Page 7 of Brazen King

Still, it puts a stitch in my side to think of the fifty-something-year-old businessman—who happens to be worth billions and could probably buy himself a handful of Russian mail-order brides—stuttering over his words to ask my sister out. And he did it at the start of a licensing agreement meeting no less. Wonders never cease.

But when it comes to the Sokolov empire, it’s easy to see the money in men’s eyes when they set their sights on Tatiana—even if she’s also breathtaking.

Before Mama and I can dig further into how the board members responded to Russ’s clumsy advances, the front door slams closed.

The force is hard enough to make the walls rattle, and I assume that means Papa’s day was nearly as bad as mine. I know he was meeting with Don Lucian, so I can only imagine how that went.

“Anastasia!” he bellows from the front room, anger seething from his tone.

“In the study, darling,” our mother calls.

Papa enters through the open glass French doors a moment later, his expression thunderous.

“I take it the conversation with the Italians didn’t go well, then,” Tatiana observes dryly as soon as he slumps onto the couch next to my mother.

In the safety of our home, Tatiana and I don’t have to hide behind our carefully cultivated public facade. Here, we can discuss family and business matters with our father like the equals he’s brought us up to be.

And of course, as heir apparent, Tatiana is always business first.

Papa shakes his head, combing his fingers through his thick Russian beard, the streaks of white appearing more dominant every day. “Connivers, the lot of them,” he growls. “Believe it or not, Lucian wasn’t even the worst of it. Though the persistent little snake seems to think he’s going to charm me into an arrangement, and I won’t have it.”

“So, what could be worse than that?” I press, eyebrows arching in surprise.

“Killian King,” he snarls.

My skin tingles from the mere mention of his name, and I hate to admit how much the Irish mafia king has come to affect me.

Not that I give a lick that he’s a dangerous kind of bad-boy handsome.

Or that I can’t stop thinking about that provocative wink he gave me the night he suggested Tatiana and I ought to be auctioned off like livestock.

No, it’s the fact that he’s been a nonstop nuisance to my family since that night.

Provoking bar fights with my father’s men, stomping across our territory so loudly we can’t ignore it.

He’s needling us, and as infuriating as my father finds it, I seem to feel it ten times more intensely. Because it’s my job to keep the high-and-mighty idiots like Killian from succeeding at initiating a clan war.

And if he doesn’t knock it off soon, I know my father will be calling me into action.

“What did he do this time?” Tatiana asks, snapping me back to the present.

“He had the audacity to force entry into the back room of Nebo, where I was chatting with Lucian. Strolled in like he already owned the place. And cocky as can be, he informed me that he’d continue to be a royal thorn in my side until I sat down with him at the negotiating table.”

“Like that’s going to happen,” Tatiana scoffs. “He can’t really think all this bluster is helping his case.”

“He’s probably doing it to provoke us into doing something rash,” I state cooly. “If we start the territory war, they’ll be on higher ground—have the home-field advantage.”

Papa’s sharp gaze flashes to me, and my stomach warms at the hint of satisfaction in his gray eyes. “My thoughts exactly.”

“He’s nothing more than a stray dog who’s discovered that if he keeps hounding us, he can pick off the scraps we leave behind,” Tatiana says.

“Don’t underestimate the strays, daughter,” our mother warns gently. “I don’t trust him, Boris. The Irish might not be as treacherous as the yakuza or have the same size force as the Camorra, but they’re scrappy fighters, and their hold on Brooklyn is growing rapidly.”

Papa takes Mother’s hand, and his responding smile softens his face, making my heart melt. They’re a team, a proper king and queen that know how to move across the chessboard with seamless coordination.

If only there were someone like that for Tatiana, we might not be in the square we are now. But all she has is me, so we’ll have to make do with my skill set and her knack for strategy.

“I’m not underestimating him. I’m saying we should put him down because it seems he’s decided he has a place at the dinner table.” Tatiana looks pointedly at our father.

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