Chapter 2

Maxim Morozov

The vodka slid down my throat so smoothly that I tipped my head back and groaned softly with my approval. It was rare to find really good Russian vodka in a bar here in Boston, but in my bar, I shipped in all the best stuff.

The Iron Wolf Tavern was mine and I served what I wanted when I wanted simply because I could.

Nestled in a dimly lit corner of Boston's bustling North End, the Iron Wolf Tavern was frequented by me, my brothers, my men, and all manner of Russians alike.

We had a reputation for being one of the best and I fully intended on keeping it that way.

I was especially proud of the interior. It was draped in deep red velvet fabrics and decorated with gold accents that shimmered under subdued amber lighting. Heavy, dark wood paneling lined the walls. The bar itself was a massive, ornate piece of mahogany, behind which rows of the absolute best bottles of premium Russian vodka were displayed like trophies.

Honestly, the place reminded me of home.

I sat in my booth in the back, watching as the regulars mingled, their voices a low hum of Russian and English words. The front door swung open, letting in a burst of chilly autumn air, and my brother Sergei walked in, scanning the room with his usual assessing gaze. With a wry grin on my lips, I lifted my glass toward him in greeting.

"Ah, the fortress stands strong," Sergei commented dryly as he approached, nodding at the robust security at the door. His green eyes flickered with a hint of amusement as he clapped me on the shoulder before sliding into the booth.

"Only the best for us," I replied, pouring him a shot from the bottle I reserved for family only.

No sooner had Sergei settled than Ivan strolled in, his phone in hand, likely closing another lucrative deal or hacking into something he shouldn't. His distracted demeanor changed as he noticed us, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"Brothers!" Ivan exclaimed, pocketing his device as he slid next to Sergei. "You started without me?"

"Nonsense," Sergei shot back with a smirk. "We were merely prepping the stage for your grand entrance."

Before they could say anything else, Aleksei made his appearance. Always the most stylish among us, his tailored black suit was impeccable, which only added to his ruggedly handsome looks and well-groomed beard.

"Did someone mention starting already?" Aleksei remarked, his eyes scanning the shots of vodka lined up as he joined us. "Don't worry, I come bearing gifts from the latest art auction. Spoils fit for kings," he added, setting down a small, exquisitely wrapped package at the center of the table.

"Only Aleksei would bring art to a vodka party." Nikolai's booming voice filled the tavern as he entered last, his massive frame barely fitting through the doorway. He ruffled Aleksei's hair as he passed.

I shook my head.

"You call this a family gathering? Looks more like a somber council of war," Nikolai joked, enveloping Ivan in a brief, bone-crushing hug before turning to me.

"Maxim, you look like you've swallowed a bear," Nikolai teased, his eyes twinkling as he took the seat opposite us.

"Perhaps he's just savoring the vodka," Ivan suggested, raising his glass.

"Or perhaps," I began, raising my own glass, "I'm contemplating the empire we're building." I proposed a toast, and as our glasses clinked, the warmth of family and vodka filled me with fierce pride.

We were the Morozovs.

Since arriving in Boston only recently, my family and I have carved out our own niche in this bustling city. Coming from Russia, where life often felt like a high-stakes chess game, we brought with us a fierce loyalty to family and a robust sense of responsibility to our community.

I opened the Iron Wolf Tavern not long after we settled here as a discreet base for my family's operations.

It hadn't taken long, but Boston was our city.

"Speaking of empires," I said as my brother's laughter died down, "I called you all here for a reason. Let's move this to the back room. We have serious matters to discuss, and they're not for the ears of every Tom, Dick, and Harry in this place."

My brothers nodded with their understanding and then we all stood up and headed toward the door in the back. The back room of the Iron Wolf Tavern was our usual meeting place. Lined with the same dark woods and rich textures as the main bar, it held a round table that seemed more suited to a band of medieval war strategists than modern-day businessmen, but it worked for us.

As we settled around the table, I cleared my throat as I took my seat.

"Brothers," I began, my voice low and steady, "we're at a turning point. It's time we expanded further than these walls and this city. Boston is just the beginning. I think there's potential in New York."

Sergei leaned forward, his fingers tracing the interstate lines on the map. "New York is extremely competitive. It's teeming with others who won't welcome us. We'll need a solid plan before we even step foot in the place." His voice was cautious, always the strategist among us.

