Page 1 of Ruby Mercy

KIRILL

FIVE YEARS LATER

I watch German fidget with the fraying edge of a chair in my office for five minutes before I can’t take it anymore.

“What?” I bark.

He looks up at me, his finger still tugging at the tearing seam. “What what?”

“You’re shredding my favorite chair, and it’s annoying. I’m trying to work.”

“You’re always working.”

“And you’re always annoying,” I bite back.

He sighs and folds his hands in his lap. “It used to be that when you said shit like that, I knew you were kidding. Now, I’m not so sure.”

I drop my pen and shift my chair away from my desk. “This isn’t couple’s counseling. What the fuck is going on?”

“Christ,” German groans and stands up. “I don’t want to do this. Let’s get that out of the way. This is not something I’m excited about doing. Hence the… the fidgeting.”

“Out with it, man. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“You don’t have time for anything,” he snaps suddenly. “I get it, I do. I’m your best friend. I have been for years and nothing is going to change that. But the other men… they aren’t as forgiving.”

It’s my turn to frown. “What do I need to be forgiven for? If they want me to apologize for doing my job, they can get fucked.”

German bows his head, looking imploringly at me. “You and I both know your job is about more than the business. You are a leader, Kirill. You have to act like it. If you don’t, someone else will.”

I shove out of my chair before I can even think about it. It rolls back and slams into the wall at the same time I reach across the desk and grab German by the front of his shirt. “I could kill you for challenging me like that, you know.”

He swallows hard. It’s the first time in all the years I’ve known him that German actually looks scared of me.

“You know damn well I don’t want your crown, brother. I’m your friend. I’m talking to you as your friend. That’s all I’ve ever been.”

Grimacing, I loosen my hold on his shirt and shove him away. He stumbles back and dusts himself off.

“This is some kind of intervention, then?” I ask. “A coup?”

“No coup,” he says firmly. “You know me better than that. I’m loyal. Which is why I have to tell you… you don’t have the same fire you used to, Kirill. It hasn’t been the same since…”

Since Ilya.

German doesn’t need to say it. My life is divided before and after my little brother’s drowning.

The fact I didn’t dissolve the Bratva and sell it for parts should be commended. The fact that I’ve maintained our alliances, kept money flowing, and continued expanding our territories should be enough.

I guess I should know better by now. It’s never enough.

This life doesn’t stop until it's cut you down to the bone and sucked out the marrow. A pound of flesh won’t do; the Bratva requires your very soul.

“This all comes from a place of respect,” German says gently. “We all want what is best for you. Because what’s best for you is best for us. This distance you’ve created between yourself and everyone else… It’s becoming a problem.”

“Am I supposed to hold all of your hands? Do I need to be some kind of father figure to my men? I’m not sure anyone wants what I have to offer in that department. My example of a father was not so warm and cozy.”

“I’m loyal to you because I know you,” German replies. “I’ve seen how much you care about the Bratva and your men. I know what it was like before. Some of the men with us now, they weren’t here for that. They don’t have any reason to believe you’ll fight on their behalf. They feel… dispensable.”

I fling my arms wide. “If anyone questions my loyalty, then theyaredispensable.”

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