Page 16 of Ruthless Bonds

Chapter Three

Kreos

Under the pulsating lights of Club Mayhem, smoke curled and drifted. Leaning back in a black velvet booth, I waved away the hovering hostess with a dismissive flick of my wrist. A bloodcurdling scream erupted from my phone, and I glanced down at the security footage displayed on my screen.

Sago, one of my most trusted enforcers, was using garden shears on the bloody man strapped to the chair. He had eight fingertips remaining.

I stood, adjusting my cufflinks as another muffled cry rang out.

Everything was progressing smoothly.

I stalked toward the basement entrance, the crowd of sweaty bodies on the dance floor parting like the Red Sea before Moses.

The air was thick with anticipation as I headed down the steps. As I flung open the metal door, the man’s raw screams intensified. I took in the bloody scene before me with a sense of satisfaction.

I didn’t kill for pleasure or sport. It was merely a means to maintain power. As one of the youngest Bratva bosses in New York, I lived with a target on my back and my front. I had a zero-tolerance policy for disloyalty, which was precisely why this man would die.

Slowly.

Painfully.

He’d thought he could take from me.

Threaten my kingdom.

But he had been mistaken.

I had been molded from childhood to lead my family empire. My father had raised me to be a monster, and in turn, I transformed men into loyal beasts willing to give their lives up for me. I ruled with an iron fist over a thousand-man Bratva in New York. Anything and everything coming in or out of the East Coast, I controlled.

Some called me ruthless; most called me merciless. In my life, you were either the predator or the prey.

I had decided a long time ago which one I was going to be.

“Give me a name, Miklov”—I dragged a chair in front of him and took a seat—“and I will make your death quick.”

He lifted his head, blood dripping from his nose and his right eye swollen shut. “Please, Pakhan. I would never betray you. This is a mistake,” he pleaded.

I glanced at Sago, who was leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette. “She was certain?”

He nodded. “Miklov told her your reign was ending, and you didn’t even know it.”

“She’s reliable?”

He nodded again, coming to stand behind Miklov. “Seven years she’s been at this club. Your sister vouched for her.”

My younger sister, Bela, ran Mayhem, which was more than just a gentleman’s club. It was a place where wickedness thrived; the powerful, the wealthy, and thelaw enforcement elite all flocked here to indulge their darkest desires.

The true purpose of Mayhem was to obtain information. I trained my employees with a specific target in mind, and that was to discover our clients’ secrets. The women who worked for me possessed the ability to make even the most powerful men feel safe enough to let their guards down. They were skilled in both enticing others and uncovering their secrets, be that through flirtation, roleplaying, or, more often than not, psychological profiling.

And once I knew their secrets, I owned them.

I owned this city, this state, and all the people who lived here.

I was their God and their Devil, their salvation and their damnation.

Sago put the cigarette out on Miklov’s neck, a wretched scream echoing around the room. “This was his fifth visit with her. He confessed his love and offered her riches once he pledged loyalty to the new Pakhan.”

Distaste coursed through me. Another fool led astray by his heart. Now he would pay the price for it.

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