Page 7 of Ruthless Reign

CHAPTER THREE

ROMAN

The Ivanovs do a great job of pretending they're still rich.

I've just arrived at their ritzy Rublevka mansion, done up to the nines. A brand-new three-tiered fountain stands prominently in the driveway, the foyer is all sparkling Italian marble floors and the walls are covered with rare art.

Boris Ivanov ushers me in with a warm handshake and pat on the back. “Vasiliev, it's been too long. What has it been, a year? Two years? It's nice to see you again.”

“I saw you last month at the rare sports cars auction that Morozov hosted.”

Boris pauses, searching for his memory of that night. If I recall, he was already well into his cups by the time I encountered him. “Right, right. Well, it's nice to see you again.”

I'm always amazed at how far someone born with everything can fall. Boris is the greatest example of pissing away money he didn’t earn.

His wife, Anastasia rushes forward and greets me like the social climber she is. If it wasn't for my association with Maxim, I doubt she’d give me the time of day. Sure, I’m rich and important now, but I come from nothing. She strikes me as the sort who would hold that against me. With a plastered-on smile, she escorts me into the sitting room, where the party is already well under way.

I quickly scan the room. Maxim is deep in conversation with Anatoly and his father, Stepan. I roll my shoulders, and search for a bar, requiring a drink or three before I join in any conversation with Anatoly Petrovich. He’s got an ego the size of Russia and the social grace of a bull in a china shop.

If it were up to me, I'd steer clear of him, but fate, being the cruel mistress she is, didn’t give me that option. I’m heading up this shipping deal for the Belov Syndicate while Maxim steps back to focus on his new family with Kira. With Stepan battling cancer, Anatoly has assumed the day-to-day management of the shipping company, which means he and I will be working closely. There’s no avoiding it.

In truth, I work with plenty of assholes, but this one happens to be engaged to a woman I haven’t stopped obsessing over since the day I met her.

Liza Ivanova is my every fantasy come to life, with a mouth that poets could write sonnets about, curves for days, and wide green eyes that could easily be my downfall if I allowed it. Which I won’t.

At the bar, I order a vodka, well chilled and straight up. The bartender seems disappointed by my choice, considering the extravagant cocktails on offer. As if I'd ever be caught dead drinking something with more than two ingredients.

Propped against the bar, I scan the room for a curtain of dark auburn hair—hair that has ignited many fantasies about winding it tightly around my fist and leading her to my bed.

Bingo. Warmth rushes my chest as I catch sight of her chatting in the corner with Kira.

The bartender slides the drink in front of me, and I pick it up without taking my eyes off of Liza.

“You know staring is considered rude?”

I laugh into my glass and shrug as Pavel, Maxim’s other right hand and one of my closest friends, settles in beside me.

“I’m just taking in the room, enjoying the sights of this fine evening.”

He smirks and orders a drink. “Real subtle, bratan.”

I exhale sharply and finish my vodka with one large gulp.

I really thought I played it cool as far as Liza was concerned, but unfortunately, one of Pavel’s deeply irritating superpowers is uncanny perception. Still, it’s not like I’d do anything about this… inconvenient attraction. She might make my dick hard, but she's strictly off-limits as Anatoly’s fiancée.

Not that I give a shit about him, but I'm loyal to Maxim and the syndicate. Now that we’re in business with the Petroviches and millions of dollars are at stake, I won’t do anything to fuck up this deal. Especially not for a woman.

Liza turns to greet another guest, and tension knots my shoulders. Damn, that dress should be illegal. It's white and tight, with a slit down the back that makes me scheme ways to have her bend forward just so I can get a better look at her fine ass.

“Still staring,” Pavel reminds me, swiping a hand through his blond undercut.

“Well, she’s giving me something to stare at.” I motion to the bartender to get me another drink.

“You might want to check out Katerina instead; she’s been making heart eyes at you since you walked in.” Pavel’s lips curl up in amusement as he takes a leisurely sip of his drink. “Fresh blood might be exactly what you need to get Liza out of your head.”

I pull a face. “Hard pass.”

I like Katerina about as much as I like her brother, which means not at all. They’re both self-entitled snobs. I guess it’s par for the course when you grow up stinking fucking rich.

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