I’ve always had such a love-hate relationship with Russia. It’s beautiful, more so than any city in the US in my opinion. The architecture of St. Petersburg is arguably the best of any European city, mostly Baroque and Neoclassical but then with random splashes of medieval Russian architecture like the onion domes on the church I sit outside of. The history surrounding you on every block is bloody and dark and speaks to me in the darkest parts of my soul.
Conversely, this is the place where I suffered deep trauma and psychological abuse at the hands of someone I thought I could trust. I was forced to play Russian roulette with orphans my uncle would grab off the street, forced to watch them die in front of me. Ivan shaped me into the bloodthirsty psychopath that I am, deep inside. I hate him for that and for tying himself intrinsically into my memories of this place.
Later, as I walk down the iconic steps of the hotel, flanked by Lev and Griff, I know that whatever happens tonight, I will walk away a different man. I just need to offer them both an out, one last time.
“You guys know you don’t have to come with me, right?” I stop at the bottom of the steps. “You have your sisters, Griff. Lev, you have Ivy.”
“Yeah, and you have Hoodrat,” Lev shoots back at me.
“We’re doing this together, and we’re going home together,” Griff answers.
“Alright,” I hold my hands out in surrender, “that was the last time I’ll say anything.”
None of us say anything as we settle in for the drive to the estate where the party is taking place. The driver of our car has classical music playing, a haunting string version of “Sweet Dreams are Made of This” fills the silence of the car. Lev is in the front passenger seat, as usual. His navy suit paired with a black shirt matches the dark intensity of his eyes. Griff is in black on black. I’m also in black on black. I’m betting we all had the same idea about bloodstains on dark clothing.
We pull up to a gorgeous neoclassical mansion. I’ve never been to this one before, so I don’t know the history of the building. It’s now rented out for events but was clearly once a manor for a wealthy family.
We don’t wait for our doors to be opened for us, and the three of us exit the car. We go up the stone staircase to the landing where about a dozen people are smoking a variety of things, a couple e-cigs, a pipe, and some cigars. We walk past a group of girls, probably in their mid-teens but dressed way too provocatively for their age. My jaw clenches as I realize they’re probably here as sex workers. If I thought it would help, I’d drop a couple grand for them to leave, but they’d only pocket it and stay. Whoever’s running them would end up with most of it anyway.
We keep our eyes open for Niklov Yegorov. From the picture Griff found, he’s a good-looking guy, about our age, with dark hair and a scar running down the left side of his neck. I’m also keeping an eye out for Ivan and Dad.
“Over at the bar,” Levi says with a slight gesture to the right. “Is that Niklov?”
“Looks like him,” Griff confirms.
“I guess we’re getting a drink.”
We walk toward the bar, and I nod at a few familiar faces. Most of the people at the bar make room when they see me, those who know my family anyway. I haven’t seen most of these people in years, but I’m unmistakably a Volkov.
“Connor Volkov.” I hear my name come from my left right after I finish ordering for the three of us. I look over, and it’s coming from Niklov.
“Yes.” I answer in Russian. “And you are?”
“Niklov Yegorov. I’m here representing my grandparents.” He answers back in Russian. “Who are they?”
“Griffin Potter and Levi Marsh,” I answer in English. “Associates of mine.”
He gives them the slightest nod of acknowledgment. “I’m surprised to see you here for this,” he says in heavily accented English. “I thought you were more caught up in your business affairs in America than the criminal underworld of Europe.”
“Sometimes the two overlap.” I glare at him. “I’m surprised to see you and not your grandparents here. How are they?”
“They’re good, they had last minute matters to attend to, so that’s why they sent me.”
“Last minute matters like cancer treatments?” Griff asks.
“Or was it early onset Alzheimer’s treatments?” Levi asks as he scratches his chin.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He sneers at us.
“Right, well, if we were to spread those rumors around, how would that affect your supply chain?” I stare him down eye-to-eye. “I know there’s some new competition coming at you guys from the south, and with Alexi breathing down your neck on the east side, you’re running scared.”
“What do you want?” he asks in a harsh whisper, reverting to Russian.
“When shit goes down in the meeting, you and your family need to have my and my father’s backs.” I hold my hand out for a handshake. “No one will hear about your grandparents from us, and I’ll consider this a personal favor to me.”
He gives me a nod and turns back to his drink and the man he was talking to before we came up. It’s not an enthusiastic yes but probably the best I’ll get out of any stoic Russian. We take our drinks and walk over toward one of the ballroom balconies. I’m almost to the door when I feel a hand land on my shoulder. All the hairs on my body rise when I feel the familiar squeeze.
I turn around and look my uncle in the face. “Ivan.”
“Connor.” He turns and pulls