"Think about the new tech opportunities, Sergei. It could give us the edge we need," Ivan chimed in, his voice filled with excitement. I could always count on his optimism to lift the mood.

"And here I was thinking Ivan would want to set up a server farm in Times Square." Sergei gave Ivan a playful shove before turning serious. "But he's right. New York offers more than just new ground—it's a hub for innovation, something that could benefit our entire operation."

Aleksei, who had been quietly listening for much of the conversation, finally spoke up. "We could blend in, maybe even start some cultural initiatives to garner community support. Art exhibitions, perhaps, bridging the old and the new."

I nodded. "That's a really good point. Winning over hearts and minds could be just as important as any tech-savvy business strategy."

The room fell silent for a moment as we all considered the possibilities.

"Let's put it to a vote then. All in favor of expanding our operations into New York, say ‘aye,'" I declared.

"Aye," came the chorus, each voice firm and resolute.

"And those opposed?" I asked, already knowing the answer. Silence answered me, and I grinned, meeting the eyes of my brothers one by one.

"Then it's settled. We move on New York," I announced, a sense of pride and excitement swelling in my chest.

We all stood up, gathering in close. Sergei clapped me on the back, Ivan raised his glass in a toast, Nikolai's booming laugh filled the room, and Aleksei's quiet, knowing smile spread over his face. Together, as a unit, we were going to make our name even bigger and more powerful than it already was.

"Let's make this the beginning of a new chapter for us," I concluded, and the five of us smiled at one another, the anticipation written all over our faces.

A sudden shout cut through the wooden doors of our private room. Then, more yelling echoed throughout the room, the distinct sound of a chair scraped violently against the floor, and the unmistakable grunt of men clamoring for a brawl soon followed.

In an instant, all five of us were moving.

Sergei reached the door first, pushing it open with a force that made it slam against the wall. We spilled into the main area of the bar, immediately scanning the room for the source of the disturbance.

Through the crowd of shifting bodies, a towering figure emerged. He was a massive man, easily six-foot-six, his fists clenched as he shouted in thickly accented Russian at a considerably smaller man who was trying to, quite unsuccessfully, calm the giant down. Beside the giant stood a young woman, her expression one of both annoyance and sheer embarrassment.

For the briefest of seconds, my gaze inadvertently met the young woman's. There was something about her—perhaps the rebellious tilt of her chin or the blazing fire in her blue eyes—that caught me completely off guard. For a fleeting second, the chaos around me dulled into a low hum, her face a clear focus in the midst of the blur.

Her cascade of fiery red hair framed her shoulders and fell down her back in soft waves. Her piercing blue eyes held such defiance that no doubt matched her wild spirit, yet somehow, there was still a spark of innocence there that drew me in. Her cheeks were rosy with color, pink and soft, just like her utterly bitable lips.

I longed to kiss them.

Her slender body was lean, but her curves went on for days. I licked my lips as I took in the swells of her full breasts, her curvy hips, and the long lines of her legs. She couldn't be any taller than five foot two, but her confident stance made her seem larger than life.

At least to me.

Our eyes held each other's across the crowded room. It was like time stilled, the noise around us fading into insignificance. It was as if a single look had the power to pierce through the facade of the everyday and touch directly on something deeply rooted in my soul.

I didn't know what to make of it. I hadn't looked at a woman like that in more than a decade, not since my wife died years ago.

I took a deep breath. I shouldn't be looking at her this way. She couldn't be any older than my daughter. She was far too young for me. I had to be at least twice her age and then some, but even though that should have stopped me in my tracks, it didn't.

Just then, the man beside her shouted, his voice booming, "Keep your hands off me. Riley belongs to me! If I want to fuck her right here on this table, that's exactly what I'm going to do!"

The possessive edge to his tone jarred the moment between us as he reached back and grabbed her arm, his grip so visibly tight that his knuckles turned white. She winced, a flicker of pain crossing her delicate features, and it was that small, involuntary reaction that snapped me back to reality in an instant.

Something fierce and protective welled up within me. I took a step forward and gritted my teeth, my entire body tensing with emotion. Beside me, my brothers prepared to back me up, their fierce stares on the man as they assessed the threat he posed.

