CHAPTER ONE
Adrik
I never thought there would come a day when I would willingly approach the mob.
Yet here I was, hiding near the dumpster behind the Bratva-owned nightclub, Bliss, waiting forthemto arrive.
Only a fool would dare such a thing.
Or a desperate man with no other options.
I was both.
I literally had nothing to lose. Well, except my life. But if I died tonight, no one would mourn me. No one would care.
Except Damien.
This was for him as much as it was for me.
It had been four years since I’d seen him. Since I’d left him behind.
And I still hadn’t honored the promise I’d made to him.
I squeezed my eyes shut, drawing in a deep breath.
I couldn’t let him down. Ihadto do this.
The stench wafting up from the dumpster filled my nostrils, making me wrinkle my nose. But not even rotten garbage could distract me from what I was about to do.
A light above the back door cast a faint glow over the dumpster and the back entrance, but I hid in the shadows on the other side of the can, invisible to anyone who wasn’t right next to me.
The faint sound of music from inside the building was a steady thump at my back, but otherwise, the night was mostly silent except for the muted noise of traffic on the main road around the front of the building.
Suddenly, the headlights of several vehicles flashed across the dark parking lot behind the building.
My heart tripped, skittering to a halt, then thundered back to life, ricocheting off my ribs as the cars pulled into the lot and parked in the owners’ reserved spots.
They’re here.
Drawing in a deep breath, I slowly exhaled.
You can do this.
Car doors slammed.
Voices carried toward me.
My research and spying over the past few weeks had revealed that the Popovs always entered their club through the back of the building. Hence, my current position near this entrance.
Trying to gather my courage, I braced myself astheystrode into view. The four grandsons of Dimitri Popov, thePakhan—or Don—of the Russian Bratva. Sacha Plotnikov, the eldest at twenty-three, was the unsaid head of the group. Lev and Dominik Popov, the twins, were two years younger than Sacha and polar opposites in looks and personality. And Efrem Popov, the youngest, still a teenager, was the friendliest of the bunch.
No one ever saw Dimitri Popov out and about. Few people even knew what he looked like. He was a ghost who rarely ventured outside of his private estate, and the few times he did, he was heavily guarded. His two sons, Pavel (Lev and Dominik’s father) and Alexei (Efrem’s father), were his right-hand men—or Spies—and were also rarely seen. But his grandsons were commonly spotted around L.A. at their various establishments. Like the nightclub where I waited nervously, watching their approach.
Naturally, they were surrounded by armed guards, beefy goons who would intimidate even the toughest of men. Loyal servants, the guards would give their lives to protect the Popov family.
I’d heard good things about the Popovs from other guys around here, things that were in complete contradiction to what my father had told me about them. I wanted to stick it to Papa in a bad way, so I chose to believe what the dudes around here said over Papa’s vindictive rantings. Contrary to my father’s statements, the Popovs supposedly treated their crew better than most other crime families in the area. They also made the criminal life look glamorous. Obviously successful in their dealings, none of them had ever gone to prison. They lived in the lap of luxury, privileged young men who did whatever they pleased. The rumor was that Dimitri Popov had a good portion of the local government under his thumb. The cops left the Popovs alone as long as they were discreet, and no innocent people were harmed in their activities. Sounded good to me. I wanted to be a part of it. If they allowed me in, then I was essentially giving Papa the middle finger. And that, alone, was a strong incentive for being here.
Sacha Plotnikov was my target, the one I wanted to talk to. As the eldest grandson, he was likely to have the highest position out of the four grandsons. The one with the most power.