Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Mikhail

“My condolences, Mikhail.”

I stand a full foot taller than the old man in front of me, but despite Fyodor Volkov’s smaller stature, no one ever mistook him for being weak.

Volkov reaches to pour me a shot of vodka, but I shake my head.

“So soon you forsake tradition, son?”

“Call me son again and I’ll remind you who I am.”

Volkov’s bodyguards come to attention at the challenge in the air, but I don’t fucking care. “Don’t try me,” I tell them. “This conversation is between your pakhan and me. If any of you dare to defile my father’s memory, you’ll wish you were buried with him.”

Other than staff, a few of my guards and Volkov’s men are the only ones present for this impromptu meeting in one of my restaurants. I chose this one for the security of its location – the beachfront at my back and only one access point. The secluded room is located deep within the walls of the building.

Though from the outside it appears to be an ordinary restaurant serving Russian cuisine, it’s only a front. The atmosphere is thick with the rich aroma of Russian foods, the walls decorated with paintings of Russian landscapes and art, all underscored by the threat of unspoken violence. If these walls could talk…

A muscle twitches beneath the old man’s eye, but before he can respond, I lean in closer. “Some men respect the elderly, cousin. Don’t make the mistake of assuming I’m one of them.”

“If you think⁠—”

“I don’t think,” I snap.

One of his men starts. I know for a fact the last man that interrupted Fyodor Volkov lost his tongue. My fingers itch for his guards to come at me, but they don’t.

Volkov holds a hand up, a silent gesture to hold them at bay. I’m done with the formalities.

“I know why you’re here, old man. I’d like to remind you that by law we’re in our days of mourning. If any of your number breaks that law, retribution will be swift and merciless. The only reason I’ve given you permission to be in my presence before now was out of respect for my father.” I reach forward and adjust Volkov’s lapel. “Is. That. Clear?”

We have ten days left and he knows it.

Muscles twitch in the old man’s jaw, his watery eyes narrowed. He pulls away from my grip on his collar with effort. Though his men outnumber mine, the sheer strength of my cavalcade would overpower them, at least in this moment. My father trained us to be dynamite in human form, veritable panthers.

Volkov would be wise to hire more muscle.

“Ten days left,” he says, before playing his final card. “But you know our traditions.”

I need no reminder.

I wear the knowledge of my duty like a noose around my neck, tightening with each day that passes. The dissolution of my first arranged marriage agreement on the heels of my father’s death was no accident. Volkov is notorious for hitting hard when a man is down, for striking the Achilles heel with no mercy.

My first fiancée went missing, and while we hunted for her, Aleks discovered their financial stability was fabricated. The second arrangement ended as swiftly as the first when my second fiancée was found dead. The third was much harder to secure after my history of arrangements, but we were finally able to. Money talks. And then my third fiancée was found dead this morning.

I nod my head to my cousin’s men. “You’ve outstayed your welcome. You have three minutes to leave before I consider your presence trespassing on our territory and treat you accordingly.” My guards practically vibrate with excitement, rabid dogs who smell blood in the air.

I take out my phone to send a red alert.

Krasnaya trevoga

Unlike Volkov’s men, greater in number but languid under the leadership of their aging pakhan, my brothers obey on command. All are eager to show obedience and homage to their new pakhan.

Volkov stares around the room with those narrowed eyes of his for a few beats before he eyes me carefully and gets to his feet. Without another word to me, he gestures for his guards to escort him out. I’ve already dismissed him as I turn to my phone and send another text.

I tap the computer screen in front of me and wait, drumming my fingers on the mahogany table.

“Another drink, sir?”

I nod without looking at the waiter, scrolling through my notes in front of me. “A bottle of Stolichnaya Elit and a platter of appetizers. And send all staff out unless I signal you directly.”

In my peripheral vision, I see him nod. “Right away, sir.”

Quietly, he evacuates all staff from the room of. I pay my employees well to be discreet and obedient, so they know the routine.

Aleksandr is the first to arrive. I wave a hand to greet him at the door, wordlessly point to the seat beside me, and turn back to the computer.

“Heard the news. Bad fucking luck.”

I grunt in reply. “Luck has nothing to do with it. Sit.”

Aleksandr takes a seat, leaning back and opening up his cell phone. While the rest of the world uses their phones to scroll social media and take selfies, Aleks runs an empire.

He scowls at his phone, his fingers dancing over the screen.

Aleks is younger than I am and in impeccable physical condition. Like all of us, he battles demons, but Aleks schools them under the weight of a barbell. The combination of brilliant techie and sheer brutal strength is useful in our line of work.

He looks nothing like me, which sometimes comes in useful. All of the Romanov men were adopted, a part of our father’s intricate plan to build an empire.

It worked, for the most part.

Aleksandr sits brooding, as his fingers fly over his phone screen. He mutters to himself and stifles a groan. Today’s news fucked up our plans. But the Romanovs always find a way to prevail.

I tap my computer monitor and pull up the video feed. Viktor is the first that shows on screen, followed swiftly by Kolya, Lev, Nikko, and the rest.

“We have a situation.” I quickly bring them up to speed.

“This morning, I got a call. Irina Smirnova was found dead, strangled in her sleep. Of course they have no fucking leads, but we know who was responsible.”

Nikko scowls at the camera, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s glistening with sweat and I can see the walls of his home gym behind him. Nicknamed “The Steel Serpent,” Nikko’s our head assassin. “Volkov.”

Kolya finally breaks the silence. “Being engaged to you’s a fucking death sentence.”

Kolya, our group mastermind, served with my father in the army. Though younger than my father, he’s older than I am. I respect his brilliant strategic mind.

Our laughter quickly dies because it’s true.

He shakes his head at the camera, running his fingers through his short hair streaked with silver. “We don’t have much time to arrange another marriage, Mikhail.” Kolya’s voice is grim. “If we hit that deadline and you’re still unmarried, we know the consequences.”

The destruction of our assets, the possibility of attack from our enemies, the potential threat they could use leverage against the few people that mean anything to us. Even my tribe of panthers isn’t enough.

We’re on the cusp of war if I don’t have a wife, a war we’re not equipped to win.

Kolya continues. “No one in our circles will agree to another arrangement, Mikhail. We’ll have to find someone else.”

I nod, stroking my chin as I think. The waiter brings our food and pours vodka into shot glasses.

“You have our support and protection, brother,” Nikko says, his sober, earnest eyes meeting mine on screen.

I nod. “Thank you.”

“We’ll find you a wife,” Aleks says. “Secretly, of course. We have a network of contacts and resources that can help.”

The rest agree.

My phone buzzes with a text. I feel my eyebrows rise with surprise.

The timing couldn’t be better.