Page 39 of His to Ruin

I clench my fists at my sides as he tweaks my last nerve. “You’re like an old woman, Sevastyan. Where is this concern for Olivia coming from?”

“It isn’t concern for Olivia,mudak.I want you to be happy.”

We rarely indulge in personal talk, and I have no idea why Sev’s decided to stick his nose into my private life now. I can only imagine my wedding has triggered some desire in him to settle down. I suspect seeing Lara Ivanova at my wedding is to blame. Sev has had a thing for my uncle’s goddaughter for years. Lara’s parents were killed shortly after her twelfth birthday and although Boris didn’t raise her personally, he has watched over her closely. Sev believes she’s his, but my uncle won’t allowhim to have her, not when he has such a terrible reputation for treating women as disposable. I’m not close to the girl, but I don’t want to see her hurt, and I fear Sev would destroy her.

“Thank you, my friend, but I’m still not going to ask my uncle to let you have Lara.” Although I’m Pakhan, Lara’s future is a family matter. Even if I was so inclined, I couldn’t overrule Boris on that.

Sev clasps my shoulder. “I wouldn’t ask you to. Now, we should go through. We’ve kept our friends waiting long enough.”

I follow Sev through to the room he has set up for business meetings. It was the grand salon back in the nineteenth century where people of note used to gather to discuss the arts and politics. Sev has left some of the original details in the room, like the moldings on the ceiling and the enormous fireplace. It’s an impressive space. A huge rectangular table sits off to one side, several of its seats currently occupied by our closest allies.

Niamh Donnelly has taken the seat at the head. A bubbly blonde, the Scots-Irish fixer for the Lenkov Bratva hides a ruthless streak beneath her sweet demeanor. Because she’s a born peacemaker, she chairs our meetings and keeps everyone on track. With so many massive egos in the room, it’s necessary to have a voice of calm.

When she sees me, Niamh gets up and comes to throw her arms around me. “Piotr! Congratulations on your marriage.”

I didn’t invite any of my European associates to the wedding, preferring to keep my dealings here separate from the North American business I am taking over from my uncle. What I’ve built in the UK, Italy, and France is mine alone.

“Thank you.”

Niamh releases me from her hug and resumes her seat. Fortunately, the one other woman in the room is less prone to physical displays of affection.

“Mila.” I don’t insult her with a formal greeting that would include her patronymic name. She hated her father with a passion. The Lenkovprintsessais a ruthless killer wrapped up in a stunningly beautiful package. There was a time when my uncle Boris considered her as a potential bride for me, but she married her family’s head of security.

Now I have Olivia. I’m glad a union with Mila wasn’t something I seriously entertained. She may be a force to be reckoned with, but Mila doesn’t compare to my bride.

Mila’s brother, Daniil, sits next to her. Their other brother, Timofey, is absent from the group, but that’s not unusual. He prefers to carry out plans rather than making them.

Damiano and Lorenzo Volante occupy two of the spaces across from the Lenkov siblings. Their brother, Gabriele, is a valued member of our group, but I haven’t seen him in the flesh for several years. Badly scarred in an ambush, he retreated to his villa in Rome and has barely emerged since.

Sev goes to sit with the Italians while I take the seat next to the last member of our group, Joe Dalgliesh. He’s here to represent the interests of the Cameron family to whom he’s closely related.

“Where’s Livvy?” Damiano asks.

There’s a hint of disapproval in his voice that I’ve chosen to attend this meeting alone, but he can hardly have expected me to bring Olivia with me. Spouses have no place at this table.

“My wife will join us later for dinner.”

“Excellent.” Mila flashes a feral grin. “I can’t wait to meet the woman who landed Piotr Reznov.”

“You’ll play nice,” Niamh warns. She grew up with the Lenkovs and is an honorary sister to them all. She knows, as we all do, that Mila loves to push people’s buttons, to see what they’re made of. I’m not sure if Olivia’s up to the challenge.

“I always play nice,” the sultry brunette answers with a pout.

“That’s far from true,” Daniil murmurs.

“So, what are we here for?” I interject before the siblings can launch into an endless round of bickering. They’re fiercely protective of each other, but when they argue, it turns vicious fast. Mila usually emerges as the winner because she’s prepared to hurl the sort of insults Daniil is too gentlemanly to return.

“There are several items for discussion,” Niamh says. She runs these meetings like we’re the board of a corporation. It works well, mostly. “Joe, do you want to go first? Yours is the least complicated issue.”

“Aye.” With his blond hair and blue eyes, Joe looks like Niamh’s male counterpart. He comes from a politically influential family based in Edinburgh and London. Behind the golden boy image the media portrays of him lies a ruthless enforcer who’s not afraid to spill blood to advance his family’s interests. “As you know, my brother’s been elected to parliament. Our father’s positioning him to become the next prime minister of the UK. He needs me to make sure that happens.”

“So you’re stepping back?” Mila asks. “Will your cousin join us?”

“Aye, Sandy’s ready to step up.”

“Sandy?” Lorenzo screws his nose up.

“It’s a diminutive form of Alexander,” Niamh explains.

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