Page 20 of Ruthless Desire

But I move with the easy grace of an apex predator, my power coiled tight beneath a veneer of icy control. These animals can smell fear, weakness. I'll show them neither.

The room we finally enter is cavernous, all bare concrete and flickering fluorescent lights. A dozen men are waiting for us, arrayed in a loose semicircle like a pack of wolves eyeing a potential threat.

At the center of it all lounges Sergei Mikhailov, the bratva's pakhan and my nominal equal in this twisted game of underworld politics. He's a big man, with a craggy face that looks like it was hewn from the same granite as his ancestral homeland.

"Dante, my friend," he booms, rising to his feet with a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Welcome to Moscow. I trust your flight was...comfortable?"

I return his smile with a razor-edged smirk of my own. "Quite. Though I do find myself missing the comforts of home already."

His eyes glitter with a cold, reptilian amusement. "Ah, but what is home to men like us, eh? Just another place to hang our hats between conquests."

It's a test, a probe for weakness. I know the game, the dance. I lean forward, my voice low and laced with venom.

"Home is where I make it, Sergei. Where I plant my flag and bend the world to my will. Accel City. New York, even Moscow...it makes no difference. In the end, it all belongs to me."

A beat of silence, taut as a garrote. Then Sergei throws back his head and laughs, a booming sound that echoes off the bare walls.

"Spoken like a true son of the underworld," he says, clapping me on the shoulder with a meaty hand. "Come, let us drink to your audacity, your unbreakable sukovyyniy."

Sukovyyniy. Bastard blood. It's a compliment, in this world of hard men and harder lives. A recognition of the ruthlessness that flows through my veins, the cold steel of my resolve.

The vodka is harsh, a whetstone dragged over the ragged edges of my control. But I knock it back with a grin, relishing the burn, the taste of dominion and dark purpose.

The negotiations that follow are a dance on the edge of a knife, a give and take of veiled threats and velveted promises. Shipments and territories, lives weighed and bartered like so much meat on a butcher's scale.

Through it all, Natalie haunts me. A specter in the corner of my eye, a sultry seduction pulling my focus, fracturing my concentration. I see her in the glint of light off a polished blade, hear her mocking laughter in the clink of glasses and the guttural rasp of Russian voices.

She's a fever in my blood, a madness I can never purge. And God help me, I don't want to. I want to drown in her, lose myself in the dark labyrinth of her mind and body until I forget my entire existence.

The deal is sealed with a handshake and another round of drinks, a blood oath signed in vodka and unspoken menace. Sergei leans back in his chair, his eyes glinting with satisfaction.

"It seems our business here is concluded," he says, his voice a contented rumble. "But tell me, Dante. How fares the rest of your...empire?"

There's a weight to the question, a hook baited with false concern. I think of Natalie, of the secret smiles and stolen touches she shares with Nazarov Corsini’s sole heir. The way her eyes linger on his lean, lupine form when she thinks she’s safe…and the only reason I’m here - doing business with the Bratva.

Rage simmers in my gut, a black and oily thing. But I keep my face a mask of cool indifference, my voice a laconic drawl.

"Thriving, as always. Though I must admit, I do find my attention...divided of late."

Sergei's brow furrows in a parody of paternal concern. "Divided? Not trouble at home, I hope? I know how...tempestuous our life can be."

It's a shot across the bow, a reminder that he sees all, knows all. That my current obsession is a weakness, a chink in my armor that he won't hesitate to exploit.

I smile, a slow, savage curl of the lips. "Nothing I can't handle. You know me, Sergei. I'm a man who knows how to keep his house in order."

He nods, but the gleam in his eyes tells me he's not convinced. "Of course. But even the strongest of men can be laid low by a pretty face and a poisoned heart. You would do well to remember that, my friend."

I drain my glass, letting the burn of the alcohol stoke the fires of my rage. "I never forget. And I never forgive. If anyone dares to cross me, to take what's mine..."

I let the words hang in the air like a noose, heavy with promise and dark intention. Sergei meets my gaze, his eyes cold and assessing.

"Then they will learn the true meaning of regret," he finishes, his voice a low, guttural rasp. "As all men must, in the end."

It's a warning, a reminder of the price of failure in this world of blood and shadow. But it's also a recognition, a nod to the savage beast that prowls beneath my skin, the darkness that binds us all.

I rise to my feet, buttoning my suit jacket with a crisp, precise motion. "Indeed they will. And on that note, I believe this is the end of our business."

Sergei rises as well, his massive frame unfolding like a mountain rising from the mist. "Da. Go with God, Dante Corleone. And may your enemies tremble at the sound of your name."

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