ONE

“You must find…a wife, son. Do not make me leave you alone. Your mother would…never forgive me.”

Lukas Zavrazin, current Sovietnik of the Zavrazin organization and Pakhan in-training, wiped at his wet eyes and nodded. His mind didn’t bring forth any nonsensical images of the last grains of sand falling through an hourglass. He was too pragmatic for such shit. All he saw was the gauze and bandages covering his beloved father’s salt-and-pepper hair.

Kostya Zavrazin, the Pakhan of their Bratva, had been shot in the head last night. He’d gone into surgery within a few hours, had come out hours later, and had woken just a short time ago. Why the hell had his first thoughts revolved around his eldest son’s single status?

As Lukas attempted to breathe through the love and terror choking him, all he could think now was that he’d never made an effort to do two simple things his parents had asked of him. Get married and have a couple of babies. He’d told them he would, had even promised, but he’d never searched the faces of the many women who’d passed through his life to see if perhaps he should keep one for longer than a night or two.

What if he’d missed her? What if she’d sat across from him at dinner, spent the night in his bed, and then he’d shown her to the door the following morning, already distracted by the busy day ahead?

“You cannot wait any longer, Lukas.” Normally strong and commanding, his father’s voice was weak and reedy. “This incident has proven now is the time.”

As guilt joined his fear, Lukas once again geared up to make his promises.

But his father had heard them all before and was no longer willing to be appeased by the bullshit. “Do not waste any more time,” he stressed before Lukas could speak. “If I am not lucky enough to get through this…” He made a pained sound, and then ground his teeth as if he were angry at himself for allowing his sons to hear his suffering. “If I do not make it, I must know you will be taken care of.”

“Tell him.”

Lukas glanced across the bed to where his younger brother stood. Samuel’s eyes were full of tears, his shirt rusty with dried blood, and his dark hair was all over the fucking place because he’d been yanking at it all night. He would eventually take over as Sovietnik when Lukas moved into his father’s position, but that wouldn’t be for many years yet.

“What?”

“Tell him about her,” Samuel repeated. “I know you weren’t expecting to fall for a simple girl like her, but she’s the one for you. So tell him.”

Lukas wanted to slap the well-meaning idiot up side the head. What the fuck was he talking about?

“Fine. If you won’t open your stubborn mouth, I will.” Samuel was careful not to disturb the IV as he took their father’s hand.

“Louder, son. I can’t hear…” Their father tried to turn his head but Samuel put a hand on his shoulder to stop him, and raised his voice.

“Papa, Lukas has met someone. She works at the club. Farah and I know her, and we think she’s perfect. But Lukas is worried because, if he introduces her to you, he’ll have to admit he loves her, and we all know how difficult that will be for him.”

The same pale eyes his father had passed down to his sons were shadowed with pain and unfocused by drugs, but they still made Lukas want to shift when they came back his way. “Lukas? This is…true?” The hope in the stilted question could be felt in the air.

“Yes, Papa,” he found himself saying. What choice did he have? “Forgive me for keeping her to myself.” As if he would have had she been real. “I should have brought her to meet you. I just…wasn’t sure,” he finished lamely rather than admitting she didn’t fucking exist. He ground his teeth and died a thousand deaths because his mother now knew he’d just shamed himself by lying. She’d passed away seven years ago, and not a day went by that Lukas didn’t talk to her as if she were still with them. He silently begged her forgiveness as the sound of the respirator mimicked Darth Vader in his left ear.

“What is her name?”

Lukas’s brain went silent.

“Dale,” Samuel smoothly answered, making Lukas wonder if the fabrication was, in fact, a real girl from their nightclub. “Her name is Dale. She’s a curvy little thing who makes Lukas laugh. Yeah. You heard that right. I’ve seen it myself. She’s entertaining as hell.”

So what the fuck would I be doing with her? Lukas wanted to roar as his brother described a chubby little comedian who needed to crack jokes to make her miserable life bearable.

Instead, he said, “Yes. She is…amusing. You’ll enjoy meeting her.”

“Bring her to me now.”

Again, he had the urge to climb over the bed and cuff his brother’s ear.

“I’m sorry, Kostya. No visitors for at least the next twenty-four hours. Apart from your sons and Vasily, of course.”