"Hey," I called out, my voice firm yet calm, drawing his attention away from Riley. "There's no need for that. We treat our women with respect here. You will treat her, and everyone here, with that same respect, or you will leave."

The man's arrogant shit brown eyes met mine, the challenge clear in his gaze.

I didn't fucking like it.

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want in this place," he growled. "Riley owes me a debt and she's going to pay it. I don't give a fuck if she wants to or not. She owes me."

The tension in the air crackled like static as the man and I locked eyes. His grip on Riley's arm tightened, she flinched, and my blood boiled. I took a step forward, my brothers flanking me.

"You don't know who you're messing with," the man spat, his voice low and menacing, his eyes never leaving mine.

"And you don't seem to either," I retorted, my voice equally cold. The Iron Wolf Tavern had fallen into a tense silence, the usual revelry replaced by the sharp edge of impending violence.

"I am Gregor Orlov," he declared.

I knew that name.

I hadn't heard of the Orlovs in a long time, mainly because we hadn't run in the same circles. They had strongholds in both Russia and Chicago, and if Gregor's presence suggested anything at all, it was that they were potentially making moves here in Boston.

I didn't like the sound of that, especially when my brothers and I had just decided that it was time to expand our reach into New York.

Gregor's other hand slid toward the coat of his jacket. There was no doubt in my mind that he was carrying a weapon of some kind, be it a gun or a knife.

I wasn't afraid of him, armed or not.

"Maxim Morozov," I responded. "And this is my territory. You will release her and show some respect, or?—"

"Or what, Morozov?" Gregor interrupted, his sneer turning into a malicious grin. "You'll make me?" In a blur of movement, he pulled a knife from his jacket, the blade glinting ominously under the dim lights of the bar.

The room held its breath. I did the same, drawing my own knife without saying a word. My heart pounded in my chest.

I had my own reputation to maintain. My name meant something here in Boston.

With the help of my brothers, I ran one of the most powerful bratva crime syndicates in Boston. My ruthlessness was known far and wide.

I twirled the gold and ruby ring on my finger, well aware of the rumors that came with it. It was said that my ring contained poison, that I could kill a man with a simple flick of my wrist.

The rumors about me were true.

I cocked my head in Gregor's direction. It was obvious that he didn't know my name and what it meant.

He'd learn that very soon.

The Morozovs controlled the North End of Boston.

Our primary activities included high-stakes money laundering and arms trafficking. These ventures were shrouded in layers of legitimate businesses, from nightclubs to private security firms, which masked the underlying currents of our true dealings. Protection rackets were also part of our portfolio, though we styled these operations more as ‘insurance policies' for local businesses than anything else.

We also controlled a significant portion of the city's illegal gambling circuits. These ranged from underground poker games to high-tech online betting systems, which generated substantial revenue and gave us leverage over influential figures who might otherwise be beyond our reach.

We were powerful and our ventures didn't end there. They were always changing and evolving with the times and with my brothers' help, we grew richer and more influential with every passing day.

"We can settle this here, or you can walk away," I offered, every muscle tensed, ready for whatever came next.

Gregor laughed, a harsh sound that echoed off the walls. "I think you'll find I'm not one to walk away from a fight."

The two of us circled each other like gladiators in the Coliseum. The crowd, having retreated to a safe distance, watched in tense silence.

Gregor made the first move, aiming a swift jab at my midsection. I parried with my own blade. The sound of metal scraping against metal was loud.

With a grunt, I countered, thrusting my knife toward him. Gregor twisted away, his movements surprisingly agile for someone of his size. He retaliated with a powerful backhand, his fist connecting with my jaw in a blow that sent a shockwave of pain through my skull. I staggered back, tasting blood as my cheek throbbed.

Without missing a beat, I dodged his next knife thrust, feeling the slice of air as his blade passed inches from my torso. We spun around each other, each one of us huffing with the exertion of the fight. I threw a punch, hitting Gregor in the ribs. He exhaled sharply, pain flashing across his features, but he didn't slow down.

As we continued to circle each other, I feigned left and then moved right, slicing my knife across Gregor's forearm. A line of crimson bloomed on his white sleeve, his blood stark against the color of the fabric. He roared in anger and pain, his face contorting into a snarl.

Gregor lunged forward with renewed fury, his knife slashing through the air toward my face. I leaned back just in time, feeling the wind from the blade brush against my skin. Seizing the moment, I kicked out, my foot connecting with his knee. Gregor faltered, his leg buckling under the impact.

