Chapter 1: Roman

My shiny black shoes clicked against the linoleum floor as I walked through the hospital corridor. The air was filled with the smell of antiseptic and disinfectants. A hand was tucked in the pocket of my plain and impeccably tailored black pants as I navigated the hallway.

The Tarasov Bratva had occupied a section of the hospital’s sixth floor, and no one that wasn't family or friend was allowed up there. The huge men in black suits slightly bowed their heads as I approached the elevator with Boris Smirnov by my side.

Boris was my right-hand man, a ruthless, cold-blooded killer who answered to no one but me. He was a little taller than I was, with more ink on his skin than a Chicago newspaper's Sunday edition. The man's eyes were cold, dark, and hollow, and he wore a signature frown that accentuated his ruggedness. Boris limped when he walked; however, it was almost undetectable unless one looked closely. But the aura he exuded never left room for people to look at him more than once. The man was a scary bastard with a wrecking ball for a voice that always crushed spirits before his fists shattered bones.

Just like the tats on my body, Boris's told the story of each soul he'd sent to hell.

Boris was called “The Bull,” a nickname he earned after single-handedly taking down a mindless, raging Spanish Fighting Bull in an underground tournament. The monster's horns were as long as Boris's arms, yet he somehow managed to grasp them after a long wrestle. He'd held on tight before snapping the beast's neck with a sickening crack. However, his victory came at a cost—his left leg. The bull's horn had dislocated his bone during the fight, hence the reason he limped while working.

But as mindless as he was, he was still my most trusted enforcer, and he'd proven his loyalty countless times.

One of the men manning the elevator pushed a button, and the door slid open with a soft ding. Boris and I stepped inside, it shut, and I pressed the button to the sixth floor.

It was a smooth, silent ascension, and when we arrived at our destination, we walked out of the elevator. I could feel their gazes on me even before I jerked my head off the floor. The security was tight up here, and all eyes had shifted to the elevator door as the guards subtly reached for their weapons.

The moment they realized who I was, they stood at ease, lowering their guard and also their heads in respect. As I walked through the corridor, my expression stern—devoid of any emotions—I toiled with my cufflinks, my eyes fixed on the ward ahead of me.

I halted in front of the closed door and turned to Boris. “Wait here.”

He nodded, his hands crossed in front of him as he backed the ward, his attention focused across the hallway.

The door creaked open, and I walked inside to find my cousin, Kostya Tarasov, sitting on a sofa by the bed, his body leaning forward. My younger brother, Afanasy, was standing by the door, his back against the wall, and across the bed, Mikhail, my cousin, stood, towering over Sierra.

Sierra Tarasov was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands holding on to her husband's with tears in her eyes.

Her husband, Artem Tarasov, the Pakhan of the Tarasov Bratva, had gotten a liver transplant. It was successful, so I couldn't understand why she was being so emotional. He was out of danger, so why was she still sobbing?

I had great respect for Artem and his wife, not just because I was obligated to, considering their position in the family, but because they and everyone else in this ward were a part of the few individuals that I cared about.

Even so, I just couldn’t rationalize her behavior. Maybe this was because the concept of love and romance was alien to me; that would explain my inability to comprehend how Sierra was feeling.

Artem was lying on the bed, his gaze fixed on her teary eyes with a faint grin playing on his lips. He was the Pakhan , the most ruthless of all of us in this room, yet he was somewhat soft and smiley around his wife. I admired them—their bond and what they shared—but that was all it was: admiration.

I was on a different path, a path devoid of love and any sort of emotion. Romance wasn't for me; I closed that chapter of my life a long time ago.

“Roman, brother.” Afanasy's gaze met with mine. “Glad you could make it.”

“Of course. It was a call I couldn't ignore.” I embraced him before looking at Kostya. “How're you doing, cousin?”

“I've been alive.” He rose to his feet and wrapped his arms around me. “Good to see you, Roman.”

My response was a faint grin and a gentle nod. Then, my eyes darted to the beautiful woman sitting beside her husband. “Sierra, how're you holding up?” I placed a consoling palm on her shoulder.

“Better now that you're all around,” she said, jerking her eyes to look at me with a subtle smile.

“ Pakhan ,” I called softly, bowing my head, my tone laced with reverence. “Feeling better?”

He coughed after attempting to laugh.

“Take it easy,” Sierra said, gently rubbing her palm over his chest.

“I feel brand new.” He chuckled, his voice faint and weak but audible. “It'll take a lot more than liver failure to put me down.”

I flashed him a subtle grin. “I don't doubt that.”

“He'll be back to smashing heads in no time; that's for sure,” said Mikhail, arms folded over his broad chest.

“Not on my watch, he's not,” the wife objected, and there was some scattered laughter in the room. “He needs some time to rest.”

“You worry too much, Sierra.” Artem squeezed her palm and turned to face me with a corny smirk. “Could you hand me a cigar?”

I knew he was trying to tease his wife, and as expected, she fell for it and cast a stern glare at me, her jaw clenching. “Do that, and I swear to God, I don't care how big you are; I will throw you out the window.”

With my hands raised defensively in the air, I backed away. Artem laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“It's not funny!” She playfully slapped his chest. “You don't need that poison in you anymore.”

“But I have a new liver,” he said amidst blissful chortles.

Her eyes narrowed, a hint of exasperation dancing in her gaze as affectionate frustration was etched in her features.

They were the perfect couple despite being from two separate worlds. Maybe that was why they were such a great match: a cruel mafia boss and a sunshine girl with zero tolerance for violence. Sometimes, I wondered how they managed to make their marriage work, but each time, the answer eluded me. I wasn't ready for a lifetime commitment to anything that wasn't the Bratva cause. I'd torn the page of love and romance from my dictionary, leaving a jagged edge that mirrored the scars on my heart. Many people thought I was cold as ice, but they were wrong. I was colder than the frost that had formed inside me.

As good as Artem and Sierra made love look like, it just wasn't for me. And the only reason I could stand being around them right now was because of the respect I had for both of them. Besides, Artem had called us all here for a reason, and none of us knew what that was yet.

