Page 8 of Ruthless Reign

Maxim finally frees himself from his conversation with the Petroviches and heads our way. I can tell by the way he’s loosening his tie that he’s had enough of them for one night and is in need of a stiff drink. I ask the bartender for a Macallan neat and hand it to Maxim just as he walks up to us.

He lifts the drink in thanks and takes a hearty swig, leaning against the wood-paneled bar. “Jesus, Anatoly likes the sound of his own voice.”

“How long do you think we have to stay at this thing?” I’m already feeling itchy under the collar. It's all the bullshit small talk I can't stand, though I'd spend all night watching Liza if I could. Not that it would be wise.

Maxim and Pavel both laugh because they share my sentiment. We come from the same world, a much harsher world than this one. We’ve risen through the ranks of society, but at our core, we're still the kids from broken homes, raised on the wrong side of town.

My bond with both men dates back to my teenage years. Lost and still reeling from the devastation of losing my mother to my father’s brutal hand, I was only fifteen when I made him pay for taking away the one person in this world who loved me the most. Whom I loved most. After that, I found myself hustling on the streets to survive.

Maxim was a few years older than me, already had a name in the underground fight scene, and was beginning to form his own gang. When I stupidly tried to pickpocket one of his men, Maxim intervened, stopping them from snapping my neck. He then gave me a choice: keep hustling or join his ranks. The choice was easy.

Maxim took a chance on me when no one else would. I was consumed by anger and didn't care about living or dying. Along with Pavel, who has his own tragic past, Maxim shaped us into his reliable right-hands. We’re chosen brothers, and we’d do anything for him, including stepping up to run the syndicate while he enjoys his family.

Pavel raises an eyebrow. “It’s a dinner party—it’s usually considered polite to stay until the actual meal is served.”

“Fine,” I grumble, “but I make no guarantees about staying for dessert.”

Maxim sips at his whisky, his eyes flicking over the crowd. “I’ll make you a deal: stick around for the first few courses, and then you can excuse yourself.”

I tilt my head, sensing there’s more to this offer. “What's the catch?”

He sighs. “Remember that girls’ trip to London Kira’s planning with Liza? Well, she wants to go this weekend for four days.”

I frown. Four days with Liza. Just fucking great. “Right… That.”

Pavel looks like he’s about to bust a rib holding in his laughter, and I shoot him a death glare.

Maxim lays a hand on my shoulder. “Listen, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. The baby will be here before we know it, and Kira really wants this time with her friend. I’d go, but Pavel and I have to wrap up the Crimea arms deal. You know I don’t trust anyone else with Kira’s life. Do this for me as your brother, not as your boss.”

What am I supposed to say to that? If it’s important to Maxim, I won’t turn him down.

“I’ll guard her with my life,” I assure him. And try not to lust too hard after her friend.

“Appreciate it. Take care of Liza too.”

Maxim slams his drinks down on the bar top and wanders off to greet some new faces, leaving Pavel staring at me with a shit-eating grin.

“Live text me every detail of your girls’ trip. Don’t leave out anything.”

It’s amazing how my usually serious friend is practically giddy. Needling me is one of the few things that brings him genuine pleasure.

“Fuck off.” I grip my glass so hard it may shatter in my hands.

“I want pictures.”

“Do you enjoy my misery?”

Pavel pauses. “Yes. It seems I do.”

I shake my head. “It’s fine. Four days. What can happen in four days?”

Pavel doesn’t even try to conceal his delight. “I can’t wait to find out. And now I bid you adieu … and good luck.”

Good luck?

He salutes me and casually strolls over to a pretty waitress.

That's when I spot the reason for his hasty retreat. Katerina is heading straight for me, stealthy as a cat stalking its prey. Sadly, I'm too late to dodge her approach—all I can do is brace for impact.

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