Page 32 of Savage Reign

“Sofiya’s safe—for now,” I continue. “But you need to understand you don’t have a choice. You try to attack me, you put her in danger. I don’t think you want to take that chance.”

“You don’t know what I’m willing to do. And if you think you can force me into this deal, you’re dead wrong.”

Roman’s breaths are ragged, like he’s fighting to stay in control. I can picture him pacing, fists clenching and unclenching, wishing he could reach through the phone and rip me apart.

Too bad he underestimated me. Now, he has to live with the fallout.

“This is all on you. You claim you only allow family to do business on your territory. Well, look at that, we’re fucking family. Sofiya is my wife and has been for a long time. I granted her freedom, but that ended the moment you tried to keep me under your thumb.”

“You motherfucker,” he snarls. “All this time we worked together, you were a snake. You knew exactly what you were doing, biding your time until you could bury the knife in my back.” The line crackles with his harsh, humorless laugh. “You’ve messed with the wrong family. There’s no world where this ends well for you.”

“Enough.” My hands slam onto the desk. “I’ve tolerated more than enough of this bullshit. The clock is ticking, Vasiliev. This is a simple proposition. I want access to your territory. That’s it. Make this easy, and I’ll even cut you in on the profits. As I said, Sofiya is bound to me for life. I’m sure your wife would be devastated if she never saw her sister again. So make the smart choice.”

Mentioning Liza is deliberate. Roman would carve out his own heart for his wife, and I’m sure she would do anything to get her younger sister back. They don’t trust me with her, and they shouldn’t. My control is hanging on by a thread.

She looked fucking edible in Eva’s dress this morning, but seeing her in my shirt, knowing my scent and heat surrounded her, was nearly my undoing. It took everything in me not to order everyone out of the room, hike up her dress, rip off her panties, and fuck her with my tongue until she came all over my face.

She felt it, too. I could tell in the way her body tensed. She might hate me, but she sure doesn’t mind how I look without a shirt on.

“What are you saying?” Roman snaps, his voice raw.

“I believe I was crystal fucking clear. I’m done with this conversation. The next time we talk, it had better be because you’re agreeing to my terms.”

“Wait.” Roman’s breath hisses from his lungs. “I need proof of life.” His voice stays strong, but I can hear the desperation bleeding through his tone.

He’s in no position to be making demands, but in this case, it suits me to show him my bargaining chip is alive and well.

“Since you asked so nicely, I’ll think about it.” I hang up, satisfied I’ve made my point.

The leather chair creaks as I push to my feet, crossing to the bar cart stationed near the window of my office. From here, on the second floor of a nightclub I own, I can see the faint morning glow of the city filtering in.

I grab the whiskey decanter and pour a double shot into a crystal tumbler. In one fluid motion, I toss it back, the burn sharp and welcome. It’s early for a drink, but after Roman’s call, I need it.

Roman and Liza are still in New York, but I imagine they will be racing back to Moscow to manage the situation. He’ll want to loop in Pavel and Maxim Belov. Belov might’ve stepped away from daily business, but the Syndicate still runs on his authority.

Footsteps sound through the hallway, announcing Vadim and Eva before they step in—my two right hands. Eva oversees all financial operations, from laundering to investments, keeping the books airtight and the authorities blind. Vadim runs the syndicate’s day-to-day logistics, managing shipments, crews, and making sure everyone falls in line—or faces the consequences.

While Eva and I share a history shaped by survival, Vadim’s story is different. He came from a working-class family, joined the army young, and climbed his way into the special forces. For a while, he thrived in that structure. But stability has its breaking point, even for someone like him. When his sister’s bastard husband laid a hand on her while she was pregnant, Vadim made sure it was the last time. Beat the man within an inch of his life. It cost him years behind bars. That’s where we met. And when I walked out, I walked out with him.

After everything, Sergey’s betrayal had left me raw. I didn’t trust anyone, and I needed people I could count on to rebuild the Zhukov Bratva from the ground up. Eva had always had my back. She was sharp, unyielding, and knew how to handle herself in a fight. After what Sergey pulled, loyalty wasn’t just important, it was everything.

At the time, Eva was scraping by as a cocktail waitress. She agreed to join my bratva and suggested we look up Emil. We’d lost touch with him over the years, but word was that he’d been hanging with the wrong crowd, heading nowhere fast. I hoped the discipline of the bratva could keep him in line.

That was five years ago. We’ve had our share of fights, but we’ve built something solid. They’re as close to family as I’ll ever have again.

Vadim steps in ahead of Eva, nodding at me as he loosens his tie and undoes the top button of his shirt. His dark hair is slightly disheveled, and faint shadows circle his eyes. He’s just back from Moscow, where he set up a team to monitor Sofiya’s friends. He looks like he’s been running on too little sleep.

I gesture to the lowball of whiskey in my hand. “Breakfast?”

“What the hell, I could use it.” Vadim shrugs and sinks into the office’s leather couch. Eva drops down beside him but waves off my offer of a drink. She’s more the green juice type than whiskey.

Since joining the bratva, she’s earned respect the hard way—by becoming a ruthless fighter, proving she can take on any man and win. She looks every bit as kick-ass as she is. Today, she’s wearing black leather pants, high-heeled boots, and a fitted tank top. The only pop of color is her bright red lips.

I know many consider her gorgeous, but to me, she’s family.

I could’ve set Sofiya straight earlier, told her who Eva really is to me. But I didn’t. I liked the way jealousy sparked in her eyes. She can act like she hates me, say she regrets spreading her legs for me, but her true feelings—the ones she might not even admit to herself—were written all over her face when she brought up my “girlfriend.”

“Just got off the phone with Roman,” I say, lowering into my office chair. “As expected, he was furious, but he got the message loud and clear. We have him by the balls, and the sooner he comes to terms with that, the better.”

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