Page 6 of Savage Reign

I toss a dish towel at her. “Please stop talking!”

She laughs and tosses it back, her expression softening. “Kidding! Kind of. You know I only want you to be safe. But I get it. Maybe getting out of the city will help. And if Berlin gives you a shot at a normal life, well… I’ll try to be happy for you.”

Grinning, I lean over and hug her tightly. “Thanks. And just think, Berlin has amazing shopping. And their Christmas market is legendary.”

Her face falls. “But you’ll come home for Christmas, right?”

Christmas has always been something we celebrated together. Staying up late with hot chocolate and bad movies, decorating a lopsided tree, and sneaking bites of cookie dough before baking. It started because our parents were too wrapped up in their own lives to bother with us during the holidays, but Liza stepped up and made it special.

“I’ll definitely try,” I promise. Silence stretches between us as my mind drifts to the past. “Do you ever think about them? About our parents?” The question tastes bitter, but I have to ask. Roman exiled them to some godforsaken village near the border. I don’t even know if they’re still alive.

“Sometimes,” she admits. “I’ve sent them some money here and there. Roman doesn’t know. I just... couldn't let them starve.”

Surprise flickers through me. “You're a good person, Lizka.”

“I don't know if it’s kindness or me not wanting to carry that bitterness forever.”

I exhale, some tension easing. “Agreed,” I say.

Maybe it’s time we both move forward.

CHAPTER

TWO

NIKOLAI

Roman Vasiliev is stillone tough motherfucker.

Some say love and marriage soften your edges and tame you, but Roman’s an exception. Even happily married to Liza Ivanova, when it comes to business, he remains the same cold, calculating force he’s always been. And as much as I respect that about him, right now, I’m finding it irritating as fuck.

“We’re not looking for a new business partner,” Roman says, running a hand through his dark hair. “If anything, we’re consolidating our power, tightening up now that Maxim is fully retired.”

Maxim Belov remains the figurehead of the Syndicate, but he has stepped back from day-to-day operations to focus on raising his children with his wife, Kira. Roman and his partner, Pavel Federov, sitting directly across from me, now handle most of the Syndicate’s operations.

With a flick of his wrist, Roman signals the waitress. She nods, slipping away to grab another round of vodka. We’re in the back room of one of the Syndicate’s clubs. The kind of place where men like us can speak freely.

I run my knuckles over my jaw. “I’m not a fucking new partner. I’ve proven myself to be loyal. You see what I’ve done with the Zhukov Bratva. You know what I’m capable of.”

I let that statement sit as the waitress delivers an ice bucket of premium vodka, sliding fresh shot glasses across the table. She throws me a flirty smile before stepping away, but I barely glance her way.

I’m not here to get laid. I’m here to secure a deal.

The minister of finance is close to awarding my legal business a contract to operate casinos across Russia. For the Zhukov Bratva, it’s the perfect setup.

I’m involved in everything from drugs to arms to counterfeits, and business is booming. Those illegal profits mean I need better, more efficient ways to clean the cash. That’s where casinos come in—an industrial-sized laundromat for dirty money.

Not only that, but it will give me access to power players—politicians, oligarchs, and billionaires who shape economies and governments.

Our contact in the government guarantees the contract is ours on one condition. We have to build the largest casino in Moscow. It’s the capital of the country and the seat of money and power.

The catch? Moscow is Belov Syndicate territory. It’s a death sentence and a violation of bratva code to operate on their domain without their permission and cutting them in on the deal.

Roman leans back, spinning a shot glass between his fingers. He exchanges a look with Pavel, that says everything without uttering a word. They’ve always been like that, able to communicate in silence.

“You know we value your partnership,” Roman says, gaze drifting around the dark room. “But we have to protect our business interests. We’re not looking for any new ventures.”

I glance beside me at my second-in-command, Vadim Lazarev. We’re both very fucking aware that without the Syndicate’s approval, we will not be granted the casino contract.

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