He drew in a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as his eyes swept across our faces. “I know you're all wondering why I called you here. So, I'll make this quick.” He groaned, shifting uncomfortably as he sat upright with the back of his head resting on a pillow against the wall. Artem sighed, clearing his throat. “I have an important announcement to make,” he began.

The rest of us exchanged glances, each wondering what Artem had in mind.

He continued, “With my recovery period stretching to two months, I won't be able to do much as the Pakhan .” Artem looked at our curious faces for a moment. “So, someone needs to take my place for the time being, at least until I'm fully recovered.”

Afanasy sighed and stepped forward, his confidence enveloping the room. “Alright, alright. I'll take the reins.” He lifted his hands, his lips curling into a sly smile. Afanasy locked eyes with Artem. “I know I'm the one you have in mind.”

My brother was only fooling around; he knew that if there was a list, he wouldn't even be on it, but he just couldn't help but make a joke.

Mikhail let out a dismissive laugh. “Don't kid yourself. The mantle wouldn't be handed to you even if you were the last surviving Tarasov on the planet,” he teased, a grin spreading across his face.

“Your faith in me is touching, cousin. I'm tearing up over here.” Afanasy said, a hand on his chest, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Enough banter.” Artem's voice returned the order in the room. “I've made my choice.” He paused, fixing his gaze on me. “Roman, you'll take my place as the Pakhan ,” he announced.

My brows rose instantly. I wasn't expecting to be chosen, and this was a huge honor, one that came with an even bigger responsibility. I could feel my brothers' gazes lingering on me, pride flickering in their eyes.

“I chose you because you're the most logical…” said Artem, further clarifying his reasons.

“No offense taken,” Afanasy chipped in.

Artem continued, “You don't waste your time and money on women…unlike some of you.” His eyes left my face and settled on Afanasy.

“Okay, some taken,” Afanasy said with a playful frown.

Kostya leaned back in his chair, chuckling as he turned to Afanasy. “He's not wrong, considering your last mistress almost drained your bank account.”

Afanasy combed his fingers through his dirty blond hair, his green eyes pinned Mikhail. “Well, at least I didn't get caught with a nightclub stripper.”

“Hey, that was one time,” Mikhail snarled at him, his brows furrowing.

I maintained a stoic expression, a faint smirk playing on my lips. “I accept,” I declared, my voice silencing Afanasy, whose mouth was shaped, ready to shoot back at Mikhail. “Thank you for this opportunity. It's a great honor to walk in your shoes. I will not disappoint.” My words were spoken with all sincerity, my eyes squinting slightly.

“I trust you, Roman,” he said, looking right into my eyes. “I know you'll do well as the temporary Pakhan .”

“Thank you, Pakhan Artem.” I bowed my head in reverence.

“Well.” Afanasy exhaled sharply. “Sucks to be you, buddy,” he teased with a wide smile. “Congratulations, brother.” He embraced me.

Kostya stepped forward to hug me as well. “The ice in your veins makes you the perfect man for the job.”

Mikhail stretched out his fist, and our knuckles collided seconds later. “I knew it was gonna be you.”

My gaze locked on Sierra, and she nodded her head with a smile.

Just then, the door swung open, and the visitor's walking stick came into view first before he appeared in the room.

“Uncle Ivan,” we all said at the same time, our eyes widening.

He laughed, strolling in with the aid of his walking stick. Uncle Ivan was pretty old, with gray hair and a gray beard that complemented his eyes. He was our hero growing up, and the tales of ruthlessness as a youth and his dedication to the Bratva cause still lingered on the fringes of my mind to this day.

In Tarasov history, no one was as dedicated to the Bratva as he was, and rumor had it that he would stop at nothing to defend the cause. He was still my hero, and I was working to someday be like him.

One by one, we paid our respect to this living legend who wouldn't stop smiling. One would think he was harmless until they heard his story.

Jorah, his bodyguard, was standing behind him. Uncle Ivan never went anywhere without him. Jorah's expression was stoic, and even while everyone else was smiling, his face was devoid of emotion. Everything was a threat to Jorah, so he was always on high alert.

“Sierra, darling.” Uncle Ivan smiled at her. “How are you?”

“I'm very well, thank you,” came her reply, and she mirrored his gesture.

“I came to check on you,” he said to Artem, going over to stand by his side. “How's the new liver?”

“I wanted to light a cigarette to test it, but…” Artem replied with a smile, stealing a glance at his wife.

The old man laughed. “I won't be able to help you when she comes for you.”

“Thank you, Uncle Ivan,” said Sierra, her gaze never leaving her husband's.

“Roman, my boy.” He chuckled, turning to face me. “I see you're already warming up as the acting Pakhan .”

My reply was a faint scoff, eyes darting to my feet momentarily. I wasn't surprised that he already knew this without anyone in the room telling him. Uncle Ivan always had his ways.

“Artem made the right choice.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “I'm sure you'll do great. Best of luck, boy.” He beamed at me, his grip firm but friendly. Then, Uncle Ivan drew a deep breath, glancing around the ward. “I've missed these faces. I think I'll stick around for a few more weeks.”

“Excellent,” Afanasy exclaimed. “Now, we have two reasons to celebrate.”

I sighed, unable to hide the faint grin that spread across my face.

Who needed love when you had family?

Chapter 2 – Julia

My Uber pulled over outside the sleek neon-lit building, a high-class nightclub with the sign “Jupiter” in a bold, fancy font.

I could feel the vibration of the loud music booming from inside the building. The sound was muffled, but I could hear it. Heaving a sigh, my shoulders slumped for a moment as I massaged my eyeballs.

Here we go again.

The words echoed in my head.

The door gave a soft click when I grabbed the handle, pushed it open, and stepped out on the sidewalk. The vehicle drove away while I made my way to the entrance, heels clicking against the pavement. The closer I got, the louder the music grew. I was late tonight, but I wasn't too shaken up about it because I already had someone covering for me.

She was not going to be happy with me for breaching our agreement. I should have been here half an hour ago. I couldn't wait to see that look on her face, though, and the thought came with a sly smile. I could almost predict her exact words, and sometimes, I would piss her off intentionally so that I'd know whether or not I predicted right. However, my being late tonight was not at all intentional.

