Page 107 of Ruthless Reign

The tension in the air is thick. They’re like two wolves circling each other, waiting for the right moment to lunge.

I signal to my men to stay against the wall, but I want to see the Zhukovs’ expressions to see for myself what’s really going on here. I pull my gun from the back of my jeans and glide along the edge of the wall, closer to the area where the fight is happening.

“I don't make threats. I make promi?—”

Gunfire erupts around us, cutting Sergey off. Instinctively, I hit the ground, the sharp echo bouncing off the concrete walls, as my men exchange fire with two Zhukov guards who just burst into the basement, guns blazing.

Fuck me. I crawl, taking cover behind a flipped-over table. The air fills with the shouts of men, and the sounds of bullets whizzing and shells clattering to the floor.

With a well-aimed shot, Pavel takes down a guard rushing towards us. The guard collapses, his weapon clattering away from his outstretched hand. Adrenaline pumps through me as another guard aims at Savin. I sneak up behind him and silently slit his throat, leaving him to fall in a lifeless heap onto the ground.

A bullet grazes the air above me. I hunker down behind the table, squeezing off rounds until my magazine clicks empty.

Pavel inches toward me on his stomach. “Ammo,” he says, hand outstretched.

I give him what I have and then radio Viktor. “Any more assholes heading our way?”

“You're clear, but the brothers and at least half a dozen guards are lying in wait in the other room.”

Just as I expected.

I hand Pavel my gun. "I'm going in unarmed. Cover me.”

"You're fucking crazy. They're going to blow you to smithereens the moment you walk in there."

"I doubt it. If it looks like someone is going to shoot, kill them first."

I hear Pavel grumble something that sounds like, “Crazy motherfucker,” as we make ourselves known to the Zhukovs. My hands are in the air to show I'm unarmed.

In the center of the room, Sergey stands rigid, his pistol aimed directly at me. Beside him, Nikolai doesn't even bother to raise his gun. He leans against the wall, muscular arms crossed in front of him. He doesn't look the least bit surprised by my entry.

The guards scattered around the room stiffen at once, their fingers tensing on the triggers. No one moves; no one blinks. Except me.

"Evening, gentlemen." My voice cuts through the thick silence. "I think we have some business to discuss."

“Roman Vasiliev. I was wondering when you’d show your face.” Sergey smiles, but it’s not friendly. “Are you looking for your business partner, Mr. Petrovich?”

“Not at all. I’m looking for you, Sergey. Do you know why?”

He smirks. “I may have an idea. We're certainly overdue for a conversation.”

“What the fuck is this about?” Nikolai snaps.

From the shadows, I sense Pavel growing restless, his hand inching towards his weapon, but I subtly gesture for him to hold his position.

When Nikolai steps into the light, I'm taken aback by his appearance. Unlike his brother, who wears pressed suits and boasts a neat haircut, Nikolai has a shaved head and tattoos climbing his neck—a man toughened by prison. Sergey might look polished, but he’s a treacherous rat.

I shrug. “This is about your brother and Anatoly abducting cats from the US to be sold in Europe, and using the ships that the Belov Syndicate chartered. For the record, that really fucking pissed me off.”

Sergey rubs his hands together, that smug-as-shit smile curling his lips. “Don't get your panties in a knot, Vasiliev. If it's about money, we’ll cut you in on the deal.”

I crack my knuckles. “A bit late for that, but it's not about the fucking money. We don't get involved in the flesh trade because it's disgusting. I think your brother agrees.”

Nikolai’s head tilts, and he erupts in manic laughter. “You crossed the Belov Syndicate? Brother, you've practically dug your own grave.”

Sergey's face hardens, and his nostrils flare. “Fuck the Belov Syndicate. And fuck you. The Zhukovs are going to reign over Russia soon, and there’s nothing you can do about it. In fact”—his eyes glint with something feral—“this seems as good a time as any to announce my good news. Anatoly and I are going into business together. The Petroviches and Zhukovs will be business partners and brothers-in-law.”

My blood turns cold. “What are you saying?”

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