Page 4 of Savage Bratva King

2

LEONID

I’min a meeting at the Rudesian club discussing the expansion of my golf resort when my right-hand man Sergei arches an eyebrow from the doorway.

“Excuse me, gents.” I stand and follow Sergei from the room, my phone passing into the palm of my hand in one well-practiced movement.

My office at the resort overlooks the golf course, and I stare out of the window at the businessmen in their golfing slacks and Under Armor shirts, and wonder, not for the first time, what enjoyment they get out of pushing a tiny ball into holes in the ground.

“Pakhan?”

I recognize the voice instantly. It belongs to Ivana, one of the two young women on my team, and one of a very small group of people I would trust with my life.

“Speak.”

“We have been intercepted again.” Her clipped voice buzzes through the speaker like a fly trapped inside a closed window.

“Casualties?” Outside the window, a heavy-boned man with a hefty paunch resting on top of his pants shuffles his feet and practices his swing.

I focus on the arc of the metal club as Ivana’s voice buzzes in my ear. “Five fatalities. Some wounded. They’ve been removed as required.”

The golfer hits the ball, the club resting on his shoulder as he watches its progress. “Who led the attack?” The question is unnecessary; I already know the answer.

“Xander Amory.”

The leader of the Sicilian mafia in Chicago. The man who is single handedly trying to destroy me because no one ever explained to him that it is healthy to have rivals. It stimulates the brain, keeps you on your toes, promotes business transactions that might otherwise be ignored. Xander has decided that there isn’t enough room for both of us in this city, and I’m taking him at his word.

With one difference: I am going to win. And when I do, he will be sorry that he ever started this bloody war.

“Retreat.” I hand the phone back to Sergei.

The golfer is moving on, the caddy dragging the clubs along behind him. “Chyort voz’mi,” I curse in Russian. I inhale deeply, my diaphragm expanding with the air in my lungs.

The Sicilians are relentless. Their attacks have become an almost daily occurrence since the failed attempt to kidnap Xander’s wife and son, but this one was expected. It was a distraction while I set the wheels in motion to retaliate, and Xander swallowed it hook, line, and sinker. It was more than just a distraction though, which is why only a handful of people are aware of my intentions.

“Inform the men that the meeting has been adjourned.”

Sergei waits for me to continue. His olive-skinned face is a mask of serenity, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. You do not get to spend so much time in close quarters without learning one another’s tells, although if asked, he would remark that mine are not quite so obvious.

“It is time for the Sicilians to understand who they are dealing with, is it not?”

Sergei nods, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Everything is in place.”

I am tired of being on the fucking defensive. That is not who I am. It is not how the Ivanov family works. But this time, I feel the cold burn of revenge coursing through my veins. The failed kidnap attempt was a hiccup, nothing more. But hiccups only serve to make the warrior stronger, more determined, more lethal.

I face Sergei, the man who has been by my side since we were teenagers. The man who is like a brother to me. The man who knows when I’m about to sneeze before I even know it myself.

“No fucking mistakes this time.”

His mouth curves into a smile. “Yes, boss.”

I wish I could reciprocate the gesture, but Xander has been a thorn in my side for far too long, and the thorn will sting on the way out. “Ramp up security and double the patrols.” Sergei responds with a curt nod. “And, Sergei, I wish to be informed the instant the asset is delivered to my door.”

“Of course, boss.”

He enters the boardroom, and I hear him dismissing the men who stack up their papers and leave in silence. I wait for Sergei to carry out my orders before leaving the resort, nodding at regular customers, and greeting the patient wives with wide smiles on my way to my waiting Cadillac. These people put dollars in my bank account, but I’ll never understand why so many of them have trophy wives, beautiful women who are content to be seen and not heard.

Maybe this is the reason why I have never married despite the pressure from my parents to extend the family bloodline. I will not be content to marry a woman who stands by my side, smiles in all the right places, and provides my guests with the kind of hospitality worthy of a Michelin starred restaurant. I want a woman who is prepared to stand up and fight for what she believes in. Sure, I want that belief to be in me, but I want a woman who will tousle me in bed rather than be submissive. I want to look at her and know that I have met my match as well as my soulmate.

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