Page 2 of Ruined Beauty

2

Vlad

Papa is reading The Wall Street Journal. It makes him feel like a proper businessman rather than the white-collar criminal he is.

He glances at me but doesn't put the paper down. He'll give me his attention once he's good and ready.

Papa runs his eyes over me as I sit in the easy chair beside his bed. "You look like shit, Vladimir," he says, tossing the newspaper onto the floor.

That's rich coming from him. Does he think cancer of the lymph nodes makes him a pleasant sight?

I ignore his remark and reach for his water glass, holding the straw to his lips. He swats it away.

"If I wanted a nurse, I'd get a young one with big tits. I don't needyourhelp."

Papa hates to be seen like this, with his mighty bulk atrophied away. The viciousness and hatred he spewed for years finally poisoned him, rotting his body before my eyes.

It's better than he deserves.

I'm his oldest son, but my father despises me. He cares about his children only when it comes to running his empire. Since my father's health declined, my Uncle David has been implementing Papa's decisions and keeping things going.

I have two brothers, and while Papa could theoretically name either of them as the next pakhan, it would be unwise. Avel is too young, and Sasha? No fucking way. I love the guy, but he's way too volatile. If we made him pakhan at eight a.m., we'd be at war before noon.

"What do you want, Papa?"

He rests bloodshot eyes on my face. "I need to put things in order. Are you ready to do your duty for me?"

Am I fuck.What I do, I'll do for me, and you will be in the cold ground where you can't mess with me anymore.

"Of course," I say. "Tell me what's gotta happen, and I'll see it done."

My father draws a rasping breath. "You will inherit control of all the legitimate businesses and associated accounts without checks or balances."

No shit.I've been running our companies for years. Allheever did was sign things.

"As for our Bratva interests, I need to know. Can you do it? Can you be a pakhan?"

"You know I can," I say, straining to keep my tone neutral. "How many people died at my hands to secure what's ours? All the billions of dollars I have laundered. The assets we legally own."

Papa's eyes are sunken and dull now, but I still see them in my nightmares. As a child, he would make me look at him while he beat me. It was supposed to make me tough enough to handle everything the bratva life would throw at me.

He couldn't hurt me now if his life depended on it. But I still fear that perhaps all that pain was for its own sake because he hated me then and hates me now.

When he summoned me to his bedside, he said he had a surprise for me. In all my forty-five years, a surprise from Papa has never been a good thing.

Fuck him.

"Oh, spit it out," I snarl. "I'm sick of you and your bullshit."

Papa sniffs. "Fine, you impudent prick. Here it is. You wanna be pakhan? Get married. Within the next week."

I wait for the punchline, but there's nothing except my father's wheezing breath. He unhooks the oxygen mask from the bedpost and places it over his mouth and nose, drawing deeply and keeping his eyes on mine.

"You fucking manipulative piece of—"

Papa removes the mask to yell. "I mean it, Vladi! The beneficiary codicil in my will cannot take effect unless I see you wed. And I will not formally name you as my successor in the bratva either. So you'd better make it look good for our associates too."

"Why?"

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