Chapter One
Four days later
Sevastyan took a noticeable pause before he stepped over the threshold of his childhood home. Fifteen years didn’t seem hardly long enough between visits. Standing there, his hand on the door’s lever, he broke a promise he made himself to never return. Muscles clenched with banked fury. The people gathered to mourn his brother’s passing didn’t deserve his deep, primal rage so he bottled that shit up tight and kept moving.
With a flick of his hand, Sevastyan waved off his father’s guards dressed in thousand-dollar suits and looking every bit as dangerous as the tattoos on their hands and throats suggested.
A hard hand on his shoulder brought him to a quick stop. He flashed the offender a lethal glare.
“Get your digits off me or lose them. That simple.”
“Sorry, Mr. Volkov.” Bushy black brows pinched together over the guard’s brow and reminded Sevastyan that by this time tomorrow this man’s life would be solely in his hands.
“You’d do well to remember who you’ll be serving.” He shook the hand on his shoulder off and straightened his jacket.
Black eyes meet his. “Orders are orders until they are not.”
Sevastyan could appreciate the man’s loyalty as fucked up as it was.
He canted his head, giving the man permission to do his job.
A quick pat-down lifted him of two guns. “He’s waiting for you.”
He brushed past the hired muscle and zeroed in on the massive mahogany door at the far end of the hallway.
Hand on the handles he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
Like any monster, Sevastyan could sense another dark soul nearby. Only this one shared blood with him. Without seeing he knew where he would find the older Volkov. He was there. Always there. Tucked away behind his closed door reeking of impatience and smugness that clogged Sevastyan’s senses with every inhalation.
Sevastyan pushed through the doors and didn’t bother closing them. They swung open smashing into the back walls.
“Get the fuck out,” he snarled at two guards grabbing for their concealed weapons. They’d be the first to take an early grave once he took control. His men would have dropped an intruder before he could get a toe in the door. These fuckers were jokes.
He turned his attention to the far end of the home office. A room where blood ran as freely as vodka.
“I’m here. Say your piece and be fast. After my brother is put into the ground, I no longer care what you say or think. You can go back to pretending I’m dead.” The sharp edge of his words sliced through the shadowed room. “But know this, old man, the Volkov family will be free of your reign.”
Nikolas Volkov didn’t peel his eyes away from the dancing flames in the fireplace. He sat hunched, a shell of the man Sevastyan remembered. His father remained glued to his seat, swirling remnants of a tumbler full of vodka in one hand, a cigar in the other.
But Sevastyan didn’t let the aging bastard’s appearance fool him. Remorse for what happened between them or his brother’s death didn’t fit his old man’s character. The head of the Volkov empire didn’t know what love meant, which negated the emotions needed to feel the loss of family. All he cared about was power. The control he once had, now slipping with age. Control his brother shouldered. All for the approval of some who despised him for what he wasn’t—him.
Now his brother was dead and their father appeared weakened to any Volkov enemy. Which meant he needed his youngest son’s help.
It was the only reason he could think of as to why his father issued a summons.
His attention finally roamed to where Sevastyan stood in the middle of the office and Sevastyan rubbed his stubbled jaw, meeting his father’s worn gaze.
“I found Mikhail’s burned body on my doorstep with a nice little note.” Sevastyan tore the piece of singed paper from his coat pocket and threw it on the desk between them. “Seems you both got in over your head with someone and he is out for blood. He already killed one son. Tell me what you two were into so I can take care of the problem.”
He pointed at the paper. “Is that dollars or Euros you owe? Twelve point eight million dollars is a nice price tag, but even bigger if it’s European money we’re talking about. Says he’ll be by to collect. If not, he’s left a nice little promise to come for more blood.”
His father lifted a heavy shoulder. “Does not matter. There’s nothing you can do. It’s not your problem. It’s not why I called you here.”
Sevastyan slammed a fist onto the polished wood sending papers and a lamp clattering to the floor. “Fuck you. This man has pledged to kill every last Volkov. Last I checked, that is me and you, Father. Since I don’t want to live looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life, you need to tell me what asshole you two screwed over.”
Sevastyan should have been prepared for the stone-cold expression of the man staring back at him, but his old man didn’t even flinch at Sevastyan’s cold, callous tone.
Ire tasked the little restraint he had to keep from lunging across the furniture and ripping the other man’s throat out. Up until now, he’d done a good job at keeping himself in check but seeing his father’s face forced his rage to the surface.