Chapter 1 - Parker

The wind bit through my jacket as I walked past the 24/7 laundromat located right off campus. Once again, I had another late night at the hospital going over my case reports, and it didn't seem like things were going to get any easier anytime soon. Ah, the joys of medical school.

I couldn't honestly say I was upset, though. I was so overjoyed to be out of that house, away from him. Ever since Mom passed, all I"ve wanted to do is devote my life to helping those in need, especially the sick.

Exhaustion was a thing, however, and I pulled my coat closer around myself as I hurried back to the crummy student apartment I was now calling home. Even with paper-thin walls and a mattress made out of high-grade Styrofoam, it was better than…back there.

A flash of memory cut through the haze of walking the familiar streets, and I remembered the empty room I had left behind. Cluttered with a few relics from my less-than-stellar childhood, I'd closed up the door that sat on one rusty hinge and never looked back. Sayonara, shit hole.

As I turned the corner, the strong Chicago wind roared in my ears. Only one block away from my door, I felt an urgent need to get inside immediately. The street lamps lit my path, but this area always made me anxious. I knew that only residents of the nearby apartments would be walking or loitering around here, but it was impossible to tell who belonged there or not, so seeing someone hanging around put me on edge.

I readied my keys in my grip, sticking them through my fingers in case I needed to punch someone and run. Not that it would do any good, I imagined. I wasn't exactly a walking powerhouse. Try a five-foot-nothing med school chick in second-hand sneakers.

But my apartment door was up ahead, I rushed across the narrow strip of pavement that sliced through the unkempt patch of grass towards the steps. Practically running up them, I tucked my hair behind my ear as I lined up my key with the lock.

Ring, ring, ring.

Jumping, I nearly threw my keys through the door window. It was my cell, so I hastily reached into my bag for it and swiped to answer without even checking the caller ID. Big mistake.

"Hello?"

"Parker, where on earth are you? You can't just close up your room and not answer my calls for months!"

Shit. Dear old dad had finally made it through to me.

"I'm not dealing with this, Dad. I'm attending school as an adult, for Christ's sake. I don't have to stay with you. I don't want to! Stop calling me!"

There was a shuffle on the line right as I was about to swipe that beautiful red end button, and his voice hit my ear, stopping me.

"Don't you hang up on me, Parker Kozlovsky!" Familiar fear slithered down my spine, and my fingers trembled. I need to hang up. Just hang up.

"You belong with your family. With me."

Nausea pulled at my gut as I slumped against the door. Why couldn't I just stop listening to him?

"No, Dad. I don't—"

"We have a business to discuss, you and me. You can feel however you want, go to that fucking school, but you're going to listen to me because what I have to say affects us both."

"I…" My voice was thin and reedy, and I cleared my throat. "I'm not doing this, Dad. I don't want anything to do with your loan sharking bullshit. Leave me out of this."

Frustration gnawed so hard inside me that I thought it might snap my bones. I wanted to scream. I wanted to make a scene right here in front of my door. But I knew it wouldn't do any good. Dad was miles away, continuing to con people into using him instead of a bank, and I…I just couldn't go back there—I wouldn't.

"Parker, you can't—"

That was it.

"Actually, Dad. I can. I never want to hear from you again. You've ruined my life every damn day since Mom died, and I won't put up with your shit anymore. You treat me like your own personal trash can, kicking me around and throwing your garbage down my throat. Hell, you probably don't even remember what you've done because you're so fucking drunk all the time. Well, I do and I have the bruises to remind me. So, get fucked asshole."

I hung up, tossing my phone back in my bag, before I could hear another word from my sleazy, abusive father. But an odd joy filtered through the rage. I'd done it. I'd actually stood up to the jerk for harassing me and treating me like shit. I'd finally cut ties for good, and I was getting out from under his shadow.

Sticking my key in the lock and giving it a satisfied click, I stepped inside the apartment and closed things up behind me. I gazed around the simple white room, a wide grin spreading across my face. The flimsy blinds and worn linoleum floor were like works of art to me, filling me with joy and appreciation.

The house was quiet since I lived alone. Thank you, student housing, for agreeing to let me have a single. I shucked my jacket on the chair near the door, kicking off my sneakers right at the foot of it. The thin scrubs I had on did little to protect me from the cold, so I shuffled to my bedroom at the back of the apartment to throw on some pajamas.

I had a whopping two pairs of matching PJs now, and I chose the warmer of the two, fuzzy fleece and all. They came with a matching set of socks, and I pulled them on over the white ones I was already wearing. My financial situation didn"t allow for any luxuries, so I kept the temperature in my apartment a bit lower to save on costs.

I mean, come on. Sixty-eight isn't bad, right? Ha.

It had been a long day, and as jazzed as I was for finally sticking it to the old man, my eyelids drooped as I fixed my ponytail, redoing the hair tie's loop around my curls. I wasn't ready to deal with showering and washing them again. Too much work.

Slipping beneath the scratchy blanket on my Twin XL bed, I pulled it tight around myself and closed my eyes. I didn't mind sleeping with the light on. I actually preferred it, thanks to years of childhood trauma. Thanks again, Dad. So, I settled in, ready to get some Zzzs and start the next day on a much better foot.

***

Years. We'd trusted the asshole for literal years, and he'd been skimming off the top of his cut the entire time. Rage surged through my body like a potent poison, and I was prepared to unleash it on whoever dared fucking with the Vadim family.

"Say it again."

I growled at Pietor, and my cousin took a wise step backward. I didn't have time for this bullshit. If someone was stealing from the Vadim family, I wanted the details—now.

