Chapter Two - Ruslan

Destiny Bar is pumping, and I can feel the beat of the trance music pulsating through my bones, and it's just the way I like it. It's the perfect bar for a party-going Bratva boss like me. I can set up in the VIP lounge, slink back into the dark corner of the velvet chaise lounge, watching everything and everyone from a distance. If I want to engage and grab any woman I see, I can have Mark round me up the surplus of available club skanks, or I can challenge myself—not that it's much of a challenge for a witty charmer like me.

Adrenaline courses through my veins as I grab my chilled vodka on the rocks, sipping it and watching the scantily clad blonde in front of me, dancing and grinding her body in time with the music. Chuckling, I wink at her as the fringe of her short skirt grazes my sinewy forearm. A thick beat rides through my alcohol-fueled system as I resist the urge to grab the dancer and perch her on my lap. Rolling up my sleeves, I open my legs wider so she can slide between them. Beckoning her to come closer, with my index finger, I raise my glass to entice her, as her oriental perfume wafts through my nose.

Her hair is like silk as I comb my fingers through its dangling strands, my cock rising to the occasion. Andrei—my cousin—looks on in amusement, chuckling to my right. To my left is my Bratva right-hand man, Mark, and a couple of other associates have floated in and out of the booth throughout the night. Every single one of them has a woman dancing in front of them. It's a standard Friday night for all of us, and we've got a lot to celebrate.

"Hey," she asks silkily as I deeply inhale the scent of her, running my fingers through her hair. "Are you and your boys having a good time tonight?"

Whispering in her ear, I reply, "I sure am, and it looks like the boys are too. How about you, sweetheart?"

Her surgically enhanced breasts flounce in front of my face, and I watch swaying my head from side to side. It's tempting to think about taking her home, but why would I when I can check out what else is on the platter in the club?

"I am. I'm having a great time," she replies as I tuck a hundred-dollar bill down the middle of her bra. Andrei interrupts, tapping my arm.

"I just got a text," he advises, his face changing to more of a serious tone.

"Okay, I'll wrap this up," I tell him, returning my gaze briefly back to the woman in front of me. "Good, good." Abruptly, I cool down my wit, swiftly replacing it was a cold, icy glare. "Take the other girls and go, please," I reprimand politely enough, watching her body movements slow down.

"Really? You want us to go?" she asks, a baffled expression riding over her face.

"Yes. Go. Maybe I'll call you back later, but for now, you're going to have to go. Don't worry, enjoy drinks on me, anything you want. Tell Teddy at the bar it's open for you and the girls, okay?" The dark tilt of my tone screams of danger, but she immediately catches the hint, shifting back from between my legs, and nudging her girls to beat a hasty path.

"Oh, umm, okay, Ruslan."

As the girls scamper off, I turn my face to my men, getting serious.

"Hey, I was in the middle of something important," Mark explains as I sip more of my drink.

"Fuck what you were in the middle of. Bratva business is more important. Remember that always," I remind him with a deadpan stare as I snap my fingers in the direction of the DJ. He shifts one of his headphones back from his ear, holding up an "OK" symbol, and automatically the music in the VIP booth descends.

Andrei drains the remains in his vodka glass. "You're right about that, but we do have cause for celebration, despite the text message," he replies gravely.

Mark nods, cracking a smile. "Yep. Securing Harwood Heights and Lyon were massive. We've been trying for weeks to have them negotiate."

Grimly, I nod my head. "Yep, you've got that right, and supplying those low-level drug runners is the perfect cover for our larger operations. They're so stupid, they don't realize how much we've marked up their rubbish guns."

"Dummies," Andrei scoffs with a self-satisfied smirk. My cousin, Andrei, is almost a dead ringer for me with his dark hair and pale features, the only difference being our height—him being smaller, my facial hair, and the extensive range of tattoos inked on my body, telling their own story. He's as ruthless as me and that's precisely why, as a blood brother, I keep him close. Not all members of my Bratva brotherhood are as sharp as me, and that's why I've worked my way to the top, slugging through the ranks, but Andrei and Mark hold their marks. I can trust them.

"The whole of the Southside of Chicago is ours in one way or another," Mark comments as we clink our glasses together.

