Page 13 of Ivory Ashes

“Not yet.”

He sighs. “Good. I want to watch.”

I’d hate my father a lot more for acting like Anatoly isn’t his son if Anatoly didn’t hate him so much. The only thing he ever felt towards the man who fathered us both is resigned loyalty. The kind of loyalty that bides its time. Waiting for the moment it can turn. When that day comes, all the training Anatoly has gathered will be aimed directly at our father.

It’ll be well earned. Our father all but fed Anatoly’s mother to Trofim. He let Trofim kill her to secure his own ascendency.

Those kind of twisted family dynamics can really fuck a guy up. I’m just glad that guy in question is on my side.

The moment Trofim killed Anatoly’s mom, my allegiances were set.

For my father, there is only me.

For me, there is Anatoly and Raoul.

I walk past them down the hall and they fall into line behind me. “Where is Trofim?” I ask over my shoulder.

“Airport, last time we saw him,” Raoul says. “He booked the first flight out to Moscow.”

Anatoly snorts. “Our guards saw him arguing with the desk to upgrade him to first class. Poor baby is exiled to the tundra for the rest of his days, but God forbid he fly coach.”

“I would have lent him the private jet. So long as he’s gone, I don’t care.”

“He’s gone. Dad is out of the way.” Anatoly slings an arm over my shoulders. “Who would’ve thought a bastard like me would be the right-hand man to the pakhan?”

“I’m not the pakhan yet.”

“Good as,” Raoul says quietly. “You’ve always been pakhan to me.”

Not always. But since the moment Raoul and I met three years ago, he’s looked up to me.

It has a lot to do with me not killing him on sight.

Like Anatoly, Raoul was born a bastard, but he hails from the Falcao cartel in Colombia. He was never supposed to be in the line of succession—bastards being barred from inheriting the family name and all that—but when the war between my family and his escalated, Raoul was the only surviving offspring. His father offered him up as a sacrifice. A peace offering to save his own life and assure us the cartel had no plans to continue operating in our territory.

My father then gave Raoul to me as some kind of twisted consolation. As if killing Raoul might erase the fact that his family killed mine.

But one death would never satisfy my rage. Anyway, it felt like a waste of his talents.

Instead of killing him, I gave him a job.

I fall back a step so I’m walking between Raoul and Anatoly. “Good. Then your new position as my second shouldn’t chafe too badly.”

Raoul’s mouth twitches. It’s the closest I’ve ever seen him to a smile.

Anatoly reaches around me to clap Raoul on the back. “Look at us! Who woulda thought a bastard and a slave would be the two right-hand men to the pakhan?”

If Raoul doesn’t like being called a slave, he doesn’t show it. He just mutters, “He can’t have two right hands.”

Anatoly hums thoughtfully. “You’re right. Someone’s gotta be left. Should we solve this in the ring? I was hoping for a bit more of a fight from Trofim. I have some energy to burn off.”

I wave at them to stand down. “No fighting. I need you conscious and walking.”

“I’ll be conscious and walking,” Anatoly mutters.

“Both of you,” I amend. “You all don’t know when to quit. We don’t have time for a hospital stay.”

“Boo. You’re no fun now that you’re the boss,” Anatoly complains.

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