Chapter Seven

Ilya

F or the past few days Brooke dominated my thoughts. Specifically, her response to me. The anger and her seeming hatred baffled me. Eight years had passed, and I understood a certain amount of anger after the way I'd left her, especially after that incredible night we'd spent together. But hatred didn't make sense, and I was determined to get to the bottom of it, sure there was some misunderstanding that I was unaware of causing her wild emotions. Because surely after eight years even if she had been angry at me, then that anger would have waned.

I comforted myself with the fact that her hatred still burned intensely, which meant, beneath that, she still cared. That meant there was still a chance to get to know her again. At least once a week I would get time with her, and I would make the most of it.

No woman in all the years since Brooke had ever interested me the way she had. Sure, I'd fucked plenty of beautiful women. They were difficult to escape when you were part of the Kuznetsov bratva. The pussy came easily and willingly, which was good when I needed to get my dick wet, but they were nothing to bother with out of the bedroom. Brooke was a different woman altogether.

Even now, I was curious about her. What had she been up to for the past eight years? Why was she a bookkeeper? There were so many things I wanted to know about her, things I could have found easily by having one of my security guys look into her, but that wasn't how I wanted to do things with Brooke. I wanted—no—I needed her to share the details of her life with me, and she would. As soon as we got to the bottom of why she hated me.

A knock sounded on the office door at Club Envy, and a second later Dmitri appeared with a wary expression on his face.

I groaned and pushed away from my desk. "What is it now?" As much as I loved having my own territory and running shit the way I liked to run it, there was a constant stream of bullshit that tested my patience. "Well?"

"Nothing bad. There's a bro here who has a new brand of vodka he'd like to sell here."

"Vodka?" I barked out a laugh and rolled my eyes. "This bro is American?"

Dmitri nodded. "Very American," he replied in a horrible attempt at an American accent.

I glanced at the spreadsheet I was ignoring in favor of obsessing over Brooke and then back at Dmitri with a shrug. "What the hell? If nothing else, we'll get to laugh over horrible American vodka." I wasn't in the market for a new alcohol distributor, but if the vodka was good, which it wouldn't be, I would give it a shot. "Let's hear him out."

Dmitri rolled his eyes. "You are the boss."

I smiled. "Don't you forget it, Dmitri."

A blond man with skin too tan and teeth too white, smiled broadly when he saw me approach. He stood and smoothed down his expensive black blazer that capped off an outfit that made him look as if he was trying too hard to look wealthy. And successful. "Mr. Kuznetsov! Bradley Newlander from New Found Beverages." He extended his hand, and I accepted it without a smile. "Thank you for taking time to meet with me."

"Of course." I found his handshake limp and too moist, which explained the boisterous greeting and too bright smile. "You make vodka?"

He smiled, not at all offended. "Me? No, I'm just a drinker of the stuff. But my company has a new vodka that I think a man of your tastes can appreciate, and getting our bottles in here would be one hell of a coup for me."

I studied Bradley closely. He said all of the right things, but something about him didn't ring true, and it wasn't just that he was a salesman. "And what do you know of my tastes, Mr. Newlander?"

He blinked quickly and cast a confused look at Dmitri. "I don't mean to presume, but the story in New York Underground mentioned your penthouse apartment decorated with the very best that luxury has to offer, the exclusivity of the nightclubs and gaming rooms. I just meant you seem to like quality, which I assure you Brotherhood Vodka is." A nervous sigh rushed out, which proved Bradley was smarter than he looked.

Brotherhood Vodka had a nice ring to it, which I was sure had a lot to do with why he'd come to me, but my mind was focused on something else. "What story?" My gaze shot to Dmitri first and then a visibly frightened Bradley.

It was the vodka salesman who spoke. "It's how I knew where to find you," he said, and handed me his phone. "It's a pretty extensive piece, Mr. Kuznetsov. They cover your penthouse furnishings, your businesses here in the city, and even some, um, speculation about other activities." He held his hands up at my thunderous expression. "Not my words. It's in there," he pointed to his phone.

I gripped his phone so tight I worried I might crack it, so I slammed it on the bar. "Let me taste your vodka, then."

His expression brightened while Dmitri grunted beside me. He wasn't happy with the idea of stocking anything other than Russian vodka, but my goal was to make money. Period. "May I?" He motioned to the bar.

"Why not?" I watched as he rounded the bar and poured the clear liquid over ice into two glasses, and then shook some in a shaker before he lined it all up in front of us.

"On the rocks and shaken very cold." He flashed a confident smile as if my delight was a foregone conclusion.

I looked at him, "Pour yourself one too."

Bradley looked confused.

"It is bad manners to refuse a toast." It was even worse manners to try and poison someone. Maybe I was being cautious, but you don't get to my position by being trusting.

The American poured out another glass.

"If you are concerned about drinking and driving, I shall ensure that you get back to wherever you are staying safely."

I waited for him to take a drink, before I tasted mine. I sipped the one with the ice first. It was good slightly cold. "Is that a hint of lemongrass I taste?'

"Excellent palate, Mr. Kuznetsov. It's supposed to make the vodka taste more refreshing. I can't taste it myself, my palate isn't very sophisticated, but what do you think of it?"

If he was trying to flatter me, it wasn't working. Before I answered, I tried the shaken one. "Better. It's good." It was damn good, in fact. The taste was clean, which meant proper distillation, and it was strong, which was a good way to get people to spend more money. "Impressive."

"Yeah?" His surprise was a put on that I was sure worked for him. Usually.

"Do not feign surprise with me. It is off putting."

Bradley smiled. "Noted. It is good vodka, but when you come from the land of vodka, nothing can be guaranteed."

"Good answer." I looked to Dmitri, who wore a fierce scowl. "You like it."

He knocked back the other glass and grunted. "It's good." That was high praise from my old friend.

"Let's start with a case and see how it sells. If it does well, we can talk about it in a week. If not, wait for my call."

With a triumphant grin, Bradley rushed from the club and returned with a case of Brotherhood Vodka. "We can offer up bottle girls for opening weekend if you'd like."

The idea of employees I hadn't vetted coming in didn't sit well with me. I couldn't have strangers wandering around my club. I inspected the bottles and their seals to ensure nothing had been tampered with. "I don't think that will be necessary."

After more niceties, Bradley Newlander was gone.

"Fuck," Dmitri groaned. "That vodka is delicious."

I laughed. "Isn't it?"

"Fucking bro ," he mumbled.

"Also true. But it is good, and people will pay a premium for it, so let's focus on opening night. Okay?"

"Whatever you say," he replied with a grunt before he poured another shot of the open bottle Bradley left behind. "Let's do this."