“Hey, Brooke!” I smiled warmly at the black-suited bouncer standing sentinel, his broad frame and stern expression accentuating his imposing height.

He turned to me, a small grin spreading across his rigid face. “Hey, Jules. You're late tonight.” His features contorted into a pretentious scowl on the last statement.

“Yeah, I know,” I drawled lazily, flashing my employee card out of habit. It wasn't necessary, considering that we were already buddies—just standard procedure, nothing more.

“You know she's gonna kill you, right?” His brows rose, eyes narrowing with a mocking glint in their depths.

“Who, Wren? Nah.” I shook my head, chuckling. “She's all bark and no bite.”

His expression turned solemn. “Oh, she bites, alright.” The conviction in his tone couldn't be any more glaring. “Still hurts till today.” Brooke's eyes darted to his left arm, his sleeve rustling as he rubbed over the remembered pain.

I laughed, recalling the infamous event that happened about two weeks ago. According to the story, Brooke had snuck up on Wren in an alley after work, trying to scare her, but his plan backfired. She left a long-lasting impression on his arm—literally. My only regret was that I wasn't there to witness it.

“That'll teach you not to sneak up on girls in an alley.” I chuckled, moving past him.

“Says the girl who's about to go six feet under,” he replied teasingly, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Just make sure my obituary mentions that I died from my best friend's wrath,” I said, smiling as I pushed the door and walked inside.

The vibrant lights of the club danced on my skin, and the pulsating music enveloped me as I wove through the crowd. Dancers moved their bodies to the rhythm of the DJ's hypnotic beats, hands flying in the air.

I nodded, exchanging waves and smiles with familiar faces, like Magic Mike at the bar, who was wiping a cloth over the counter, his eyes locking with mine.

“Hey, Jules,” a waitress greeted me as she walked past, expertly holding a tray of drinks.

“Hey, Lucy,” I replied, not stopping in my tracks.

I walked into the employees’ lounge—a cozy haven adorned with plush sofas and couches meticulously arranged in the space. Dressed in skimpy gowns, Harriet, Jane, and Mitchell were seated around the circular table at the center of the room, giggling and laughing. Jane and Mitchell were the newbies, having started out about a week ago.

Harriet, Jupiter's finest drama magnet, a neurotic attention-seeking brunette with a knack for fabricated tales, was at it once again. Her perfectly manicured hands were flying around in a theatrical motion as she fed the wide-eyed newbies with one of her cooked-up stories.

Everyone always fell for lies at first, until they became old news; eventually, Jane and Mitchell would come to see her for who she truly was: a pretty little liar. But for now, let her have her fun.

“…and just like that, Roman Tarasov himself approached me and pleaded with me to organize an exclusive after-party for the VIPs,” Harriet gushed, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “Can you believe that?”

No, I cannot , I thought, minding my own business as I headed toward the minimalist bar at a corner that offered snacks and refreshments. “Hey, Trish, how's it going?” I halted by the counter.

“Better than it's about to be for you,” she replied, nodding toward a secluded section of the room. Trish, a tattooed albino with short, spiky hair and a tongue piercing, leaned forward and whispered to me, “She’s gonna murder you.”

I scratched the back of my head, my heels clicking against the floor as I walked past a group of girls in sexy dresses, all short and revealing way too much skin. They were the likes of Harriet, the attention-seekers.

Through the beaded curtain, I could see her figure pacing back and forth, chewing on her nails.

Yep. I was done. She was definitely going to kill me.

The curtains parted, and I walked into the room, arms wide open. “Hey, Wren!”

She paused and turned to face me, her brows furrowing and creasing her forehead.

Wren Everett was my best friend. Like me, she was working as a VIP hostess here at Jupiter. However, Wren was only working here temporarily until she found something better.

Me? I didn't have any plans of leaving this place—at least not yet, anyway. There was still work to be done. I didn't always enjoy my job, catering to egocentric narcissists at the VIP lounge, but like everyone else, I had my reasons for doing what I did. It wasn't easy putting up with those pervs every night, smiling and laughing with them even when, deep down, all I wanted to do was gut them like a fish. However, over time, I learned to be friendly with them despite their advances, especially when they were drunk.

Jupiter was one of the biggest nightclubs in the city, owned by Roman Tarasov, and a lot of girls here felt privileged to work for him. Why wouldn't they be? The pay was good, and every once in a while, it was said that the charming Roman Tarasov would grace the club with his majestic presence. I'd never really met him in person, but according to Harriet, the man was a handsome piece of work—colder than arctic waters but handsome.

My attention was forced back to reality when my gaze met Wren's brown eyes, which held a glint of rage, accentuating the frown on her cute baby face.

“Okay, before you say anything,” I began, taking careful steps toward, my hands raised in front of me in a defensive manner.

“You said you were going to be here half an hour ago,” she cut in, narrowing her eyes.

“And I would've been, if traffic hadn't been so terrible,” I stated, halting in front of her.

She crossed her arms, eyes fixed on me. “Oh, yeah. Humor me.”

“Okay, so…” I said, my hands moving around as I narrated the incident. “My Uber's driving down Main, everything's going smooth, when suddenly, this chicken truck comes outta nowhere and overturns right in front of us. Boom! There are chickens everywhere, flapping and squawking.”

Wren's expression switched from annoyance to amusement, her brows slowly rising.

“Then comes the farmer,” I continued, still demonstrating with my hands. “He hops out of the truck and starts chasing after them, waving a net and yelling, ‘Come back, my babies!’” The words jumped out of my mouth with enthusiasm, and I paused for a moment, realizing who I sounded like.

Fuck.

My shoulders dropped in dismay, eyes shifting toward the floor.

Wren's twitching lips pressed into a thin line as though she was struggling to contain a laugh bubbling in her throat.

The other girls in the room all had their eyes on me with a sly smile on their faces.

“I sound a lot like Harriet, don't I?” I asked, my voice dripping with shame as my fingers pressed against my temples.