We were both panting now, our breaths loud in the sudden quiet that enveloped the bar. I watched him closely, waiting for his next move, ready to end this before it could escalate any further. Gregor glared at me with unabated rage and clutched at his wounded arm.

"Think very carefully about your next steps when you leave here tonight," I whispered, my voice low and menacing.

His wide grin split his face as he stood back up to his full height, leveling me with a venomous look that was fit to kill.

With increasing recklessness, he lunged at me again, the vitriol written all over his face.

Probably thinking he could catch me off guard, he swung his knife widely. Luckily for me, his anger made him predictable. I parried his clumsy swipe, redirecting his momentum to spin him around so I could momentarily expose his back. Seizing the opportunity, I drove a hard elbow into his lower back, right into his kidney, propelling him forward. He grunted in pain.

Regaining his footing, Gregor whirled to face me, his knife swinging in a wide arc. I ducked under the blade, feeling the rush of air as it sliced just above my head. Springing up, I caught his wrist in a tight grip, twisting sharply. The knife clattered to the floor, and I kicked it aside.

Before he could recover, I pressed forward, my own knife now tracing a cold, unyielding line against the vulnerable flesh of his throat. The sharp edge of my blade pressed lightly into his skin, enough to draw just the slightest hint of blood.

"We're done here," I said, my voice low and commanding, the room falling deathly silent but for the heavy breaths that rasped from Gregor's throat. "Leave now and take this as a warning. My generosity has limits."

"This isn't over, Morozov," he growled.

With a sudden, feral snarl, he spun around, his hand darting inside his coat. The gleam of a gun barrel caught the soft amber light of the overhead lights as he aimed it squarely at me.

Time seemed to slow. The murmurs of the crowd hushed into a deathly silence. My brothers tensed, ready to leap into action, but I was already moving.

I lunged forward as Gregor's finger tightened on the trigger. The gunshot rang out, a sharp echo that pierced through the air. Fortunately, my sudden movement had thrown off his aim and the bullet whizzed past, embedding itself in the woodwork behind me.

Closing the gap between us, I didn't hesitate. My hand shot out, gripping Gregor's wrist, twisting it violently until the gun dropped with a clatter to the floor. With my other hand, I plunged my knife deep into his side. Gregor's eyes widened in shock and pain, a strangled gasp escaping his lips.

He tried to retaliate, his other hand swinging toward me in a weak, desperate punch. I sidestepped smoothly, my hold on him unyielding. With a swift, calculated move, I pulled the knife out and, with all the cold precision of a winter storm in Siberia, drove it once more, this time aiming higher, the blade slicing through the air and sinking into his throat.

Gregor's movements faltered, his eyes glazing over as he grasped at the handle protruding from his neck. A gurgling sound filled the tense air as he staggered back and collapsed to the floor with his hand clutched to his throat, trying to stem the flow of blood but it was already too late. As he bled out, life slowly faded from his eyes until they were staring blankly at the ceiling of my bar.

I stood there, breathing heavily, the knife still in my hand.

"Call Yuri," I instructed Sergei. "We need to clean this up properly." I swallowed hard and looked around the bar. "To the rest of you, drinks on the house tonight."

The crowd roared in approval.

This wasn't the first man that died in my bar, and it would most certainly not be the last.

Amidst the noise, I noticed a slight, almost imperceptible movement at the edge of the crowd.

It was her.

Riley moved with a subtle grace, trying not to draw attention to herself as she tried to slip away.

But nothing escaped my notice in my own establishment.

"Lock the doors," I commanded loudly, cutting through the burgeoning chaos of relieved chatter and clinking glasses. The room fell silent once more, all eyes snapping back to me, including Riley's, which widened with a flash of fear and clear defiance.

"And nobody leaves. Not yet." My gaze fixed on Riley as I spoke, making it clear that the directive was especially meant for her.

Riley froze. She looked around desperately, as if seeking any other avenue of escape, but the doors were already being secured by my men.

She wasn't going anywhere.

"Riley, you're coming with me," I stated, the firmness in my voice leaving no room for argument.

Her gaze leveled with mine, delicious wildfire burning in her eyes.

"The fuck I am," she snarled.