Alex

Living in constant danger and paranoia has become one of my quirks I must say. I'd stared death in the face and spat on it like it was my bitch. Psychologists would lump me with the dark triads, the elusive, and ever-so-bored sociopath who thrived in living in constant chaos and if there wasn't enough drama, I'd create them just so I could feel some sort of fucking control. 

I've been stabbed, shot, and bombed, yet here I stood, stronger than ever. My enemies underestimated me at their own peril. I was always vigilant, always aware of my surroundings, and always prepared to fight back.

Despite my tough exterior, I understood that trust was essential in any successful operation. That's why I surrounded myself with a small group of trusted advisors, men, and women who had proven their loyalty and dedication to the cause. We shared a bond that went beyond mere friendship or professional obligation. We were like family, bound together by blood and sacrifice.

And I'd kill and torture for my family as I was doing to the piece of meat whithering under my boot. "Now, we can do this the hard way or the easy way."

The one-eyed asshole who'd shot Sergi glared up at me with an ugly bloodshot eye. Blood and spittle flew out of his mouth as he spoke. "Y-yuh m-meshed with da wrong man..."

Oh did we?

I gave my hammer a little twirl. "And who is this man?"

The bastard smirked. "Our padrino."

"Name?"

"Cabrera." 

Cabrera.

Did the old tiger catch the smell of foreign blood on his turf already?

Then he probably knew about my plans to engrave Ivanov's name on American soil.

"How does he know?"

The one-eyed cock-head snorted and said. "'Careful, Iv'nov. Da boss ain't keen on invadin' guests tryna claim 'is ter'tory n'empire."

"Listen well, cock-breath," I snarled, jabbing my boot into his ribs. A sickening crunch told me I'd just broken a few. Tears welled up in his one good eye, but he didn't dare make a sound. Smart man. "I don't give a rat's ass about your pedrico or whatever fairy tale goomba you want to cry to."

I leaned down until our faces were inches apart. He reeked of sweat and piss. Pathetic. "This is my game now. I'm taking over. You can either get in line like a good little bitch, or I'll make you my bitch. Your choice."

The sniveling coward tried to respond, but all that came out was a wet, gurgling wheeze. Not much fight left in this one. I sighed, standing back up straight while rolling the handle of my trusty hammer in my palm. "You know what, forget it. You're not worth my time."

With one deft swing, I brought the hammer crashing down on his skull. An ear-splitting crunch, then silence as his body went limp. I looked around at my men, stone-cold killers every one. "Anyone else got a problem here? Speak now or forever hold your peace."

No one said a word. Good. Like I said, I surround myself with family. People I can depend on, people who understand how this world works. We're the new kings of this jungle, and anyone who can't accept that will get put down like the rabid mutts they are.

I tossed the hammer aside and strode out, leaving the cooling corpse for the clean-up crew. First Cabrera, then the rest of these small-time hustlers thinking they run this town. They'll all kneel before the Ivanov name soon enough. This is my empire now.

***

"Get us some drinks," I barked over my shoulder as I took a seat at the head of the scarred oak table. Dimitri nodded silently and headed to the bar. The others stayed standing, awaiting my commands like obedient soldiers.

In strode Dimitri a few minutes later, thick arms laden with bottles of premium Russian vodka and glasses. Setting them down heavily, he poured a round for everyone before reclaiming his spot at my right hand.

"Vell? Vhat did rat have to say about Cabrera?" 

I took a long pull of the ice-cold vodka, letting it burn down my throat before answering. "That decrepit Cuban fuck thinks he can make a play against us. Claims he's got some inside info on our operations here."

Low murmurs and curses rippled across the table, but I raised a calloused hand for silence. "Enough. We all knew Miami wouldn't just roll over without a fight. Cabrera's the last futile gasp of the old regime."

Dimitri's dark eyes dimmed further in grim understanding. He flicked his fingers and the rest of the crew dispersed immediately with their drinks. If Dimitri wanted to chat privately, that only meant he was going to say something that would get on my nerves. 

"Vhy did you shoot Vlad?"

My mind flashed back to that night at the club. Vlad, that smug bastard, sitting there with that stupid grin plastered across his face while she ground against his lap. 

I don't get jealous. That's a weakness I can't afford in this life. But seeing her, my personal property, giving herself away for free to that second-rate lieutenant... made me want to put a bullet in his head right then and there, but I chose his thigh instead.

"You know how it is, Dimitri," I growled, downing another searing gulp of vodka to dull the ember of rage still smoldering in my gut. "Vlad forgot his place. He touched something that didn't belong to him."

Dimitri's eyes narrowed, but he knew better than to push me further on this. Out of all my men, he understood the churning well of violence that drove me better than anyone. We were both born and bred for this bloody life.

"Fair enough," he finally rumbled. 

He paused, studying me carefully before changing the subject. "Speaking of vomen...have you given any more thought to Natalia?"

I stopped drinking midway at the mention of the soon-to-be wife. Natalia Romanova, the only daughter of a high-ranking member of Moscow's criminal elite. This union was arranged the moment I caught my father's eye twelve years ago in that cold hell's pit. Sergi would've taken my place if only he wasn't so young back then.

Natalia was every man's wet dream, she would've made the perfect, obedient wife. She was well-bred, with porcelain skin, and a feminine body with curves all in the right places, a most importantly, a virgin. 

Moreover, she was the perfect hostess to blend perfectly with the artificial world of the elites with her deceptively innocent smiles and soft conversations. She would've never questioned me and my intentions, she would've lived in her little bubble of obliviousness and stayed out of my business. Which was exactly what I looked for in a wife.

Perfect, obedient little Natalia - that was the whole problem right there.

While part of me appreciated her traditional, subservient nature befitting a proper Russian wife, another part of me couldn't help but feel repulsed by it. By her.

I scowled into my glass, "What about her?" 

"There is other matter," Dimitri said, his gruff voice tinged with seriousness. "Natalia vants to come to Miami soon, to meet you in person before veddingk."

I felt a flash of irritation at the thought of entertaining the little princess on my turf. 

"And I suppose the high and mighty aristocrats in Moscow are just delighted at her request to survey her future criminal kingdom?" I swirled my glass of vodka a little.

Dimitri shrugged those barrel shoulders. "They encourage it. Vant her to see mighty empire you are buildingk, to assess her...future stake, you could say."

The arrogant fools thought sending their delicate daughter into the belly of this beast would be some quaint little meeting of prospective in-laws? How charmingly deluded.

Slamming my glass down, I fixed my lieutenant with a stare. "Well then, I couldn't be more eager to show her what she's getting into."