“Uh-huh.” Wren nodded, smiling. “Looks like you picked up a thing or two from her.”

“I heard that!” Harriet yelled from the other room.

Wren and I laughed lightly. “You look amazing, by the way,” she remarked.

“And you look so hot,” I replied, eyes dancing across her perfect figure, her silver dress hugging her body like a second skin. The pearls that adorned the fabrics shimmered in the lights, as did her pale skin.

“Says the dazzling princess with a physique to die for.” She chuckled, her cheeks turning red.

My hand flew to my mouth as if to hold back my blush as I looked in the mirror to glimpse what Wren was talking about. I smoothed down my full-sleeved fitted dress, its emerald green hue accentuating my curves. My outfit always caught the eyes of high-end customers despite not revealing too much skin. Regardless, though, those pervs loved my outfit and would always leave bigger tips. The extra cash wasn't so bad anyway.

I blew a kiss to my reflection, admiring how my smokey makeup made my hazel eyes pop. My manicured fingers combed through my brunette hair, forming silky waves that cascaded down my back. I took one last look at myself in the mirror and exhaled sharply. Perfect.

“Ready to rake in those tips?” Wren asked as she hovered behind me, her gaze fixed on the mirror.

My lips curled up into a small smile. “You bet.”

She returned the gesture and tapped my shoulder. “Alright. I'm sticking to my usual routine now. I believe I’ve helped out in the ways that I can.” She walked away.

“Thanks, Wren. I owe you one.” I shot a glance in her direction.

“You owe me plenty!” she replied, her voice a higher pitch thanks to her distance.

I scoffed and shook my head before stepping out of the lounge. As I walked through the hallway, making my way to the VIP section, I exchanged pleasantries with a few more familiar faces, a smile plastered on my lips. Under the dim lighting, I nodded to the pulsating music, humming to the rhythm of the song as I approached a door labeled “Tsar.”

It was a private room reserved for Jupiter's most valued patrons. I halted outside the door and positioned my knuckles to knock but drew in a deep breath first. The men on the other side would eventually say or do stuff that would get on my nerves. I had to be prepared emotionally, mentally, and physically so I wouldn't lash out at them. I'd been doing a pretty good job at keeping my cool all this time, and I was determined to continue in that manner.

I knocked twice, and a deep voice bade my entry. The door creaked open, and I walked in, wearing a charming smile.

“Hello, gentlemen,” I greeted the five men lounging on plush couches and sofas.

One of them whistled as I glided in their direction, my heels clicking on the sleek floor.

“Fuck. Look at that body!” His brows rose, eyes roaming my figure. “Damn!” he added, his tone dripping with lust.

I halted in front of them. “Welcome to Jupiter. I'm Julia, and I'm your hostess for tonight.”

The men weren't regulars here. None of them were familiar, hence the reason I introduced myself.

“How can I make your evening memorable?” I asked, maintaining that smile on my face.

“I can think of a few things, honey,” the previous speaker chipped in, his gaze unwavering with a pesky little smirk on his lips.

He seemed like the youngest of all of them in the room, maybe in his mid-forties, with gray eyes, brown hair, and a chiseled face. I thought he looked familiar, and I could've sworn that I'd seen him somewhere before now. I just couldn't place where.

“Pay no attention to him,” a second man said, drawing my attention to him.

He was sitting on a sofa, legs crossed, his polished shoes shimmering under the lights. The man was clad in a white suit that complemented his hair and beard.

He jerked his head and locked his green eyes with me. “Under the influence, he tends to act impulsively and forget his responsibility as DA.”

That's it. No wonder he looks so familiar, I thought, recalling that I'd seen him on TV a couple of times.

“More vodka, princess,” another one of them slurred. “The good stuff.”

“Of course, sir. I'll go fetch our finest Beluga,” I replied, my smile unwavering. “Would you also like another bottle of Dom Pérignon?”

“Ahh. More of those, please. We're celebrating,” the white-haired man said amidst chuckles.

“Got it. Coming right up.” I flashed a courteous grin and gathered their empty bottles.

As I bent over, I sensed that the drunk DA was about to spank my butt from behind. Reflexively, I sidestepped, avoiding his hand as I straightened with their bottles in my hold. He lost his balance and fell off the couch during his failed attempt to touch my ass. The other men busted out laughing as I exited the room like I had no idea what I'd just done.

I headed back downstairs, wading through the sea of frenzied dancers, their faces illuminated in the flashing, colorful beams. They all seemed lost in the hypnotic music, but that was the reason they were here tonight—to bask in this feeling of euphoria.

“Hey, handsome.” I glided toward the bar, smiling at the bartender, Magic Mike.

He smiled back, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Hey, beautiful.”

I handed him the empty bottles as I leaned against the counter, fingers pressing softly against my eyelids.

“Rough night?” His brows rose as he accepted the bottles and fixed his concerned gaze on me.

“Not really,” I replied with a sigh, jerking my head to look at him. “Some asshole tried to spank my butt in the VIP lounge.”

His jaw clenched immediately, his eyes narrowing.

I flashed a smirk. “Don't worry. He got what he deserved.”

Mike's expression softened a little. “That's good to know.” He grabbed a bottle, wiping it with a clean cloth. “What do the big spenders want tonight?”

“The usual VIP treatment,” I replied, scanning the room and drinking in the sight of the energetic dancers as he got to work on the drinks.

My eyes settled on a couple kissing fervently on the dance floor, their hands roaming each other's bodies. The guy, maybe in his mid-twenties, had his palm traveling underneath the teenage girl's short flared skirt. My brows arched instantly, and my eyes widened at the sight.

Please, get a room, for Pete's sake.

I rubbed my fingers over my forehead.

He pulled away from her, lust and desire flickering in both of their eyes. Without wasting much time, he grabbed her wrist and led her toward the back door. That teenage girl was about to get fucked in an alley at the back of the club. That was for sure.

I'd stumbled upon such acts so many times while working this job. Sometimes, it was even in the bathroom. I'd hear the girls moaning, their butts clapping against their lovers’ groins.

I was twenty-one, but unlike those girls, I hadn't gotten laid yet. Of course, nobody knew that. They didn't have to; it wasn't their fucking business.

