Page 74 of The Vampire's Soul

Nikolay strode into the room, Alexis and Demetri a few steps behind him.

When he stopped, he took in the famous gold framed paintings hanging on the walls and smiled to himself. He was in the Kremlin. The most powerful place in Russia.

As they waited, servers and guards hovered in the shadows, silent, still, and obedient.

Impatient as he always was, Nikolay walked to a window and stared out at the palace grounds. One day, he could own a building as grand as this. Or be standing right here, leading the country.

Even the world.

Not that he was there to take President Volkov’s job, but it could happen. The world was rapidly changing, and after learning they’ve been living with another species for the past fifteen hundred years, left it in a state of panic.

Nikolay held the key to ensuring humans remained at the top of the food chain.

Because the truth was, they never had been.

The door opened, and the president walked in.

Volkov was a large and impressive man; over six foot five, with broad shoulders and a strong jaw.

Without hesitation, he strode over to Nikolay, shook his hand and instructed him to sit with a point of his finger.

“Welcome to Moscow, Mr. Mikhailov.”

“Sabiso.” He thanked the leader with a respectful nod.

Being ordered around wasn’t comfortable for Nikolay, but he was here to do business. Showing even a hint of weakness or manipulation could get him killed.

Even as the head of the Russian Mafia.

This wasn’t the United fucking States.

“I knew your father,” Volkov said, studying him as he crossed his legs.

Nikolay nodded.

It was common knowledge he’d killed the man and taken over the Bratva.

What the president thought of that was irrelevant as far as he was concerned. The Federation had, for the most part, let the Bratva function as a mob for decades.

Now they were about to become partners. He had little doubt the president would say no. It would be a foolish thing to do.

The two men sat, and the servers came out of the shadows, placing glasses of water on the small table between them.

“Coffee or tea, sir?”

“No.Spasibo.” Nikolay shook his head.

The president stirred his black tea, then dropped the teaspoon noisily on the saucer. He took one sip, then pushed it to a certain spot on the table and lifted his face.

The powerful gaze landed on him, waiting for him to speak.

“We will need the room cleared,” Nikolay said.

The president didn’t react; he just held his stare as the crime boss felt prickles of sweat start under his arms.

Which maddened him.

“Clear the room.”

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