Page 1 of Roman Petrov

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ROMAN

I pause, letting my ice cubes twirl in the last of my bourbon.

“I really don’t think I’m going to make it, brother. The dynamic has changed and I have other things going on.” Setting down my glass, it melds into the thin ring of water on the table.

He grumbles through the speaker.

I have half a mind to hang up on him.

“Roman. It’s the ten year anniversary of Mom’s death. Dad would want you there.” Mikhail’s words are heavy with a sigh.

“Our father doesn’t give a crap. He’s got that new pussy that’s younger than all of us. That’s all he’s thinking about. Not that I blame him.” I hope I can still get it up when I’m his age.

“Like any of us wouldn’t do different? I can’t remember the last time I kicked a woman out of bed.”

Mikhail doesn’t strike as the type to take just anyone into his.

“Yea, well, he doesn’t want to remember Mom. He’s probably forgotten all about her.”

“Stop being a fucking brat, Roman. Be back in Chicago for Christmas. It’s the least we can do for him.” Anger sits just under the surface of his words and radiates through my cell.

“I’ll send him a card. I have shit to do here.”

“Seriously? Like what?” Mikhail doesn’t try to hide the exasperation in his voice.

Sliding my laptop closer, I expand the image of the obituary on the screen. “Expansion, brother.”

He snorts. “How many sex clubs does one man need?”

Zooming in, I find what I’m looking for. The next of kin listed near the end of the article.

“Just one more.” Dragging up a new window, I click my cursor into the search bar.

“Well, whenever you’re done chasing your dragon, the rest of your family would like to see you. I hope you change your mind about going home.”

“Good talk, Mikhail.” I end the call and slide my phone into my jacket pocket.

How was that name spelled? Ah, yes. Nadia Sanders.

Only survivor? It doesn’t surprise me that salty prick father of hers never remarried. I’ve seen him at some of the functions.

I’ve nearly gutted him myself with how heavy handed he would get with the girls. Anyone who’s run one of these places knows they don’t make money if they’re damaged.

This might be an excellent opportunity.

The blond haired beauty that glimmers on my screen certainly doesn’t look to have the hard lines needed to take over in her family business. And she won’t know how to maximize it.

One of the best parts of owning a sex club is the evidence you can acquire about the attendees. Everyone thinks that it’s confidential and safe. But, I know how to squeeze every opportunity out of the debauchery that takes place within my walls.

I’ve used it to my advantage. There’s not a job description that exists that doesn’t have someone working in it that doesn’t have deviant tastes.

I keep things above the law. But, I can’t stop people from cheating on their spouses.

“Marco? Send me a statement on liquidable assets. I want to know just how much I can offer for a new location.”

“Sure thing, boss. Might take a couple of days. The last shipment out of Chicago was delayed and is just now being inventoried.” His thick accent is outweighed by his statement.

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