“What's the occasion tonight?” Mike asked, expertly pouring the premium liquor and champagne.

“Huh?” I asked, lost in thoughts.

“The big spenders,” he clarified.

“Oh.” I returned my gaze to him. “No idea. They just said they're celebrating. I guess they're trying to make it memorable.”

“Or forgetful,” he chipped in, smiling. “Depending on how much they drink. Here.” He handed me a chilled bottle of Beluga.

I chuckled, accepting it. “Thanks, Mike. I'm pretty sure your magic potion will have them wasted by the end of the night.”

“You flatter me, Jules.” He laughed as he finished preparing the drinks.

“Isn't that why they call you ‘Magic Mike’?” I winked at him, efficiently arranging the glasses and bottles on a sleek tray.

“Coming from the queen of making memories, that means a lot.” He smiled, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

I scoffed, shaking my head as I balanced the tray with practiced precision and walked away. “Catch you later, buddy.”

Navigating through the crowded floor, I found my way back upstairs, and just as I was about to return to the room labeled “Tsar,” I paused in my tracks.

My gaze was fixed on a group of hot men all dressed up in impeccable suits. I watched them laugh and converse as they walked into a room across the corridor. They all seemed in their thirties and forties, yet handsome and heavily built with imposing heights. These men exuded wealth, influence, and power, and I didn't need to be a witch to know who they were. They were the Tarasov men.

Jane, one of the newbies, walked past me, heading in their direction, and I stopped her quickly. “Hey, where're you going?” My voice was low and discreet.

“To cater for them,” she replied, looking at the men as they walked into the room.

“Uh….” I scratched the back of my head. “You know what? I got this.”

“What?” She looked at me, puzzled, her eyes slightly widening.

“Those men can be difficult, trust me,” I said, handing her my tray. “The men in the other room, though….” I nodded toward the door labeled “Tsar.” “They're a lot easier to handle.” I smiled at her.

“O…okay,” she stuttered, reluctantly accepting the tray, her brows knitting in confusion.

“Atta girl.” I patted her shoulder and left her standing there, still trying to wrap her head around what had just happened.

I heaved a sigh as I approached the door.

You can do this.

Chapter 3 – Roman

The orange glow of the evening sun cast its warm lights across the vast mountains, their summits bathed in the sunset. The sounds of roaring engines filled the air, echoing over the horizon as we raced on the road that snaked through the hills like a serpent, our tires screeching against the asphalt.

Kostya was in the driver's seat, his fingers firmly wrapped around the steering wheel. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the road, taking deadly drifts with practiced precision.

I sat rigidly in the passenger seat, seatbelt securely fastened, fingers clenched around the grab handle for support. My body stiffened slightly as the sleek black Porsche 911 floored the unwinding mountain road at high speed. The speedometer needle quivered at triple digits as the car's tires hummed a steady pitch, accentuating the occasional squeal of rubber on asphalt.

My green eyes squinted as a wild breeze, carrying the scent of pine and earth, rushed in through the open windows. Howling in my ears, it blew over my buzz cut, cooling my scalp.

The wind whipped Kostya's hair into a frenzy as he remained focused, his grip tightening around the steering wheel. The man must be feeling like an action movie star right now as his hands moved with precision, navigating the twists and dangerously sharp turns so effortlessly.

We were almost at the finish line when I glanced at the side mirror and saw Mikhail's scarlet Ferrari 488 GTB quickly catching up. The roar of his car engine grew louder the closer he drew to us.

“Step on it, buddy. They're closing in,” I said, shooting a quick look at Kostya.

Outside, the mountain scenery was a rapid blur of movements as the landscape itself seemed to rush past in a dizzying whirl. Occasionally, I'd catch glimpses of glittering waterfalls and distant valleys as we pressed onward.

Instinctively, my body leaned into the comfy seat, and I braced myself as Kostya accelerated, almost doubling his speed. He was at dangerous speed, but I loved it—the thrill, the adventure, the feeling of adrenaline pumping through my blood. The evil smirk playing on his lips was a clear indication that he, too, was enjoying this, and I was certain Afanasy and Mikhail shared the same excitement.

Mikhail, being the one at the wheel, soon caught up with us, and we were neck and neck with his Ferrari. Afanasy, from the passenger seat, stuck his head through the window, a pesky little grin plastered on his face. “So long, suckers!” He laughed, slithering back into his seat. “Hit it, Mikhail!”

And just like that, those two bastards whooshed past us with an incredible speed, Afan's whoop of exhilaration echoing through the landscape.

“Dang it!” I slammed a palm on the dashboard, my forehead creasing in playful irritation as we reached the finish line seconds after they did.

Both cars skidded to a stop by the sea, our tires kicking up clouds of dust as our engines shut off.

“Yeah, baby! That's what I'm talking about!” Afan stepped out of their car parked at a distance, wiggling his waist rhythmically.

I opened the door and slid out, inhaling the scent of burned rubber and saltwater that wafted through the air. Kostya did the same, watching as Afan danced mockingly, celebrating their win.

He turned to face me as he walked over to Mikhail's Ferrari. “I swear to God, I could put a bullet in his head right now.”

I flashed him a faint grin. “Well, it's not his fault that we lost.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” He cocked his head, eyes squinting at me.

“I don't know. Maybe if you had stepped on it when I asked you to, we would've won—who knows?” I shrugged my shoulders slightly on the last statement.

“Easy for you to say,” he replied. “Next time, you're taking the wheel.”

“It doesn't matter which one of you is at the wheel; you're still gonna lose.” Afan chuckled as we halted in front of him.

“Ha, ha. Very funny.” Kostya jokingly shoved Afan, but the latter was quick enough to deflect the advance, laughing. “Oh, you think you're fast, ehh?” A mischievous scowl settled on Kostya's face.

Afan swallowed hard, his hands thrown up in surrender. He knew better than to engage Kostya in a brawl, even though he was just as skilled in physical combat. Regardless of his playful nature, my younger brother, Afan, was also a ruthless bastard like the rest of us.

