Page 1 of Untouchable Queen
PROLOGUE
LUCIAN
One Year Ago
“Thank you for meeting with me today, Signor Sokolov,” I say, steepling my fingers as I watch the broad-shouldered, barrel-chestedpakhanlower himself into one of my ornately fashioned wrought iron patio chairs.
“Yes, your message was very…persuasive,” he says dryly, accepting the glass of Chianti one of my maids pours for him. He gives her a dismissive nod, before turning his cold gray eyes on me.
At age fifty-three, Boris Sokolov is nearly two decades older than I am, but he carries himself and his title with an ease that never fails to impress me. He’s the king of Manhattan, the head of the most powerful Bratva in New York, if not the Eastern United States. Forming an alliance with him would make my already considerable empire—headquartered in Brooklyn and just a stone’s throw away from his penthouse fortress—vastlymore powerful. But that’s not my only reason for calling this meeting today.
His eldest daughter, Tatiana, is twenty-three, well past the age a Bratva princess would typically be married off. And after meeting the striking young woman, I fully intend to snatch her up. I’ve heard the reason no one has before stems from Boris’s refusal to negotiate terms. But I’m willing to make him a generous offer—even if he’s been cursed with the reality of only having daughters and no sons to take up his empire when he’s done.
You see, I’m not interested in claiming his wealth or territory—I have plenty of it on my own. And seeing as I’m the farthest east of the mafia empires ruling New York, I have no limit to my possibility of expansion like the rest of them. No, my reasons for wanting Tatiana are different entirely, and I fully intend to utilize that upper hand.
Because I’ve never met a woman more beautiful, more thought provoking, or more deceptive. She might have the rest of the world fooled, but I can see the demure-young-woman act is just that. The Russian princess has fire in her veins, and like Icarus, I want to see how close I can get to the sun. Boris Sokolov is the only thing standing in my way.
“So, what is thisvery temptingoffer you have for me?” he asks, throwing my words back at me as he sets aside his glass of wine without drinking from it. A subtle slight, but in the world of negotiating between families, every insult means something. This one says he doesn’t intend to consider my hospitality a sign of good faith. His guard is up.
Lacing his fingers over his slight belly, Boris leans back to look at me with open appraisal.
“Right to business, then?” I tease, smirking. “I like that about you,signore. You’re not interested in mindless pleasantries.” Taking a sip of my own wine, I set the glass aside with care,letting the silence stretch between us. Then I turn my focus solely on the Russian mafia head. “We’ve worked together in the past, and I think you could agree I make a solid business partner.”
“You follow through on your promises,” Boris concedes cautiously.
“Well, I have another business proposal for you, one that would very much be in your favor.”
“Alright?”
Boris snaps his fingers, and one of his hulking bodyguards steps forward, producing a cigar without a word. The largepakhanaccepts it, placing the thick stogie between his teeth and biting down on it. His man strikes a light for him, holding the flame against the cigar’s tip until Boris can draw several long pulls from the smoke. Then he releases a thick plume.
“Free reign to ship abroad out of Queens—indefinitely,” I state. “I’ll even grant you access to several of my easternmost warehouse locations if you’re looking to store product temporarily.”
Boris’s thick burgundy brows rise, skepticism clearly written across his face. “And in exchange?” he drawls, his Russian accent slow and thick.
“A marriage agreement.” I’m offering him a good deal. Normally, in this kind of scenario, the girl’s father will be looking for a connection to help build their family’s reputation, to climb ladders and open doors that would otherwise have been closed. Seeing as Boris has one of the most notorious reputations in all of New York society, I know the typical negotiation strategies won’t be helpful. It’s also likely why he hasn’t been overly eager to sell off either of his daughters. He’s probably waiting for a deal worth accepting, and this is it.
But after a moment’s consideration, the burly Russian tips his head back and releases a deep, rumbling belly laugh.Irritation spikes in my chest, but I keep the practiced smile glued to my lips because losing my temper won’t help the situation.
“Something’s funny?” I ask delicately as Boris wipes imaginary tears from the corners of his eyes.
And like a switch, the notoriously tempestuouspakhan’s face falls into a flat expression of distaste. “What makes you think I would care to make that kind of deal with you?” he asks flatly, his gray eyes sparking.
“Come now, Boris. We both know your ships are running into challenges with the coast guard. That’s what happens when your reputation overcomes your ability to pay off the law. But I can get your product out of the US without a problem. Think of it. Without having to deal with territory restrictions, you’ll be free and clear, and a marriage alliance would only reinforce the genuine nature of my proposal,” I encourage, keeping my voice smooth and persuasive.
“Tell me, Don Lucian, which of my daughters has caught your eye?” Boris asks, leaning forward to brace his thick forearms against the frosted glass table before him.
Maybe we’re getting somewhere.
“You have two beautiful daughters,” I say, knowing I’ll have to tread lightly. Because while I’m not after Tatiana for her inheritance, the entire Sokolov empire would—traditionally speaking—go to her husband upon Boris’s death. “But it’s Tatiana who has captured my attention. She’s everything a well-bred young woman should be and more. She’s intelligent. Interesting?—”
“You make it sound like you know my daughter,” Boris observes darkly. I know from experience he’s very careful about keeping his daughters high up in that tower of a mansion at the center of Manhattan. And while I’ve exchanged a few pleasantries with Tatiana during charity events and galas I’veattended there, the daughters don’t mingle with men unless their father can keep a close eye on them.
“I only mean she’s a good conversationalist,” I state, and boy is she. I’ve spoken to her on no more than a handful of occasions, and typically, she starts out polite, soft-spoken. But challenge her on a subject she’s passionate about, and the woman knows how to hold her ground in an argument. I rather enjoy playing devil’s advocate—and I’ll do so all night long to catch a glimpse of Tatiana’s fire.
“You think I don’t know that?” Boris asks, his eyebrow cocking.
“I only wanted to explain why you would consider me a viable suitor for your daughter when you’ve refused so many other proposals.” Thepakhanis legendary in that regard. In fact, I wonder if he’s determined to reject every wealthy socialite and business tycoon in New York before he decides who he wants his daughters to marry.
