Page 1 of Prince of Control
Prologue
Author’s note: This first chapter was originally written as a bonus epilogue to the Chicago Bratva series for my Kickstarter supporters, but I realized it was too important to the Bratva Heirs to leave out, so I’m including it here. This will be the only section in Ravil’s point of view in this book.
* * *
Ravil Baranov
My eyes burn as my wife, Lucy, and I walk out of Thornecroft University’s freshman dorm.
“Our nest is officially empty.” I squeeze her hand.
Ben, our oldest, is a senior at Thornecroft, and we just helped our youngest child, Liliya–Lili, for short–move in. I hung her bulletin boards and lifted furniture to place her rug where she wanted it, and then there was nothing else to do but leave. Our presence in the one-room dorm was no longer helpful. Lili couldn’t get to know her new roommate with the two of us hovering.
Still, leaving my precious daughter here sends a pang through my heart. It’s an unexpected emotion. I didn’t have it with Ben, but he’s always seemed older than his years. Lili is my well-protected printsessa. Our baby.
But Thornecroft, known as the “Harvard of the Midwest,” is the safest university in the world. Tucked in the outskirts of Whisper, Illinois, the rich, elite, and, like me, most dangerous people of the world have sent their offspring to study here for over two hundred years. Senators’ sons, ambassadors’ daughters, and the world’s royalty sit in classes with the children of uber-rich movie stars, cartel leaders, and mafia.
Security is tight, and Chancellor Ogden, a dangerous man in his own right, somehow manages to keep wars, assassinations, or paparazzi from penetrating the bubble of safety he keeps around the campus. There are rumors that he’s part of a dangerous cabal that runs the world. There are rumors he is former CIA. It’s possible both stories have some truth built in.
Lucy drags in a long, terraced breath like she’s holding back her tears, and I turn to wrap my arms around her. We stop in the middle of the sidewalk, creating an obstacle for the parents and students pushing carts filled with dorm decor from their cars to the freshman dorm buildings.
I kiss the top of my wife’s head.
There’s a hollowness in being empty nesters I didn’t expect. I thought today would be more of a celebration. A finish line. We raised two bright, capable children into adulthood and now have time to focus on our reconnection. But it feels like an appendage is missing.
“I’ll miss her so much,” Lucy chokes.
“I know. Me too.” I slide my arm around her waist to guide her to our Lucid Gravity SUV. “We will say goodbye to Ben, and then I’m stealing you away for a spa weekend.”
Lucy looks over, her brown eyes bright with tears but her expression warm and soft. “You are?”
I stop again to cradle her cheek with my hand. “Yes, kotyonok. I thought we might need a place to find each other before we get back to Chicago.”
“That sounds perfect.” Lucy’s voice is still clogged with tears. It makes me want to draw a sword and slay every monster around my wife. But of course, there are no monsters to slay.
This is exactly how it should be. Children grow up and move out. Their adult lives are just beginning as we face middle age. It’s not like our lives will be dull without the kids at home.
I’m pakhan of a bratva dynasty that now spans two continents. Lucy pulls the strings of our political empire–managing the campaigns of our handpicked state senators, governor, and representatives. Because when you’re head of an underworld dynasty, it helps to have friends in high places.
We pull around to Baranov House, a sprawling Victorian on the outskirts of campus. Yes, it’s named after me. Ben asked me to donate five million to the school to buy it just to have a fortress even more secure than the dorms where he could protect his friends. Most young men rush a fraternity or seek entrance to one of the elite Thornecroft Society Houses. Mine saw a way to create his own. He came to me with a proposal in the middle of his freshman year, explaining why having his own Thornecroft House, which would join the invitation-only society houses on campus, as a haven for those under his protection was important.
Thornecroft has fraternities and sororities, but what the school is really known for is their society houses. These houses used to be single-sex, but now some are coed. They’re very exclusive and selective invite-only societies that go beyond frats. These societies aren’t just about brotherhoods and building connections. Thornecroft’s society houses are about culminating the type of power and influence that decides elections around the world.
Ben promised to repay me every penny of the donation.
I told him it wasn’t necessary–that I expected him to enjoy his college experience with his friends. That I didn’t care if they turned the place into an “Animal House,” like the old American movie.
Instead, they impressed me by turning it into an enterprise. Inside Baranov House, or what the students on campus call the Gulag, for reasons I probably don’t want to know, Ben and his band of brothers–and sisters, since times and gender roles have changed–run a variety of legal and illegal money-making activities. They wire me a payment every month, as if they were one of my bratva cells.
I tried to keep Ben out of the bratva business, but despite it all, he molded himself exactly in my image. He essentially created his own bratva, though they don’t call themselves that.
I double-park behind Ben’s Range Rover in the driveway, and we get out and walk to the door. The house is a four-story, 20-bedroom behemoth, with wide-open common areas Ben and his crew convert into a dance floor and party space on weekends.
I’d insisted on an alarm system and bullet-proof windows when they bought it, but it looks like they’ve added new security measures since I was last here. Thumbprint-activated door locks. Cameras hang from every eave, probably some I also can’t spot, viewing and recording every inch of the property.
I press the buzzer because the security is too tight to allow walk-ins. Inside, young men and a few young women lounge on couches, easy chairs, and barstools. In the past, Ben’s given me the rundown on all the residents. Their varied skills are impressive.
Anders, Ben’s best friend, an Asian-Norwegian who plays social director for the house and front man for most of their activities, opens the door.
