Page 17 of Ruthless Reign

Yeah, right. Since when has Roman ever faded into any background? It’s impossible.

Our waiter arrives, setting down plates of dessert with a flourish that momentarily distracts me from my thoughts. We didn’t order dessert, but I think the staff have figured Kira out.

“Oh, is that opera cake?” She reaches for a fork.

Four days with Roman in a foreign city.

I swallow hard. It’s fine. It’s not like we’re going to be alone, and either way, I’m an adult. I’ll just ignore Roman as best as I can. Not a problem.

“Wow, you need to try this cake.” Kira moans, her mouth full.

I suck in a deep breath and open my eyes again, flashing her a bright smile. "Sure. It looks delicious!"

CHAPTER EIGHT

ROMAN

Steam swirls around me as I settle onto the wooden bench of the banya, the heat sinking into my muscles chasing away the chill of Moscow winter. The room is filled with the sharp scent of pine and birch sap—Russians believe it calms the mind as much as it cleanses the body.

If only it could cleanse my soul. But there’s no cleaning something soiled and rotten.

The sauna door opens, steam billowing in as Anatoly and his father, Stepan, greet Maxim, Pavel, and me before settling onto the bench.

It’s been a few days since the party at the Ivanovs’, and Stepan looks even worse. The cancer treatment is probably kicking his ass, but I get why he showed up today. Just like Maxim is handing me the reins, Anatoly’s father must do the same, allowing his son to take over the key aspects of the business while he focuses on his health.

When Maxim first made this deal a few months ago, it was with the belief that we'd be working with Stepan—a man not without his faults but respected for being a straight shooter. But Anatoly lacks his father’s respectability; he follows no code other than his selfish desires. Unlike him, I adhere to a code that I live and die by: protect my brothers, stand by my word, and uphold my honor at all costs.

“Gentlemen.” I reach for a bottle of vodka from the ice bucket at my feet. Condensation beads on its glass like sweat. “I’d like to make a toast to celebrate the first of many successful shipments.”

Yesterday, the first vessel of the Petrovich fleet arrived here from New York, filled with firearms from the Kozlov Bratva that we’ll sell across Europe. The same ship is already sailing back to the US, full of counterfeit pharmaceuticals that the Kozlovs will then distribute stateside. If the first few runs go well, we’ll soon expand: more ships, more ports, more products. And the end goal—more money.

I pour the vodka into shot glasses, handing them out one by one, and raise my glass. “To growth, prosperity, and a partnership that will stand the test of time.”

I usually mean every word I say, but this toast is bitter on my tongue. The thought of a long partnership with Anatoly makes my skin crawl.

Still, I owe it to Maxim to suck it up and make this deal work. We’ve seen each other through the darkest of times, and Maxim has had more than his fair share. After the hell of losing a child in a brutal mafia hit years ago, Maxim deserves to focus on his life with Kira and their baby, and I’m determined to allow him to do that. He put his trust in me to run the shipping division—one of the most important aspects of his business—and I won’t let him down.

I inhale in a deep breath and clink glasses with Anatoly, maintaining eye contact as custom dictates. I’m as naked as the day I was born, sharply aware of his gaze on my muscular, tattooed form. A small thrill moves through me, not because I enjoy a man’s eyes on me but because I want for him to see the stark contrast between us. Let him take in every ridge, every curve of muscle, and every healed scar and bullet hole. Let him see what a real man is.

In contrast, he’s pasty, sporting a generous middle, and his skin is unmarked by ink.

As the other men get lost in conversation, I take a seat beside Anatoly, watching the sweat bead and trickle down his forehead. He shifts uncomfortably, struggling with the intensity of the heat.

I may have asked the banya attendant to jack the temperature for this very reason.

“That was quite a surprise announcement you made the other night. A wedding in a month.” I whistle through my teeth. “What’s the rush?”

Anatoly wipes his brow and reaches for the ice-cold vodka, thinking that’s what he needs to quench his thirst. Once he’s downed another shot, his glazed eyes settle back on me. “A leader should have a wife by his side, don’t you think?”

I shrug. “I don’t think it’s a requirement.”

His eyes turn hard. “I’m sick of waiting for her pretty piece of ass. Back in school, Liza thought she was too good for me. Wouldn’t give me the time of day. Well, now that bitch doesn’t have a choice.”

I’m under no illusions that Anatoly is an honorable man, but the words out of his mouth right now make me want to split his fucking face in two.

“Seems like a stupid reason to get married,” I grit out. He’s too warped to pick up on the venom in my words.

“Owning that virgin cunt is as good as any reason to get married, as far as I’m concerned.” He chortles, and it makes my blood boil even harder. “And the best part,” he continues, “is that her pathetic family does anything I say. I say jump, they ask how high. I say dance, they turn into dancing monkeys. Her mother would blow me if I asked her to.”

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