Chapter 3

Avgust~

"E rica is becoming a problem."

I looked up from my desk to see Maksim looking at me like he'd rather be anywhere else than having this conversation, and it wasn't because he was afraid of me. Maksim Barychev feared no one, and whatever loyalty that he had for me, it'd been born out of respect and nothing more. If ever the day came when I lost Maksim's respect, then I was going to have to kill him before he killed me. So, Maksim's distaste for this conversation came from the fact that he hated dealing with the prostitution side of our business, and not because he was a gentleman at heart.

Like most crime syndicates, we dealt in guns, drugs, gambling, and prostitution. Of course, we sprinkled a lot of extortion, bribery, and blackmail in there, but the majority of our wealth came in the form of guns and drugs. Gambling and prostitution were vices of the entertainment variety, whereas guns and drugs were used for survival.

At any rate, though Melor was in charge of the girls, a lot of the hierarchy went to Maksim for advice because of his extremely high IQ. Once upon a time, Maksim could have been a prodigy for any discipline on the planet. However, because he'd been born to Dimitri and Varya Barychev, Maksim had ended up working for the Kotov Bratva, his parents being nothing but drug addicts that had chosen the wrong side in life.

"What's the problem?" I asked as Maksim walked into my office, the only person allowed to do such a thing without permission. Even my brothers waited for consent before opening any closed door that I was behind.

"Gosha saw her sniffing lines at The Swan last night, and she didn't seem concerned when he confronted her about it," he answered. "She believes that she doesn't have to follow the rules because she's warming Dascha's bed."

"Dascha is nothing more than a byki," I remarked. "His position with us does not make her safe."

Maksim dropped his large frame on one of the chairs near the window. My home was a sprawling mansion in the middle of three acres of forested land, and I had enough guards securing the place that it wasn't an issue to sit near the window. Had I lived in the city, that would be a different matter.

"I know this," Maksim replied. "I say that we make an example out of her, then drug test the rest of the girls. They need to be reminded of the rules."

Without exception, the women that worked for us were to never touch drugs. They were allowed to have a drink or two because their jobs weren't always pleasant, but drugs were forbidden. We dealt in prostitution, not human trafficking, so every woman that worked for us had to be willing, and a person that was addicted to drugs or alcohol was a person that no longer had the ability to consent freely. Addictions were a horrible thing, and employing addicts only brought trouble to your doorstep, and we had enough problems without adding to them.

There was also the fact that men did not pay good money for trash. Men that sought out prostitutes did so for the fantasy that came with a woman that was willing to fulfill your every sexual desire for the right price. Only degenerates wanted to fuck strung-out whores, and more often than not, the desire there had more to do with the mistreatment of women and not sex. Now, that wasn't to say that we didn't have girls that like to be degraded and abused, because we did. However, they were clean, healthy, and aware when they took on a client that also wanted those same things.

"Is the affection returned?" I asked.

Maksim shrugged a shoulder. "I do not believe so. Dascha fucks a lot of the girls that we have. I am not sure why Erica would believe that she is special."

Now, another thing that set us apart from the Italians and Irish was that I didn't have a problem killing women if they needed killing. While I didn't condone abuse of the fairer sex, abusing a woman and killing one that was a danger to everything that we'd built were two very different things. Erica had known the rules before she had committed to working for us, so that was what prevented her from being a victim in this scenario.

I eyed Maksim. "What is the example that you suggest we set?"

"Her preferences are well-known, so I think that we should pull our protection," he suggested coldly. "On her own, she'd never survive." He shrugged again. "It'll save us from having to kill her ourselves."

"And what if Dascha really does return Erica's affections?" I posed.

"Then he's a stupid mudak for getting involved with a whore," Maksim replied simply, having no problem calling Dascha a motherfucker. "Or more so, that particular whore."

Erica Presley's specialty was getting gangbanged, and everyone on the street knew it. The woman had a talent that only the insane could pull off, and if we withdrew our protection, then it'd be open season on her body, something that would only end with her dead in a ditch somewhere. Men were vile creatures, and we were damn near inhumane when you gave us a woman to play with. We liked to tear them apart for our own amusement, whether it be their minds, hearts, bodies, or all three.

"You say whore like that's a bad thing," I chuckled.

Maksim arched a brow. "I have no problem with whores. In fact, they are one of my top five favorite things in the world. My problem is when a woman is more trouble than she is worth, and that is Erica, no matter how much money she brings in."

After giving it some thought, I said, "Talk with Dascha. If there is something more there, then we will give Erica the option of rehab. If there is no affection on his part, then get rid of her."

"What if she talks?"

"I do not believe that it will come to that," I told him. "I believe that she will be remorseful when she finds out that we are willing to release her from her obligations to us."

Maksim didn't look convinced, but neither did he argue. Instead, he said, "Orlyn told Akim that they think they've found Louie Manziel."

I straightened in my chair. "You come in here with nonsense about Erica when you have information about Louie Manziel?"

Instead of falling back into his place, he said, "They think they've found Manziel." Maksim gave me a pointed look. "I didn't say that they have found him."

I leaned back in my seat. "One day, I am going to shoot you, bratok."

"I should be so fortunate, bratok, " the asshole smirked.

"What else do you know?" I asked, ignoring his insolence.

"Not much," he admitted. "However, that picture that Morocco Carrisi was able to procure is proving helpful in flushing him out."

"The struggle will be keeping him alive long enough to find Klive Simpson," I said needlessly. "Manziel's loyalty to Simpson might be more than we're prepared for."

"They are not bratva," Maksim stated simply. "He will not be able to withstand what is coming for him. He'll talk."

"It's never wise to be overconfident, Maksim."

"I speak facts, Avgust," he replied. "One cannot overstate facts."

Changing the subject, I asked, "Did you hear that Noah Murphy's wife is also pregnant now?"

Maksim nodded. "I did hear that."

"We're running out of time."

"I think you misspoke, Pakhan," he replied smoothly. "I think that you mean that you are running out of time."

Once upon a time, a wife and children had been in my future to the point that I couldn't imagine my life without them in it. I'd had a plan, and it'd been outlined to the last detail. Nowadays, the very thought of marriage turned my blood cold. While I did need children, I didn't need a wife for that. However, Nero Sartori hadn't been mistaken when he'd said that it would help that your children were legitimate if power was ever up for grabs. Though we were a brotherhood of loyalty, blood was also considered when it was time to pass down the reins.

"I have no desire to get married."

"Which is understandable," he replied, knowing why. "However, with power come sacrifice, and unless you plan on passing your legacy down to one of your nephews, it will make things a lot easier if your children are not bastards."

"I wouldn't be the first," I pointed out.

"No, you would not," Maksim agreed. "However, we are in America, not Russia, Pakhan. Inheritances are a lot more complicated here than they are back in the homeland."

Though our generation were all American-born, our heritage was rooted deeply in each one of us, and we could all live easily and comfortably in Russia as we did here. Native or not, Russian blood flowed through our veins, and that's who we were, no matter what.

"I'll think about it," I semi-lied, and Maksim just smirked because he knew it.