3. Kristof

Avoiding Mara becomes a challenge.

Rejecting her outright is too risky. She'd twist it too easily into my mistake of implying she wants anything from me, and given how Aleksander treats his daughter when she tells the truth, I'm under no illusions as to how well that discussion would go.

I leave her at the bar, but she follows with languid steps as if we just happen to be going in the same direction. It irks me more than I can put into words, so I take the only path I know she won't take—down to security. Mara doesn't like to get her hands dirty, at least not in the day-to-day running of things, and it's the safest bet. True enough, her perfumed shadow vanishes when I take the turn down to the security complex, and I breathe a little easier.

Some of the political dancing in this fucking place is exhausting.

Inside the Head Security Office, all it takes is my presence for the three guards inside to vacate immediately. My reputation precedes me, and mostly, I enjoy it. This life is far from easy, and I know the rumors. Whispers in the shadows that I'm insane, that I have no leash holding me back and it's only a matter of time before I snap. That kind of reputation is gold in the Mafia world and stops a lot of conflict before it even starts.

If only that reputation extended to my getting what I want.

Vodka in hand, I stare down the vast number of screens before me. Various places inside and outside the manor flicker. Cameras watch every inch of the perimeter wall, with multiple devices tracking both the front and back gates. Every room has two cameras inside except the bedrooms and the bathrooms. There's not an inch of this place that isn't being watched 24/7. That makes Mara's boldness even more daring, although I doubt Aleksander pays much attention.

As far as he's concerned, she's his, and she's happy. She certainly plays the part well.

My lip curls in disgust at the thought, and I toy with the controls, pulling several different cameras up onto the main screen.

The main gate is closed and eight armed guards are stationed around. Four patrols of six men weave their way around the vast back gardens. Inside, I watch Aleksander talk animatedly on the phone in the study. Mara is in the kitchen, pouring a large glass of wine and berating some poor member of the staff. Camera after camera, I switch through them all, and it's not until I find her that I realize what I was looking for.

Alena.

She's in one of the art rooms, surrounded by half-finished art easels and tucked up on the window seat with a book in her lap. The girl next to her I recognize instantly. Katja Dmitrov. She's a maid here, and in my years in and out, I've watched them grow close.

There's an ethereal beauty about Katja with her tightly curled black hair and striking blue eyes that sparkle almost silver on the screen. She's tall and thin, with something almost mystical about her. Given her closeness to Alena, I've watched her closely and took note when Katja's brother, Alexei, joined the organization. Making it my business to know everything about the people around Alena certainly hasn't helped my infatuation for her, and it rises even now as Alena tips her head back and laughs.

Her long, blonde hair cascades down her back and ripples as she laughs and clutches at her side. I'm almost jealous, envious of whatever Katja has said to get such a reaction out of Alena. Her face lights up, and her response is so animated, with raised hands clutching at her friend, that I fall a little deeper.

Two taps, and the camera zooms in on her bright smile, such a rare sight in this place. I want to make her laugh like that. I want those gorgeous eyes to turn to me, full of life, and have that smile light up my mornings.

I drain my glass and set it down slowly, unable to tear my eyes away from the screen. I haven't seen Alena in four months, and even then, it was just a fleeting visit. She's absolutely beautiful and completely innocent to the captivating hold she has on me.

Her fingertips brush her lower lip as she listens to Katja, and I almost can't breathe. How can I be so powerfully envious of her own hand? Once again, the quiet urge that lingers in the back of my mind surges up, and I have to wrestle it down immediately. What if it was me?

What if I asked for her hand in marriage? What if I put myself forward after everything I've done for this family?

The answer rings in my mind before I even finish the thought, and I have to pull my focus away. It'd be far too easy to persuade myself that such an ask could be granted, and the resulting fallout from raising such an interest would be terrible. I'd be throwing away my life.

For Alena, though, it would be worth it.

If only we weren't at war. If only I didn't have to leave the country so often to clean up Aleksander's messes. Shaking my head, I tap off the screen away and pick up my empty glass. All this work and still, power slips through my fingers.

Soon, Alena will too.

I need a plan. Or I have to go cold turkey.

"Kristof?"

I turn, eyes narrowed, to see a man peeking his head through the door. Alexei, Katja's brother. He has the same striking blue eyes and a similar tall, thin build. His boyish face is void of any scars, and there's still life in his eyes. He clearly hasn't seen much action, but he won't be safe for long. Not in this family.

"What is it?"

"Aleksander has requested you," he says with an eagerness that reminds me of an over-excited puppy. He stares at me with such an open desire for approval that I'm struck with the sudden cold urge to strike him down. Better he learns quickly that this family, this world, is no place for hope.

"Alright." I sigh, passing my glass to Alexei as I pass. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

"We've lost too many men."I clasp my hands together, my leather jacket discarded on the chair to my left as I stare Aleksander down. Mara stands just behind him, her hip cocked and one hand on the back of her husband's chair. Her thickly lined dark eyes never leave me. She watches completely unblinking, and it would be unnerving if not for the fact that the room was filled with people. From recruits to lower-ranking members, we've all gathered for this for one reason and one reason only.

Aleksander needs to choose a path forward.

"It's a part of doing business." Aleksander puffs from a fresh cigar, and I flex my knuckles slightly, pressing my fingertips into the indents.

"Sure, but at the rate we're losing blood trying to hold the docks from the Irish, there's not going to be anyone left. I get it. I do. We send out the cannon fodder, and their objective has been to just hold the territory while I work on the Nikolaevs, but we are running out of manpower. This makes us look weak, and if we're not careful, the Irish will just steamroll over us and force us out."

