Chapter 1: Leon

Present

Birds chirp as I walk across the cemetery, a bouquet of roses in my hand. There are rows of graves to the right of the path, but none is the one I'm looking for.

I walk further into the cemetery and look at the widows weeping at their husband's graves while their children stand behind them. My mother used to kneel at a grave and cry until her tears dried. She would sob for hours, wishing she could travel back in time. The heartbreak killed her eventually, too.

Gravel crunches beneath my feet as I head to the Orlov family plot.

I clench the stems of the bouquet tighter.

Thorns press into my palm, but with the pain comes a certain clarity that makes it easier to put one foot in front of the other. Today is the anniversary of Pavel's death, but the walk to his grave doesn"t get any easier with the years.

It still feels as raw today as it did when Pavel died. I'm only thirty-eight, and I've spent almost half my life without my brother.

I stop and run through my dark hair to ensure it's still slicked back. Pavel would hate it if I came to his grave looking like a heap of misery.

As I put my hand in my gray suit pants pocket, I glance back at the parking lot. Sergey is still in his car but won't come here until I'm gone.

Neither of us spends time grieving together. It's easier to keep the pain inside, let it out for a few moments each year, and then stuff it away again.

A shiver runs down my spine as I step through the small wrought-iron gate onto the Orlov family"s plot. Every time I come here, I am overcome by a feeling as if my soul is being separated from my body. A big part of me is gone, and this hole only feels emptier when I stand in front of the memory of it.

I run my fingers over the date on Pavel's gravestone before I kneel and put the flowers down. There is already a bouquet here, although I don't know who has visited his grave earlier.

Boris stands beside me, my second in command and my constant shadow. He doesn't say a word as he hovers behind me and solemnly lowers his head. I arranged the flowers the best I could, but I didn't think to bring a vase with me this time.

As I stand up, Boris steps to the side. He clasps his hands behind his back and scans our surroundings for signs of a threat.

Anyone who would dare to anger a member of my family on this day would ask for their death. There would be no mercy at all; they would be killed on the spot. My already thin patience would be no more.

Pavel didn't deserve to die, especially not at the hands of Antonio Reyes, the boss of a powerful Mexican drug cartel. It's been over a decade, and still, the pain doesn't get any easier; it just fades deeper into the back of my mind until something reminds me of him. He should still be with me. He was only two years younger than me and was my best buddy. He was always up to mischief but naive when he ran straight into the hands of the cartel.

I got revenge for you, priyatel" [buddy]. I will never forget you.

Boris cuts his gaze toward the grave. "He was a good man and watches over us now."

I nod. "He was. Goddammit. We will raise a toast in his honor tonight when the family comes together."

"At least you put the fucking bastard who killed him in the ground right after."

The corner of my mouth twitches. "Slaughtered the entire family, too."

Boris chuckles and turns back down the path, heading for the parking lot. "You did. I spent most of that night supervising the cleaners and making sure they scrubbed every drop of blood from that house."

"Antonio never knew what was coming for him, like my brother didn't." I hold my head high, shoulders back, as I take one last look at the crying widows.

Their children stand behind them, but there's a dull in the eyes of one boy. He looks as if he's close to thirteen, standing tall and bearing the burden of the family, even when I'm sure he feels as if it's going to fall apart.

I know that life well. Some boys are forced to become men faster.

This is a good thing. It means they won't grow up weak. They will know what to do and do it without asking why. These are the kind of boys who will become the backbone of their family and hold it together when everything else falls apart.

I was that boy, and now I'm that man.

Boris leads the way to the waiting car, holding open the back door and waiting for me to get in. The chauffeur glances at me in the mirror. "Where to, boss?"

"Back to the house. I have business to deal with."

Boris slides in beside me and closes the door with a thud. "Speaking of business, the fucking Mancinis were caught snooping around one of the warehouses in Manhattan. We found a body, one of the security guards, where the Mancini had been lurking."

I lean back in the seat, waiting as Boris pours me a glass of whiskey from the decanter resting in the console. "Fucking Italians. And did you go after the Mancini men?"

"A few others were waiting for us. They thought it wise to lure our men into an ambush while we were receiving a shipment of cocaine. However, several of our men were injured in the fight."

I slosh the amber liquid around the sides of the crystal glass, letting the flavors bloom before taking a sip. "And?"

"We killed the four Mancinis who thought they could attack us. I personally brought their bodies back to their territory."

"Fuck yeah." I lean back against the buttery, soft, black leather seat, staring out the tinted window as the city passes us by. "The only good Mancini is a dead Mancini."

This is what we do.

This is our life.

If the Mancini clan wants to take the Bratva, we"ll hit back twice as hard.

They want to start a war, a war they'll get.