Page 2 of Embrace of the Russian Tiger

“You took my sister from me,” I said, my voice low and menacing. “And now, you will die because of it.”

I pulled him up by his shirt collar, forcing him to look at me, forcing him to see the man he had made. His eyes were wild with terror now, all pretense of control gone. He was at my mercy, and there was none left in me.

“Maxim,” he choked, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. “We can make a deal.”

I leaned down, close enough that he could feel the coldness radiating from me. “There are no deals with me, Rossi.”

I cocked the gun, my finger brushing the trigger, ready to end his miserable life, but then something caught my attention. A small, quick movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head slightly and saw her.

A girl.

She was standing in the doorway, her wide, terrified eyes locked on me. She couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen, the same age Katya had been. She had witnessed everything. She shouldn’t have been here, but she was.

I hesitated, just for a moment.

“Mikhail,” I said, my voice tight with control. “Take care of it.”

Mikhail stepped forward, his eyes following mine to the girl. She stood frozen, trembling, her hands clutching the doorframe as if it could keep her safe. She was too young to understand, too young to be a part of this.

“She saw everything,” Mikhail said, his voice quiet but firm.

“I know,” I replied. “Get rid of her.”

But Mikhail didn’t move. He stood there, his jaw clenched, his hesitation palpable. I felt a wave of frustration rising inside me. This wasn’t the time for doubt. The girl was a witness, and in my world, witnesses didn’t survive. It was as simple as that. Clean. Efficient.

“Mikhail,” I said, my voice cold as ice. “Now.”

He hesitated again, glancing at me, and then at the girl. For the first time in years, I saw something in Mikhail’s eyes that I hadn’t seen before. Doubt. Guilt. But I didn’t care. There was no room for hesitation here.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said finally, his voice stiff.

I turned back to Rossi, my finger on the trigger. He had taken Katya from me, stolen her life, her future, and now I would take his. There was no other way.

The gunshot rang out, loud and final, and Rossi’s body slumped to the floor, lifeless.

I stood there for a moment, staring down at his corpse, waiting for the satisfaction to come. Waiting for the rush of victory, the sense of closure. But it didn’t come. It never did.

I turned away, stepping past Mikhail, and out into the cold night air. The rain had stopped, but the chill lingered, cutting through my clothes, biting at my skin.

It was done.

Rossi was dead, but Katya was still gone.

And the hole her death had left in me would never be filled.

CHAPTER 2

The night outside was as unforgiving as Moscow itself. The wind howled through the streets, tearing at the trees, biting into anyone foolish enough to be out in the open. Inside the dimly lit bar, the warmth from the crackling fire was a welcome contrast to the ice-cold air outside. The low murmur of voices and the steady clink of glasses were the only sounds that filled the room. But between Mikhail and me, there was silence—a thick, oppressive silence that hung between us like an unspoken threat.

We had been drinking for hours, but I hadn’t touched the vodka in my glass for some time. My focus was on Mikhail, who sat across from me, his eyes downcast, fingers tightly gripping his own glass. The tension in his posture, the subtle twitch of his jaw, told me something was wrong. Very wrong.

I had known Mikhail for years. He was my most trusted man, my brother in arms. He had stood by me through the rise of my empire, through the blood and the violence that had marked every step of my climb to power. He had never faltered, never hesitated to follow an order. And yet, tonight, something had gone differently.

He was hiding something. I could feel it.

I leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking softly under the weight of my body. The warmth of the fire on my face did nothing to soothe the icy edge in my veins. I wasn’t a man who tolerated disloyalty, and I could sense it now—Mikhail was about to confess something that would test the very foundation of our relationship.

I poured another drink, the sound of the liquid hitting the glass sharp in the stillness. I downed it in one smooth motion, the burn of the vodka doing nothing to calm the storm brewing inside me. I set the glass down slowly, my eyes never leaving Mikhail.

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