Page 15 of Pregnant By the Russian Pakhan

“More than that,” the lawyer said, nodding meaningfully toward the documents.

Mikhail turned the next page and his eyes boggled. There were yachts, private jets, villas, bars of gold in different safes, two gold mines in an exotic foreign country, several estates and mansions, and a couple of vineyards.

He looked up at Williams, befuddled. Mikhail had been born into wealth and had multiplied that wealth three times over since he became head of the Bratva. But if these documents were to be believed, the wealth he controlled in over thirty countries was not even up to a tenth of the entire wealth his father had truly possessed.

He looked up at Williams in shock. “How are these his properties, and why wasn’t I made aware of it?”

“I only recently came into the know myself when his lawyers in the Cayman Islands contacted me. Apparently, he stashed the bulk of his wealth in different countries and didn’t reveal everything to me just in case I fell into the wrong hands and was tortured into giving him away,” Williams finished with an offended sniff.

Mikhail sighed. It did sound like his father. Cagey bastard.

“So what now? How do I get them?” Mikhail asked.

Williams cleared his throat and gave his tie a nervous tug.

Alarm bells went off in Mikhail’s head. Williams never looked nervous; that was one of his many strengths. He was always as placid as a lake. Why did he look as though he wanted to bolt?

“Williams?” Mikhail demanded.

“Page four, last line,” Williams said, nodding toward the paper again.

Mikhail turned the page and the color drained from his face as he read what was written. He looked up at Williams, too angry to believe what his eyes were seeing.

“What the hell is this?” he barked.

“Dostoevsky’s been silently taking over some of those properties in the past five years. It seems he was aware of them even though we weren’t,” Williams interpreted. “Which isn’t surprising, because your father was his friend and business partner for years before they became rivals.”

Mikhail stared. He’d never heard that story before.

“In some of those countries, their laws allow ‘ownerless properties’ to revert to the government, and in those countries, Dostoevsky got his hands on the property legally by buying them from the government after they took over. But in other countries, he’s been gradually moving in to try and claim them as his,” Williams finished, handing over yet another sheaf of documents.

Mikhail scanned it briefly before lifting enraged eyes to Williams. “Even here in the States?”

“That blue-chip company has been vigorously buying out shareholders in some of your business interests. If he gets enough, he’s moving for a hostile takeover.”

Mikhail catapulted from his seat and began to pace as his thoughts churned. “I’ll kill that bastard for this,” he vowed.

“I’ve looked at all the legal angles,” Williams ventured. “In those countries where the government took possession of the properties first before selling to him, everything was done in accordance with their laws. We have no leg to stand on there. But in these other areas, we’ve got to move fast.”

“And those properties he took over in those countries? What did he do with them?” Mikhail asked, already knowing the answer even as he did so.

“He turned several of them into brothels, and a few he’s made into bunker homes for his gang.”

Even as he reeled from the force of that announcement, Mikhail had to admit there was a method to Dostoevsky’s madness. He had taken valuable properties and reduced them to hideouts for vermin and whatnot in a bid to destroy their value and discourage good investments in those areas. The man was single-minded in his determination to destroy every legacy of the Nikolais.

But he would die before he let Dostoevsky win this one, Mikhail decided.

Anyone who knew a thing about Russian pride knew a true son of his father would rather die than see his family wealth go to their enemy. And anyone who knew Mikhail Nikolai knew he would burn the entire world before he would let the very man who had killed his father get so much as a pen from his estate.

Mikhail’s teeth were very white against his tanned face as he grinned humorlessly at the lawyer. “Well then, let’s begin the game. I’ll throw a party with those associates who I know had stakes in our companies here in the States, and I’ll buy back as much of those shares as I need to. Dostoevsky isn’t getting his filthy hands on them, not in this lifetime. Then I want men in every one of those countries where he’s been circling our properties. You’re gonna give a full list of the countries and areas of interest to Vlad, please. Let’s keep this under wraps for the time being, and that includes my brothers. Each of them is assigned a task and out of the city at the moment, so it’s going to be easy to keep this from them.”

Williams held up one hand. “Not so fast.”

“More news?” Mikhail asked smoothly. He was livid, but his courteous tone would have fooled anyone into believing otherwise.

Williams was not just anyone. He’d known Mikhail since he was a baby, so he wasn’t fooled by his calm mien, but he pressed on nevertheless.

“You have to think now about getting married to a nice unassuming girl and getting some of these interests into her name,” the lawyer said. “Just as insurance.”

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