"Yes. Now we need to take our sights to the top of the tree. We have to reach our Bratva roots deeper into political networks, and that will give us more political power and protection," I add, letting my brain run wild with the possibilities.

"Yep, but first we need to concentrate on these Omerta files. That's what's going to make us the most feared Bratva network in the whole country," Andrei proposes, practically salivating.

"We need to get the girls back because this deserves a toast. The Italians will crumble if Omerta files are released publicly," Mark points out.

Andrei shakes his head. "It's not just the Italian Mafia who need to be worried." His tone is grim, but there's a fire in my belly because this isn't a problem as far as I'm concerned, but I understand the caution at the same time.

Leaning forward with my hands clasped, I grin at Andrei, clamping a hand down on his shoulder. "We are the Bratva. There's nothing to be afraid of."

Andrei looks me square in the eye. "Hey, there's hardcore evidence against the Russians on those files as well, and according to my internal sources, the files can bring down big powers around the world—these include you, Ruslan. This isn't the time for complacency."

Rolling my tongue around in my mouth, I sigh. "Ah, Andrei. Can't you see this is the biggest opportunity of all time for the Bratva?"

"Explain," Andrei replies in a miffed tone. "Because I have the message from Kian right here in my phone."

"What's the message say?" I ask him as Andrei brings the phone up in front of our faces. Squinting, I take note of the foreign number.

"It's from a burner phone, or from a calling card because I've never seen this set of numbers before," Andrei adds.

"Has to be a calling card because these aren't Chi-town area codes," I remark with a mumble, scrutinizing the number.

"Don't worry about the number. Look at the message." Andrei draws the text message up closer.

KIAN: If you don't want all your dirty little secrets exposed, I suggest you follow all my instructions to the letter. I have crucial files on all your key operations that will end you if they leak.

Studying the message, I sit upright. "That's not the threat you think it is. It's merely a business opportunity," I advise my brothers. "Find this guy's location and get those fucking files. We can use them to our advantage. Don't you see?" Slapping Andrei, I see his face change as he slowly acknowledges what I'm telling him.

Picking my vodka back up, I sip with a smirk on my face, letting the burn fuel the anticipation of what's to come. It's so close to the surface, I can taste the glory of power. I return to scoping out the crowd for women I can take home to partake in birthday celebrations.

Andrei responds after thinking it through some. "Yes. You're right. It can work. Let me work with our internal communications team to get it sorted out."

As my eyes surf through the crowd, I nod. "That's exactly the answer I want to hear. Once we get the Omerta files, we're going to be impossible to stop."

Mark chuckles as my eyes skim toward a group of women. My first inclination was to search out the girls from earlier, but they've long gone, probably spending their money elsewhere.

Oh well. If I'm hard up, I have their numbers.

I take a second to skim my eyes over to the woman who caught my attention a second earlier. Her emerald eyes captivate and hold my attention, as does her body, poured into a scarlet red dress and accentuating all her curves.

The swing of her long brown hair as she talks with her friends, and her dazzling smile, are extraordinary. And it's not as if I haven't had women before. I'm the head of the Chicago Bratva network, and if I want any woman in my bed, it's easy enough to arrange.

This is different. I can't pull my eyes away from the curve of her sumptuous mouth, even if I were to try. I want her. Preferably in my bed.

And I'm going to have her. Cracking my knuckles, I drown out my associates, watching as the mystery woman effortlessly glides to the dance floor, giggling with her friends, and I feel the breath leave my chest.

I don't give a damn about the other women with her. She's the standout of the group, and what's even more enthralling about the buxom brunette is, she doesn't know how divine she truly is. Men are discreetly craning their necks to watch her from the bar with their girlfriends too, and I'm surprised that I feel a territorial surge of rage bubbling up as they gawk at her.

Fuck off. She's mine, pridurki. I'm the deadliest man in Chicago, and there's no fucking way she's going home with any of you.

"Yes, swing those hips. Soon they'll be swinging to a different tune in my bed," I murmur hotly under my breath, my cock rousing from its slumber and the buzz from the alcohol wearing off, replaced with carnal reactivity.

Her body isn't stick-thin either. There's plenty of her to hold and grab on to. Not like these stupid models who throw themselves at me as if they've lost their fucking minds.

Oh yes. I'm going to have this one. She's going to be my celebration gift to myself.