2. Kristof

The bass tones of Billie Eilish's Bad Guy jerk me awake late in the afternoon. My body aches, my throat is as dry as sandpaper, and the thumping of the music somehow matches the sluggish beat of my heart, fueling the throb in my skull.

Too much celebratory drinking last night.

Or not enough.

Bracing on one hand, I push myself up, and the warmth of a body next to me brings back the memory of the escort I had taken home last night. She's still asleep, undisturbed by the ringtone. Her bare chest rises rhythmically, each breath pulling at the marks I've left on her body from a wild night.

Pay a woman enough, and she won't care how dark your tastes run.

Mine never do.

Sitting up increases the throbbing in my skull, pushing my mood south. Whoever's calling me at this hour had better have a few Hail Marys under their belt.

"Hello?" My voice drags up my throat, and I wince, fighting the urge to cough.

"Kristof!" The cheery tones of my brother and sister, Ivan and Nastja, join together in a painful chorus over the line, and a growl of pain rises in my chest. Fuck, they're too happy for—I glance at the clock—eight p.m.

Fuck.

"Brother!" Ivan's slight Russian accent takes over the call. "We just heard the news, not that we had any doubt."

"A problem never lasts long when Kristof is around," my sister adds. Her accent has a thicker Russian lilt. Like me, she travels back to Russia more than our brother.

"Do I ever disappoint?" Rising, I trudge through the dark bedroom and out into the lounge. I don't need my escort overhearing anything worth more than I can pay her.

"Definitely not," Ivan agrees.

"Do we get details?" Nastja asks. "I heard they pulled a body from the river, but no head and no hands makes identification impossible."

"As it should be," Ivan mutters. "The Petrovs will think twice next time."

"There are no more Petrovs." Trudging into the kitchen, I pour a glass of water as silence falls on the line. My pants hang low, clinging to my waist by a thread of elasticity, and I down the cold water like it's the elixir of life.

"None at all?" Nastja asks cautiously.

"Nope. Unless there's some bastard baby hiding somewhere. Even if there is…" I scoff, turning and leaning against the counter. "There's nothing left for them to salvage."

"Holy shit," Ivan breathes out, then he cheers and I can hear the smile in his voice. "Let's fucking go! Orlova on top, baby. Always!"

Few things in my life are as precious to me as my brother and sister. They are my heart and the only two people I trust completely, even more than my friend and the Pakhan of the Family, Aleksander Orlova. It was hard to believe we used to be rivals, but we share love and a protective urge for the same apple.

His daughter, Alena.

That doesn't mean we always see eye to eye, though. "We wouldn't have had a problem with the Petrovs for this long if I were in charge."

"Kristof," Ivan warns. "You can't say such things."

"It's fucking true. For too long, they were able to skim off the top of deals we set up for them. We nurtured them, we got them on their feet, and how did they pay us back? By trying to swipe the entire West Coast drug trade right out from under our noses. If I were in charge, I would have killed them months ago when we lost the docks."

"And you would have started a war," Nastja interjects. "You're too hot-headed sometimes."

"Bullshit. I would have made us look stronger than we fucking are. I'm the one who deals with the families directly. I'm the one who sees who is loyal and who is wavering. Yet Aleksander thinks niceties and parties are the way to win respect." The glass in my hand clatters to the bottom of the sink as a wave of frustration fueled by my hangover swells in my chest.

I would do better. People would fear the Russian Mafia like in the days of old before the Italians started doing business at banquets.

"You shouldn't talk like that," Nastja warns. "You're just asking for trouble."

"Nastja, did you forget your place? You are in no position to tell me what I can and can't do. I trust you, both of you, with my life. But do not forget who brought you to America, who gave you the life you live now and saved our family. I am your older brother."

"I speak from a place of love, not disrespect," Nastja says. "You know we are with you, no matter what."

"Just keep talk like that away from Alena's party, or we're all in trouble," Ivan mutters.

I straighten immediately—Alena's party.

Of course.

Alena Orlova turns eighteen today, and I've been looking forward to seeing her in her prime. My promise to Aleksander to protect her with every fiber of my soul has been true since the day I uttered those words, but I would be lying to myself if I ignored how she had caught my eye.

With each visit, she grew more and more beautiful, and it has been a few months since I last saw her. I can only imagine the depths of her beauty now, and it has not gone unnoticed how her eyes never leave me when we are in the same room. She is a sheltered girl, unaware of the hardships in the world, but she does little to hide her interest, even if it is likely the fleeting crush of a teenage girl.

Still, I have entertained her in my mind often enough.

"Ivan, I need you to swing by the Petrov house for a once-over. If the cops are there, see if you can't persuade them to look toward the Irish. Nastja, give Anders a call and see what you can get from the body in the river. I did my job, but we can't have anything leading back to us."

"Understood," they say in unison. "Love you."

"Love you too."

Hanging up, the ache in my skull eases at the thought of the party. I need to talk to Aleksander anyway, and if I happen to see the birthday girl, even better.

Back in the bedroom, I grab last night's bloodied shit from the floor and lightly slap the bare calf of the sleeping woman. She wakes with a start, yawning, and pushes one hand through her hair. As she moves, her other wrist is still handcuffed to the bed and the metal clangs as she shifts. That reminder of last night, combined with Alena in my thoughts, makes my cock throb.

She's eighteen now. Would she survive the dark desire that lurks in my heart?

"Get up," I instruct, tossing her the keys. "We have a party to go to."

"Morning to you too," she groans.

"It's evening."

"Whatever."

"What was your name again?"

"Melanie," she replies, unlocking herself from the cuff. "Charming."

"I don't pay for your attitude. I paid for your cunt. Names mean nothing."

Melanie rolls her eyes and nods. "And you'll pay for the extra hours?"

"I'm a man of my word."

Leaving Melanie to get dressed, I head back into the lounge, buttoning up my ruined shirt as I go. It's already late, and if I want to even glimpse Alena, I have to leave now, shower be damned. It wouldn't be the first time I've turned up to one of these looking less than perfect, and I take twisted pleasure in seeing Mara, Aleksander's wife and Alena's mother, utterly distraught at how my presence ruins her perfect dinners.

She's a cold bitch, and my loyalty to protect the Orlova family doesn't extend to her. Not in private, anyway.

"Hurry up," I snap loudly to Melanie, and she yells back something I don't quite catch.

In the cabinet, beneath empty bottles of whiskey and an overflowing ashtray, are two wrapped presents for Alena. I'd bought them on my last trip out of the country, and they have sat here awaiting her birthday. I tuck the smaller one into my pants pocket and set the other on the cabinet.

She'll love both of them, I'm sure of it.

Melanie appears in the doorway, her leopard print dress hugging her body in all the perfect ways that caught my attention last night. However, she bores me now that Alena is on my mind. Melanie holds out my weathered leather jacket, and I accept it with a grunt.

"So, what's the occasion?" she asks, popping chewing gum into her mouth. "How do you want me to act?"

"Be on your best behavior," I reply, snatching up the present and tucking it under one arm. As we head for the door, I catch her wrist and pull Melanie closer, my voice low. "I mean it. I'm not paying for embarrassment. This party is important."

"Relax, Chief, I'll be a fucking golden girl." Melanie smirks.

I release her and hold open the door.

She can be whatever girl she likes. I just need her hanging off my arm and looking stunning.

I want Alena's attention on me. That'll be the fastest way to get it.