Page 7 of Savage Reign

Vadim runs a palm over his jaw. “We’re offering to cut you in on the deal as a silent partner—no further investment from you, manpower or otherwise. It benefits us both.”

Vadim pushes the stack of paperwork across the table, each page filled with financial breakdowns and projections ready for review. But neither man so much as glances at the documents.

Roman’s jaw hardens. “The Zhukov Bratva runs St. Petersburg; the Syndicate runs Moscow. That’s all there is to it. We don’t allow anyone else to operate in our territory.”

That’s what he says, but there’s more to it. Running casinos across the country will make me as powerful, wealthy, and influential as the Syndicate, and they’re not about to let that balance shift in my favor.

But I’ve clawed my way back from the depths of hell to regain my seat, and I won’t let anyone stand in my way—not Roman, not the Syndicate, not even my own fucking demons.

It’s time for me to remind them precisely what they owe me.

I press both palms against the table, locking gazes with Roman. “I saved your life, Vasiliev, and now it’s payback.”

Roman’s dark eyes flash with fury. Maybe he doesn’t appreciate the reminder, but it’s the truth, and he knows it. That moment and everything that led up to it is etched in my memory forever.

My head hangs low, hands braced against the wall of our basement office, the weight of Sergey’s admission pressing down on me. I’ve only been out of prison for a few weeks, but it didn’t take long to realize something was off. After two years locked up on trumped-up drug charges, taking the fall so Sergey didn’t have to, I found myself questioning whether the sacrifices I made were worth it.

I was supposed to be the brains on the inside, Sergey the muscle on the outside. But from the moment I stepped back in, everything felt different. He was secretive, had cut my loyal men and replaced them with thugs who looked more like they couldn’t rub two brain cells together.

Sergey swore to me it was business as usual, that nothing had changed. But the deeper I looked, the clearer it was that he’d entangled the Zhukov Bratva,abratva I started from nothing, in a realm of business we agreed never to touch.

I can feel Sergey looking at me, waiting for my reaction to his confession.

“You’re trafficking girls?” I grit out, meeting his gaze. “I spent two years locked up, and this is what you do behind my back? I told you we’d never go near that filth—not after we lived it every single day of our childhood.”

Our mother was a prostitute, dragged into the life by a boyfriend who got her hooked on drugs and then forced her to sell her body. We went through hell and agreed never to touch that shit.

“Power at any cost, Nikolai. You taught me that!” Sergey sneers, pacing the room.

My hand curls into a fist, and I thump my chest. “I lead this bratva. I make the deals, not you. If you’ve got a problem with that, I suggest you rethink your position, or you’ll find yourself on the wrong side of my mercy."

“Why don’t you see which of our men are still loyal to you? I have a feeling you’ll be disappointed,pakhan.”Boss.

His final word is delivered with a mocking lilt.

He’s trying to cut me out of my own bratva. Taking my place with no remorse.

My heart drops like a stone. The little brother I stole for, the one I went hungry for to make sure he ate a proper meal, the kid I shielded from our mother’s fits when she couldn’t score… that Sergey is gone. All that’s left is a hollow stranger, willing to betray his own blood.

Gunfire erupts from the other room, cutting our standoff short. Instinctively, I drop to the ground, taking cover and pulling out my own pistol. I prepare for an attack, but that’s not what this is. As the fighting dies down, a tall man who’s vaguely familiar strolls into the center of the room, arms raised.

The guards take their positions around the room, but Sergey instructs them to stand down. Instead, he raises a gun in the stranger’s direction.

“Morning, gentlemen,” the man announces. “I believe we have some business to discuss.”

Sergey’s smile turns predatory. “Roman Vasiliev. I was wondering when you’d show your face.”

I know Roman by reputation—the feared right hand to Maxim Belov. But the fact that he’s here in person? That’s not exactly a comforting sign.

“I’ve been looking for you, Sergey. Do you know why?” Roman asks, his tone dangerously calm.

My brother smirks, a smug expression I’d like to punch off his face. “I may have an idea. We’re overdue for a talk.”

“What the hell is this about?” I demand, stepping forward. I’m done being kept in the dark. That ends now.

Roman’s eyes flick to me. “This is about your brother and Anatoly abducting women from the US to be sold in Europe, sneaking them onto Syndicate-chartered ships. For the record, that really fucking pissed me off.”

Seems Roman and I are on the same page—at least on this.

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