“Didn't think so,” Kostya said to him, chuckling.

Mikhail joined us, and as we laughed, our attention drifted to the car approaching us, a sleek white Rolls Royce Phantom VIII—my car. The vehicle pulled over by Kostya's Porsche, and Boris Smirnov alighted, standing sentinel outside the shut door, his eyes fixed on us.

“I don't know if I've told you this, but your right-hand man gives me the creeps,” Afan whispered to me, stealing glances at Boris.

I scoffed, shaking my head, fingers gently rubbing over my eyes. Boris had that effect on people. The man was scary as fuck, and I never went anywhere without him. He hadn’t been a part of the race, but he'd followed us out here.

“He's been your shadow for as long as I can remember,” Mikhail said, looking in Boris's direction before fixing his eyes on me. “Now that you're the Pakhan , I bet he'll never leave your side.” He flashed a corny smile.

Afan chuckled, nodding his head in agreement as the two men had a fist bump.

“Temporary Pakhan ,” I corrected, slipping a hand in my pocket, eyes darting across the vast ocean.

Seagulls squealed overhead, and the waves crashed against the rocky shores in rhythmic accompaniment. The setting sun draped its warm glow over the horizon, and we stood bathed in it.

Afan gave a soft grunt, hopping onto the trunk of the car. “Temporary or permanent, a promotion is a promotion, and it should be celebrated,” he said, his gaze shifting across our faces.

“Artem's surgery was a success, Uncle Ivan is around, and you're the new temporary Pakhan ,” Kostya chipped in, looking at me with a sly grin on his lips. “I'm with Afan on this one; we need to celebrate.”

“Yeah,” said Afan, his voice tinged with mischief. “Let's get wasted, blow off some steam, fuck some random chicks in an orgy.” He chuckled, his brows wiggling at us.

“Okay, I take it back. I'm not with you on this one.” Kostya put his head down, fingers pressing against his forehead, embarrassed by the idea.

Mikhail leaned closer to whisper to Afan. “He's married now. Keep that in mind next time you propose something like this.”

“Oh, shit. My bad.” His response was laced with a glimmer of mild sarcasm, which caused the rest of us to laugh. “Alright. No orgies then.” He paused for a moment before adding. “Blowjobs, maybe?” His brows rose teasingly, eyes shining with roguish charm. “Come on, a good head never hurts anyone.”

“Some good liquor would be nice for the night,” Kostya said, his soft tone carrying a hint of finality.

Afan groaned in objection. “You sound like Pakhan Artem right now, always taking the fun out of everything.” He rolled his eyes and added almost immediately, “Just don't tell him I said that, though.” A momentary seriousness settled on his gaze.

“We should hit Jupiter for the night,” Mikhail suggested. “Can't think of a better place to blow off some steam than Roman's high-class nightclub.” He looked at me, smiling.

“Yeah, good idea,” Kostya seconded and turned to face me. “What do you say, Roman?”

My partying days were over, and even though I owned a couple of nightclubs scattered across the city, I really wasn't a fan of those places anymore. I'd had my fair share of fooling around with them in my twenties. Once upon a time, I used to be drawn to the nightlife—the booze, the women, and the orgies, like Afan had proposed. But now, none of that excited me anymore. I was all about the Bratva business and how to take it to greater heights.

However, my brothers seemed keen on celebrating at Jupiter tonight, and despite my reservations, I knew one night wouldn't hurt.

As my gaze shifted across their faces, I could see the anticipation in their eyes, and I couldn't let them down. “Fuck it,” I said dismissively, a smirk slowly lining the corners of my lips. “Let's have some fun.”

“Ha! Now that's what I'm talking about!” Afan clapped once and hopped off the car trunk, his voice dripping with excitement. “Let's get this party started.”

***

It was crazy in here—lots of fancy lights crisscrossing the crowded space as dancers moved their bodies in a frenzy to the loud music thundering through the speakers.

I couldn't fathom how I used to find places like fun to hang around. Well, I was much younger then, and life hadn't dealt me its toughest blows.

Afan was already nodding to the DJ's hypnotic beats, his waist twirling behind a random girl's behind. She turned slightly, shot her head up, and caught a glimpse of the charming man rocking her from the back. The girl smiled, bending over to position her ass so he could grind over it. Afan smirked and did just that, his palms grabbing her waist.

I scoffed at the sight, shaking my head as Kostya and I made our way upstairs to a VIP lounge while Mikhail stayed back to literally pull Afan away from the girl.

Afan was the most fun and easygoing one among us, and he was no alien to places like this. But although he seemed unserious eighty percent of the time, he was just as ruthless as he was playful.

As we ascended the steps, my eyes caught a beautiful woman at the bar. She had the most amazing smile I'd seen all week, and she seemed to be talking with one of my bartenders. She was a brunette, petite with the shape of a model, but I didn't get a good look at her as we were already at the head of the steps.

Mikhail and Afan joined us, and we headed to the VIP lounge reserved for the Tarasov family. I didn't come around often, but whenever I did—alone or with friends and family—this was where we always lounged. I opened the door, and we walked into the dimly lit room bathed in a soft golden glow that enveloped the plush cream-colored couches, sofas, and polished marble floors.

Everyone else took a seat, the fine leathers crunching at their weights, but Boris stood by the door like a watchman.

“Hey, big guy,” Afan called out, and Boris turned to face him, his neck moving like Arnold Schwarzenegger's from the Terminator movie. “We're here to blow off some steam—have a good time. You can chill.” He sighed, tapping the space on the couch he was seated on. “Here. Come sit down.”

Boris was reluctant at first, his eyes darting toward me, and I gave an approving nod. He walked over to my brother and sat beside him.

I stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass panels, which offered a breathtaking view of the lively dance floor below. From this vantage point, I could see everyone and everything going on in my club.

The door opened, and a sweet feminine voice caught my attention, prompting me to turn around and add a face to the voice that had caused my chest to flutter.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I'm Julia, and I'll be your hostess for the night,” she said.

My brows arched instantly as I gazed at the woman in front of us.