"Kozlovsky. Pavel Kozlovsky. He's been laundering for us. For years. Ricky got word from one of his buyers that he's been skimming. The guy said he heard Pavel going on about it in the back room when he thought no one was listening. He didn't know Ricky was ours."

I cracked my knuckles as my jaw instinctively clenched. Breathing around the desire to snap Pietor in half for just being there, I smoothed my thumb across the IV tattooed onto my thumb.

"Pavel. He's the asshole the family is looking to replace, yeah?"

Pietor nodded. "Sergey wants him out. There's an in-house connection we can use to take care of the money."

With a sigh, I took a sip of the whiskey sitting on my desk. The aged scotch slipped down my throat with a pleasant burn, and I set the crystal glass back down on the leather desk blotter.

"Get Ricky work. I want him on other shit like this." I adjusted in the heavy wood chair in my office. The new digs in the Chicago Vadim area were treating me nicely.

"And Pavel?" Pietor raised his brows at me.

"We're going to set an example." I stood, straightening my Armani suit as I buttoned my jacket once more. "If you take from the Vadim family, you pay for it. In spades."

I directed the remaining men in my office to form up, get their required pieces, and meet me in the garage to pay Pavel a little visit. As they each took their assignment and got ready, I strolled with Pietor to the Escalade I usually used for fieldwork. The trunk was big, the windows were heavily tinted and bulletproof, and we'd ensure that it could hold a body perfectly.

"Message the heads that I'm dealing with this," I said to Pietor as I stepped up and into the large back seat of the car. "And get our cleaners on standby."

"Of course, Lev."

When my delightful crew of thugs had their arms, they climbed into the car with me, and we took off for Pavel's hovel of an office downtown. Upon arrival, the "Kozlovsky Loan Office" was dark, the interior lights dimmed, and no cars were parked out front or in the back, according to my men.

"Pull around back and clear the scene so I can get in. I want this quiet and fast. Got it?"

The car resounded with a chorus of "yes, sir"s. Still, time and the appearance of an easy mark didn't reduce my anger. This wad of trash had messed with the family and our money. There was one thing that I just couldn't stand above everything else—someone who lied to your face.

But matters were growing in Chicago, the hold the Vadim's had over the town expanding, and that's why I'd been called in from New York. Obviously, I didn't hesitate. You don't turn your back on family, and you never turn down a promotion.

One of my men poked his head in the car. "All clear, boss. We're ready for you. Pavel is secured."

"Perfect."

I slipped from the car in a wide stride, taking the large step down easily. As I walked across the short distance from my car to the back entrance to the building, I picked up the distinct smell of piss and garbage in the wind. Classy.

Pavel"s business was just as unremarkable inside as it appeared on the outside. Cardboard-like walls covered in peeling wallpaper from the 70s and matted brown carpet greeted me.

Pietor nodded at me, gesturing down the hall to the right. I trusted Pietor with this job because I trusted him with my life. As another cousin in the Vadim family, we'd grown up together, practically trading pacifiers. Even if he was well below me in rank, I knew I could depend on the guy, and he knew I'd pull him along my way to bigger and better things.

When I got inside the tight office of one Pavel Kozlovsky, another of my men had him controlled to a chair, pinning him there with a gun leveled at his back and his arms tied down.

"Pavel, Pavel, Pavel. How've you been? Got any exciting plans for the weekend?"

He clammed up, a nervous sweat dripping from his brow as I slid off my suit jacket and draped it gently across the back of a chair.

"Don't hold out on me, Pavel. I want to know." I began unbuttoning my sleeves, rolling up the pristine white fabric to the elbow. "I mean, you must have something nice planned…with all that money you took from the Vadims."

The guy's eyes flared before they landed on my arms, raking across the black tattoos that crawled up my skin. I could see him track the bottom portion of the rosary I had on my right, the cross of it just reaching the top of my hand. His eyebrows shot up again as he took in the skeletal form I had in place of a Jesus on the crucifix.

"I…I…" He stammered, and I was already over this shit.

Standing in front of him, I leaned over, holding his eyes as I put my hands on either of his shoulders.

"Patience, Pavel, is not one of my strong suits. So, you're going to tell me how much you took, down to the last penny, and then you're going to tell me how you're going to pay it back. You got that?"

His attention abruptly snapped off the image, like he finally realized he was standing before an actual person who was very likely going to kill him.

"I…I…"

"Pavel." I raised my inflection, balling my right hand into a fist. "Come on now."

"I don't have anything!" His frenzied stare held onto my face, and I could see the glassy moisture of tears coating his eyes.

"Oh, I'm sure you can get some."

"I can't! I swear!" A sob tore free, and I rolled my eyes. "I ain't got a dime to my name. I've lost it all!"

Growling low, I let my hand swing free, clocking the asshole right in the jaw with a solid jab that knocked his head back.

"Not what I want to hear, Pavel!" I let him have another from my left. "Where's our money?!"

He screamed as the pain rocked his face, the crack of his nose blending into the yells.

"I swear." Pavel tried to catch his breath, slurring around the blood in his mouth. "I have nothing. I lost it all!"

I read people damn well, better than most in my family even, and this fucker wasn't lying. Dammit.

Giving him two more solid punches, this time to the gut, I stood straight, turning my back on the guy. Death wasn't as good as money, but at least it sent a message. I palmed the gun that Pietor held out to me, spinning back to face Pavel with an impassive expression.

"Well, then I guess—"

"My daughter! Take my daughter!"