"The Irish grow too bold," Mara mutters bitterly. "They forget their place."

"If we had moved sooner on the Petrovs last year when I said so," I snap, "they never would have gotten the balls to move on us like this."

"What are you trying to say?" Mara's hand moves from the back of the chair to Aleksander's shoulder. She's baiting me, but I have a nasty habit of not backing down.

"I'm saying we fucked up. Everyone knows the docks are one of the most lucrative territories to hold onto. Half the fucking shipping lanes come through there. It's a gold mine! And the Irish know that. They're not going to give up, and we're not going to beat them back like this when we've already proven we weren't watching closely enough."

Muscles tighten, and I start to pace, weaving in front of the roaring fireplace, and the heat of the flames fans my anger.

"We waited too long to take the Petrovs out. We let them get close to the Irish, exposed a weakness in our chain, and now we are bleeding men we can't afford just to hold the damn place." Sucking in a breath, I finally come to a stop. "We have to do something big."

"Hold on." Aleksander raises a hand, and tension ripples down my spine. "We handled the Petrovs exactly as they deserved to be handled."

"You're telling me," I snort. Their blood is on my hands.

"I understand your frustration," Aleksander continues, and there's an edge to his voice. A touch of irritation that the Petrov name still swims in our conversations. "But we held back because Mara made an excellent point that the Petrovs were more use to us alive. They held the docks for years, and killing them too quickly would lose us decades of trade routes and more."

"Mara?" I can't keep the venom from my voice, and my gaze snaps to her. "We waited that long, gave the Petrovs time to almost make a deal with the Irish because of you? How well did that go, huh? Look at the fucking mess we're in now!"

"Don't you fucking dare speak to me like that!" Mara points an elegant finger at me, and a guttural urge rises in me to lunge toward her and snap her fucking finger off. "What would you have proposed, huh? You would have run in there like the headless chicken you are and gotten yourself and others?—"

"Mara!" Aleksander cuts her off with a yell, his booming voice silencing even the crackle of the flames behind me. Several men in the room shift uncomfortably, and Mara's mouth stutters slightly.

"Aleksander, I?—"

"Out."

"You can't?—"

"Out! Get her out of here." Two guards move from the wall and immediately flank Mara. Hatred burns in her eyes when she looks at me, and I match the intensity as she's escorted out. When the door closes, Aleksander breathes out deeply and then takes a long puff of his cigar. "Women," he mutters.

Chuckles born of fear and respect rise around the room, but caution flares in my mind. It's never a good look for the Pakhan to be talked over by his wife, but his revelation that Mara had influenced family decisions doesn't sit well with me. I wouldn't say I'm close to anyone other than my brother and sister, but each man I sent to the docks died for me.

Died for a loyalty I bred into them.

They're my responsibility, and their deaths weigh on my shoulders regardless. It sours their sacrifice to learn they've died because Aleksander took advice from Mara rather than the experienced lieutenants sitting in this room.

Alexei stands in the corner of the room with his arms crossed and his gaze fixed on me.

"I get it," Aleksander says around his cigar. "You're sour about the Petrovs and the men we have lost as a result. I understand that. But it is done, do you understand me?" He fixes me with a steady stare. "We find a way forward, understand?"

"And what way forward is that?" I want to know his plan rather than agreeing to put it all to bed and forget about it. How does he plan to claw us back from the brink?

"The Nikolaevs." He taps his cigar over the side of the chair and lifts a bushy brow. "We've held the territory. We need them here as soon as possible."

"You're putting a lot of stock in this family." I snort. "I've spent time with them. They have a good deal going in Russia, but like all our business interests back home, the impact on the shipyards has affected us across the board. Things are tight over there, and in some ways, that does make integrating over here more appealing to them." It starts hopeful, and eyes light up around me.

"But?" Aleksander prompts. "There's always a but."

"They're a strong family, and I've sat down with August many times. He already has some roots down here in America, a few branches of his family that may step up when we need them. But he needs a guarantee."

Aleksander snorts and all eyes snap to him. "A guarantee? Serving his Pakhan should be guarantee enough."

My gaze narrows, biting back the frustration that rises like venom. "They are a strong family and require a guarantee that they won't be swallowed. They seek partnership, not integration."

He doesn't like my reply, judging by how his brow furrows. We're so close, so fucking close to getting the men and the power we need from the Nikolaevs, and yet here Aleksander sits, seemingly debating his answer.

"I'll think on it," he says, and the flare of his cigar reflects in his eyes.

My anger boils over, and something snaps deep inside me.

"Bullshit," I snap. "You're not fucking serious?"

All eyes are on me. I'm the only one here who can get away with speaking to the Pakhan in such a way, but I'm past caring whether Aleksander wants to punish me or not. I've worked too hard, I've spilled too much blood for this entire meeting to end on thought.

"What?" His tone is dangerous, but I match it easily.

"We have to stop dancing around these decisions or putting all the hope in a marriage that may or may not fix things! We need the Nikolaevs. The longer we wait, the more men we lose. The Irish are winning this, don't you understand? They are winning and we are hanging by a thread, so it's pretty fucking simple, Aleksander."

No one moves, no one breathes. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Alexei staring at me with a look of wonder on his face.

"You give the Nikolaevs whatever the fuck they ask for, or we give up the docks to the Irish and lose the strongest hold we have on the East Coast. It's your choice."