Her dark, silky hair cascaded down her back, framing her face as her hazel eyes shifted between each of us. Her smile warmed my stone-cold heart, but I maintained a blank expression, subtly checking her out.

She was pretty. No arguments there, as her petite frame belied a striking presence. Her outfit, a knee-length, full-sleeved fitted dress, accentuated her curves and her model-honed physique.

Looking closely, I realized that she was the same woman I'd seen smiling at the bar earlier. I couldn't recall seeing her before, so she must be a recent hire.

She sashayed over to the center of the room, a mysterious glint in her hazel eyes. “What's the damage? What can I get you gentlemen tonight?”

“Oh, love. We're men, alright. But we're far from gentle,” Afan said, crossing his legs as he relaxed on the backrest of the couch.

“Well, you're in luck because that's why I'm here,” she replied, her gaze sweeping across the group before settling on me. “To tame the beast within.”

“Ooh.” Mikhail let out a low breath, his tone husky and intrigued, dripping with amusement.

My brows rose instinctively at the confidence she exuded, eyes narrowing slightly. “Don't get too cocky; some beasts aren't so easily tamed,” I said, looking right at her, but she wouldn't flinch or break eye contact.

“Maybe.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But eventually, they all do.” For a moment there, she went silent, her gaze unwavering, before she looked at Afan. “But don't worry, darling. I've handled worse monsters in heels.” She winked at him.

Afan laughed. “I'm shaking in my boots.”

Impressed by her wits and sass, Kostya and Mikhail exchanged glances, chuckling as they shook their heads.

I was amused by her and the fact that she was looking at me without fear in her eyes. Usually, whenever women like her met with me for the first time, they would tend to act silly out of anxiety or tension. But she was different and wasn't exhibiting any signs of nervousness.

“For real, though,” she said, pulling me from my thoughts. “What's the damage? Drinks or something more…sensual?” The slight pause came when she returned her gaze to me.

Is she flirting with me? I wondered, watching her enticing lips part slightly, her eyes pinned on me like a hook to a fish.

I could feel the sexual tension hovering around us and also the stares of my brothers lingering on me. My brows furrowed, and my expression softened as I drank in the subtle glint of flirtation in her gaze.

Mikhail conspicuously cleared his throat, drawing her attention to him. “I'll have a whiskey, neat. Make it a double.”

“Are you sure?” Afan asked him. “You're gonna regret that in the morning.”

“Not if I water it down for him,” Julia chipped in, smiling at them.

Mikhail chuckled. “Amazing.”

She took Kostya's and Afan's orders and then shifted her attention back to me. “And for you, sir?” Her lashes battered at me as she blinked a few times.

There was something erotic in her eyes. It was subtle, but it was there, and the energy radiating from her was pulling me closer. However, I remained unphased.

“What would you like?” she asked, her gaze never leaving my face.

“Just a gin and tonic will do,” I said, my eyes discreetly roaming her curves.

“Lime or lemon?” she inquired, her voice low and sexy.

I felt my eyes crinkling at the corners, and I flashed her a smirk. “Surprise me.”

A smile settled on her pretty face, illuminating her pale skin. “Dangerous choice,” she said, then broke eye contact. “I'll be right back.”

I watched her gracefully walk away, exiting the room.

“Oh, my God!” Afan said, his voice dripping with excitement. “She was totally into you, brother.” He looked at me, chuckling. “Please, tell me you saw that at least.”

“The sexual tension was off the charts,” Boris said, his thick voice a little rusty from disuse.

Immediately, the room went silent as the others all turned to face him, shock flickering in their eyes. This was the first time he was speaking all day.

“See? Even Schwarzenegger here felt it,” said Afan, tapping Boris's shoulder.

She is attractive. That's a fact.

I shook my head, walked over to the couch, and settled down, letting out a soft groan. There was something about this woman that I just couldn't wrap my head around. She was mysterious, and that was one of the things that drew me to her.

“Don't we have better stuff to discuss than a woman?” I asked in an attempt to change the subject.

Afan laughed. “You're just running away from the truth,” he said to me, leaning closer. “But, uhh, Mikhail and I were talking about something that I think I'd love to hear your take on.”

Subject successfully changed.

“Okay,” I replied, indulging him.

“Alright, so I was telling Mikhail that the market is ripe for disruption and that our startup can capitalize on the growing demand for sustainable energy.”

“Of course,” I replied, narrowing my brows as I looked at Mikhail. “Did you disagree?”

“No, I did not,” he replied, sitting up in his chair.

“Yes, you did,” Afan said to him, his voice accusing.

“No,” came Mikhail's defensive response. “What I said was that we needed to mitigate the risks—that the competition was fierce.”

“True,” Kostya chipped in. “But I think we should explore partnerships with established players.”

“Yes. It'll give us access to resources, not to mention credibility,” I said, toiling with my cufflinks, my mind racing with infinite possible strategies to make this work.

The door swung open, and Julia returned with our drinks arranged on a tray expertly balanced on her palm. “Gentlemen, your refreshments.”

“That was fast,” Afan commended her, his tone tinged with amazement.

“Thank you,” she replied with a smile, serving each of us our orders. “You kinda get a hang of it after a few months of doing the same thing over and over.”

Kostya's eyes narrowed at her, his brows knitting together. “Wait a minute,” he said to her. “I've seen you before, haven't I?”

She squinted, her head tilting sideways as if thinking about the possibility of them meeting before now. “Uh…I don't…I don't know….”

He clicked his tongue and snapped his fingers, his eyes widening as the realization sank in. “You were at my wedding,” he declared, scrutinizing her.

Her brows rose in confusion as she struggled to recall what he was saying.

“You were my wife's chief bridesmaid,” he added for further clarity.

Her face softened, and a smile played on her lips. “Oh, my God. You're Madelyn's husband,” she exclaimed. “I knew it. I knew you looked familiar, but I just couldn't….” The words burst out of her amidst chuckles. “How is she? I lost contact with her after the wedding.”

“She's fine,” he replied, relaxing in his seat.

“So, you two know each other?” Afan asked, his eyes shifting between them.

“Not exactly,” she replied, smiling. “His wife and I used to be best friends.”

