territories are being fought over."

I didn't say anything. The bartender slid the drinks in front of us. I took mine, keeping my eyes on Leonid, and brought it to my mouth.

He grabbed his glass and tipped it in my direction before he brought it to his mouth and took a slow drink of the amber-colored liquid. I followed suit. His sons stood behind him like watchful shadows, their dark gazes locked on me as if they saw me as a threat. They were smart in that regard.

But I had no intentions of ending Leonid tonight, even if I thought he was a slimy fucker and the Bratva could do with a stronger Pakhan, one who was more rational and less psychotic.

As he'd said before… it would be bad for business.

"Because of the mounting violence," he said and set his glass down on the bar, his fingers staying wrapped around the crystal, "I'm going to need a powerful army behind me."

"The Bratva is stronger than ever," I replied.

"It is, but you and I both know how easily that can splinter before breaking irrevocably." He glanced around the room, but not once did I take my focus from him. "And you and I have a history, do we not?" He stared into my eyes once more.

I set my glass down then, the soft clank it made on the polished wood seeming overly loud at that moment.

"You killing your father, a traitor among the Bratva, the same man who had been going behind our backs and selling information to the Italian mob, showed me how loyal you are, Arlo. I want you on our side fully. I need the most powerful at my back, the strongest men as my weapons." He held his hands out, palms up, his current grin slow and satisfied as if he were a cat who'd just caught the mouse. "Being a free agent doesn't and won't offer you the safety and stability the Bratva can."

"I don't need protection. I create my own." I noticed a slight tick under Leonid's smooth cheek because I pointed out the truth. "I like where I'm at, Pakhan. I don't wish to change anything." The shit my father had put me through, the fact that he'd killed Sasha, my mother, and the blood and bodies I'd had to wade through in order to reach the surface, wasn't anything I'd ever do again.

I got to a point in my life where I didn't have to work for anyone anymore. I worked for myself, had the Ruin as a conglomerate of other businesses I could choose from. My reputation and skill preceded me, and because of that, I didn't have to be tied down to one side. I could accept or turn down anything I wanted. I wouldn't get that with Leonid. He'd expect complete obedience and submission, no questions asked. A loyal dog.

And as I said those words, I could see on Leonid's face that the pleasant facade he'd put on was slipping. The sound of men shouting " Na zdorovie " before they drank filled the sudden silence. It did nothing for the tension that was now between Leonid and me.

And then his stoic expression cracked, and he smiled, but I wasn't a fool in thinking that he would just give up on trying to bring me on to his side fully. Because a man like him, a Bratva Pakhan, was used to getting his way in all things. And if that meant he had to steal, rape, or kill to get it, he was bastard enough to do it.

Several women came out from the back, black trays in their hands, each one topped with drinks. I didn't spare them much attention, just noticed the shift and change in the air. But then everything around me stilled as the last woman emerged, her white dress standing out among the red and black of the others, her long black hair piled high on her head, the elegant line of her neck and delicate length of her spine in full view.

Every muscle in my body tightened to the point it was uncomfortable and hard to hide. This was the last place I'd ever expect to see Lina, the last place I'd ever want her to be. And when Leonid turned his attention to see what I was looking at, I knew I'd made a big fucking mistake. An interested and curious gleam entered his eyes as he noticed Lina and then slowly looked back at me.

"Gorgeous, isn't she?" he murmured in Russian, and the way he said those words told me he'd been undressing her with his eyes.

I curled one of my hands into a tight fist, my other hand flexing and relaxing with the need to draw my gun and place the end right between his fucking eyes, demanding he look away from her. He had no right to look at Lina, not when I knew all the depraved shit he was into, not when I also knew he dealt with human trafficking.

"Do you know her?" The tone of his voice told me he already knew the answer to that. I didn't bother responding. "She's got this innocence about her, one that just makes you want to do the filthiest things…" He murmured the last part, and his fucking sons chuckled.

If I'd wanted to, I could've drawn my weapon and shot all three of them before any of the other people in this room could have stopped me. Of course, I would've been shot dead right afterward, but at least Leonid and his little bastard sons would be in the ground with me.

He turned to look at me, a shit-eating grin on his face. I hated that he'd seen any kind of reaction in me, because men like him would use it to their advantage. They'd see it as a weakness. And I couldn't lie and say he was wrong.

Lina was a weakness, an addiction, and I hadn't even sampled. She made all rational thoughts leave my head, and she didn't even have to be in the same room to succeed.

Everything else faded away as I watched Lina start handing out drinks. I could feel Leonid's gaze on me, could envision the bastard smirking, as if he'd just found a chink in my carefully placed armor.

She hadn't noticed me yet as she walked around. The men eyed her like she was a piece of meat, slipping her money, leaning forward and whispering things that made her blush but also had her eyes narrowing.

She set a drink beside an old fuck, his smile wide and lewd as he ignored the half-naked woman on his lap, her breasts close enough to his mouth he could have licked them. He held out a fifty-dollar bill, a wink being added to the mix, and when she took it with a soft smile, I could see his other hand snaking out like he planned on palming her ass.

I curled my hand so tight into a fist that my nails dug into my flesh, opening up the skin, the pain feeling good. She stepped out of the way before he could touch her. The lucky bastard had just missed me mangling the appendage for daring to put his filthy fucking hands on her.

But I should fuck him up just for thinking he could touch Lina.

She fluttered around the room like a delicate hummingbird, and the entire time, all male eyes were latched on to her, as if they could smell the innocence pouring off Lina and wanted to destroy it. I understood perfectly why Leonid had picked this room for her. These men were the most powerful, the wealthiest… the ones who would pay a small fortune if a woman's virginity was up for auction.

This was also the only room Leonid came to.

I forced myself to look at him, seeing he already had a calculating expression on his face as he watched me. He saw too much, knew too much just by my reaction. And it didn't matter how much I tried—and would fail—to hide what I felt toward Lina. The fucker saw all. A man didn't become Pakhan if he didn't know how to manipulate and control… if he couldn't look at someone and see their whole story flash in front of his eyes.

And then he broke the stare and looked to the side. I followed his line of vision and watched Lina move up to the overly drunken man who stood in the corner, the one who was too handsy with the girls. The one I knew was a violent drunk just by how he carried himself. I didn't know him, but if he was in this room, he was either very powerful or was closely connected to Leonid.

I didn't miss how she eyed the drunk almost warily, her instincts telling her he wasn't a good man. He was dangerous. She handed him his glass of liquor. His eyes were hooded and glossy as he stared down at her. He was a big asshole, broad shoulders and tall. Barely any neck. He had a light sheen of sweat covering his forehead, his red-rimmed eyes zeroing in on Lina, taking in her white dress, tracing the few strands of wispy hair that framed her face.

I could imagine the scent of alcohol that came through his pores. I felt Leonid look back at me, but I couldn't take my focus off the scene in front of me. Everything else faded even more until I had tunnel vision, until everything slowed. The bastard set his drink down, and just as Lina turned to leave, he wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her forcibly back toward him so hard the tray she carried tipped out of her hands and fell to the floor, the glass that had sat atop it hitting the ground, the cup breaking and mixing with the spilled liquor.

I saw red as he slowly slid his hands up, his fingers right under her breasts. She pulled away forcibly enough that she stumbled a step forward. And then he groped her ass. I didn't realize I had been moving until I was right in front of him. He turned his attention to me, his dark, thick eyebrows pulling low, as if he were fucking pissed I'd dared to interrupt what he was doing.

His mouth was moving, and I could assume he was asking me what the fuck I wanted, maybe threatening to kill me. Without taking my gaze off him, I reached out and pulled Lina away from him, could feel her looking at me, could've assumed her eyes were wide and an expression of shock covered her face.

The fucker's mouth was still moving, faster now, his anger coating his face in a red hue, his eyes narrowing, a vein popping out in his forehead from his rage.

I was aware of words spilling from my mouth and directed toward Lina. Words that would have been close to "Stay close to me. Everything will be okay." But my mind was too hazy with anger and possessiveness to grasp any kind of sanity right now or to make sure I'd even said the words out loud.

And then I felt a heavy weight in my hand—one of the decorative granite balls that sat on a few of the tables, the design reminiscent of the detailed work on Fabergé eggs.

I felt this low-level hum fill me as everything else blurred. I slammed the granite ball against the side of the fucker's head, and when he stumbled back, blood making a trail down his temple from the crack to his skull, I grabbed his wrist, slammed it against the wall, and twisted his arm so his palm was flush with the golden-threaded damask wallpaper. I brought the stone down on the center of his hand so hard I could hear the crack of bone splintering under the force and pushing through the buzz in my head. I slammed it on his hand again and again until all I saw was blood and broken bone, until all I tasted was the coppery tang coating my tongue, until I felt the warmth on my neck and covering my hands.

His mouth was wide, and I could imagine he was screaming right now, but I only heard the rush in my ears. I felt people closing in, but no one touched me, no one stopped me.

I let go of his hand, and he went to grab it with his uninjured one, maybe to cradle the gnarled appendage to his chest. I stopped him by grabbing his thick wrist and proceeded to do the same to that one, using so much force the bone became nothing but splinters and powder.

I let go of him and took a step back, letting the granite ball fall from my grasp. I felt the vibrations travel from my feet up my legs from the impact of it hitting the floor. The bastard fell to his knees and kept his arms close to his chest, his hands unrecognizable for how badly I'd destroyed them.

Now the fucker couldn't touch any female.

He can't touch what's mine.

I found myself looking at Lina, that powerful, heady buzz moving through my body, a high I always felt when the violence took over. She stood beside me with shock reflected on her face. Eyes huge, more white than blue and black. Pink lips parted. Skin so pale she looked like a porcelain doll.

I reached out and smoothed my thumb along her cheek, wiping away the splatter of blood that marred her perfect skin after I broke the fucker's hands. For her. That blood smeared along her cheek, like a beautifully violent stroke of a brush.

I hadn't admitted it before, hadn't let it really grow inside me until this very moment, but as I stared into Lina's horrified eyes, I knew without a doubt I'd burn Desolation—the entire fucking world—if it meant having her as mine.

Because I'd never let her go, and the look in her eyes told me she realized it too.