“What a small world, ehh?” Mikhail chipped in, wasting no time to sip from his glass.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” she muttered under her breath, pouring my drink into a glass.

“Hey, Jules—can I call you Jules?” Afan asked her.

She laughed. “Yes, of course.”

“Excellent,” he replied with a single clap. “My brothers and I were discussing the future of sustainable energy, and I was hoping to hear your take on it.” He fixed his eyes on her.

“Um, might I ask why?” She raised her brows, clearly as stunned as I was about his statement.

I took my gaze off her and settled on my brother. “Yeah, Afan. Why?” I asked, my forehead creasing slightly, hinting at my disapproval.

He ignored my scowl and replied, looking at her, “You're a woman, and they say women always give good advice.”

I knew exactly what he was trying to do. The idiot was trying to engage her in this conversation so he'd involve her with me.

Sneaky move, little brother.

I cast a playful glare at him, and he just winked at me.

“Please, take a seat,” he said to her, gesturing at a vacant sofa across from me. “Let's hear your thoughts.”

She sat down and exhaled softly with a smile as she took a moment to collect her thoughts.

I arched my brows with a subtle move, noticing how she crossed her legs. Her full-sleeved fitted dress rustled softly as she exuded confidence, leaning back a bit.

“Well,” she began, and I was curious to know what she had in mind, “business-wise, I think the key to success—or one of the keys to success—lies in integrating sustainability into the heart of the business model rather than treating it as an…add-on.”

The men all had their eyes on me, and honestly speaking, I hadn’t been expecting such an intelligent response from a VIP hostess.

“That's an amazing point, Jules,” Kostya admitted, nodding his head impressively. “But how do you think organizations or companies can efficiently and effectively measure return on investments into sustainable initiatives?”

This was personal now because he was equating it with the Bratva's current situation with this problem. From her thought process, she might just provide us with an excellent solution.

I was intrigued and ready to hear her.

“For starters, these companies can adopt a triple-bottom-line approach,” she replied, her gaze sweeping the room.

We exchanged glances, and she read the puzzled looks on our faces, then clarified, “I mean, people, planet, and profit,” Julia continued. “It's important that these organizations quantify the environmental and also social impacts alongside profit making.”

For a moment there, I thought I was in a board meeting, and Julia was a stakeholder, sharing insights on how to move the company forward. I had to admit, I was blown away by her articulate delivery.

“Impressive,” Mikhail said, smiling at her. “It's a holistic approach that I think we can adopt.” He leaned in closer. “However, I'm a little confused about how we can, you know, overcome the initial investment cost.”

She let out a sharp exhale, her palms instinctively smoothing her dress as her brows furrowed. “That's gonna be tough. But if you ask me—which you have—I'd say that long-term brand reputation enhancement and savings outweigh the upfront cost.” She drew a deep breath. “Maybe consider the implementation of these sustainable services in—”

“Phases.” I stole the word right from her mouth.

She looked at me and smirked. “Exactly. That way, you'll prioritize high-impact initiatives.”

“I'm sorry. Who did you say you were again?” Afan laughed, impressed by this mysterious woman.

She giggled, sweeping her gaze across all of us. “I'm just a girl at your service tonight.”

I wondered how she managed to look so sexy in a dress that wasn't so revealing and how she'd managed to keep all five of us on our toes, captivated by her intellect.

I leaned back in my chair, my eyes roaming her figure. It was an established fact that I was attracted to her. Why wouldn't I be? She was beautiful and had brains, too.

“Speaking of services,” Afan said, groaning slightly as he rose to his feet. “I think mine's needed elsewhere.”

I jerked my gaze to him, furrowing my brows as the others did the same, each one picking up his bottle and glass. My fingers rubbed my eyes as I put my head down, realizing that they were setting me up with her.

In a single file, they all exited the room, and Kostya, being the last to leave, shut the door behind him but not without winking at me first.

It was quiet between us for a while until I broke the awkward silence. “So, that happened.”

“Yeah…” she drawled lazily, eyes on me.

As I stared at her, I realized that there was no point in holding back—I obviously wanted her, and I knew she wanted me, too. My gaze left her eyes, settled on her lips, and then traveled down to her cleavage.

I could feel my cock twitching in my pants, and I had to get a grip of myself. “You're brilliant,” I admitted, my eyes returning to her pretty face. “I'll give you that.”

“What?” Her head cocked sideways. “The music's loud; I can't hear you.” She rose to her feet.

Ohh. I see what you're doing, girl.

My palm swiped over my mouth as I watched her walk toward me, her alluring legs crossing each other as she approached me. Her moves were graceful—like a pageant queen on a runaway.

Julia settled on the couch I was seated upon, barely inches away from me. “I couldn't hear you properly,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “Mind repeating yourself?” Her eyes bore into mine.

I felt a flutter in my chest, and I hated it. Yet, I couldn't deny my attraction to this incredibly hot woman whose warm breath I could feel on my skin.

She was too sophisticated—too schooled to be a VIP hostess—and that alone piqued my interest. I got curious about the mystery surrounding her. She was sexy, intelligent, and, of everyone in the room, she was drawn to me. What were the odds?

“What's an intelligent woman like you doing working in a nightclub?” I asked, my gaze fixed on her face.

“A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do,” she replied, her voice low and arousing, her lashes battering at me.

“That's too vague an answer,” I said with the same tone, trying to calm my hormones, especially my cock, as I could feel it swelling in my pants.

“We could spend this little time talking about the series of unfortunate events that led me here…or…” she leaned closer, her perfectly manicured fingers brushing over my suit, “…we could do something else.” She jerked her eyes to look into mine. “Something more…stress-relieving.” Her voice dropped so low that it ceased my breath for a moment.

Alright. You asked for it.

I smirked, testing the waters by placing my palm on her thigh.

She didn't stop me, nor did she break eye contact. I dared to go up a little, and her body trembled at my touch with a soft moan that made me hard instantly.

I wanted her, and it was obviously a mutual feeling. We stared at each other for a moment, and I could see her chest swelling in anxiety as her body writhed at the feeling of fingers traveling toward her underpants.