Lukas glanced up to see his father’s surgeon looking at them all with a bemused expression on his face. Dr. Yuri Davidenko, a Russian physician, surgeon, and medical researcher, had been called in from New York to perform the surgery. He belonged to the Tarasov Bratva, one of the most powerful in the world, and had been accompanied, via private jet, by the Pakhan himself, since Vasily Tarasov and Kostya were close friends as well as associates.

The MD knew Lukas and Samuel were lying, and he’d just given them some breathing room. Lukas nodded his thanks and promptly went back to it. “I will bring her to meet you as soon as Yuri gives me the green light.”

“Tomorrow around this time should be fine.”

Up Lukas’s gaze went; this time to glare at the smirking sonofabitch. He took only a few seconds to imagine strangling the jackoff with the stethoscope hanging around his neck. “Fine,” he ground out. “I will bring Dale to meet you late tomorrow evening, Papa.”

Oblivious to the undercurrents in the room, his father squeezed his hand. “My boy. You don’t know what this means. Your mother…I couldn’t leave without knowing her greatest wish…I had to know you were…”

No. No!

“Papa.” Lukas stood and brought his and his father’s foreheads together as gently as he could and reverted to speaking Russian. “You are not leaving. You will be only feet away from me when she and I exchange vows. When we bring our first child home, you will be impatiently waiting in the drive to meet him or her.” He couldn’t leave their life. Not yet. “You will be at the christening, at Christmas dinner, and you will celebrate his or her first birthday with us.” He shook his head. “You cannot leave me to do these things without you. I’m sorry I didn’t do them sooner, but that doesn’t matter because Dale and I will do them now. I swear on my love for Mama.”

“Son…”

“I swear it, Papa. You can’t go yet. Not yet.” I’m not ready to say goodbye to you, too.

“Lukas?”

He lifted his head and saw the blurry image of his father’s friend. He and Samuel had known Vasily Tarasov all their lives. He was like an uncle to them. But he was also a much-respected figure in their world, which was why he’d been at the exchange last night. The one that had gone so wrong.

“Yuri would like Kostya to get some rest,” Vasily said as he placed a comforting hand on Lukas’s nape.

“Yes, of course.” He tried to pull himself together as he drew the heated blanket up to cover the artwork on his father’s chest. “We’ll be right here, Papa.”

“The meeting. You must go. Both of you.”

“No,” he and Samuel said simultaneously. It had been one thing for Samuel to send Farah off with a load of guards surrounding her, but for him and Lukas to leave, too?

“Boys. It must be done. We cannot look weak. Not now. Go. I will rest. You bring your girls to me tomorrow.” Kostya looked at Samuel. “Bring your Farah.” Then at Lukas. “Bring Dale.” The gauze wrap on his forehead moved as if he were frowning. “What kind…of…name…”

Lukas’s heart stopped when his father’s mouth went slack, and his head lolled to the side.

“The sedative took effect and he’s just fallen asleep,” Yuri quickly reassured as he came forward with an iPad tucked under his arm. “It’s the best thing for him. He will recover. I assure you, boys, his brain was not damaged by the bullet. My only concern now is how much hearing loss he’ll suffer once things settle. The surgeon who assisted was a specialist in the field so I’m optimistic, but shit happens.”

Both Lukas and Samuel embraced the gifted surgeon again before kissing their father on both cheeks as they usually did on holidays or after being away for an extended period. Then they reluctantly left him with four kryshas for protection and followed Vasily into the sitting room attached to the suite.

“Who the fuck is Dale?” Lukas demanded as he nodded to his boys hanging out in the corridor with a dozen boyeviks, bykis, and kryshas who’d either been at the warehouse or had come after hearing their Pakhan had been injured.

Samuel fell into one of the chairs. “Like I said, she works at the club. Farah’s been saying she’s the perfect girl for you for months now, so I repeated it.” He rubbed his eyes. “I had to say something, Lukas, and since her name was already in my head because she’s serving the meeting tonight, that’s what came out.”

“You’re hosting?”

“Vasily thought it would be best.”

“In case the gunmen from last night return, you boys will be better protected in a familiar place,” Vasily confirmed. “Maksim is at the club with a few others right now, checking out the area and making sure there’s no way anyone can surprise us.”

Lukas noted the way the Pakhan didn’t split hairs by distinguishing between Bratvas. Likely because he and Kostya had known each other since they were teenagers back in Russia. Lukas remembered his father saying the sons of Bratva leaders shared a bond others would never understand. To grow up under a ruler was a lonely upbringing. To grow up under rulers like Ivan Tarasov and Semion Zavrazin, a boy might as well be an orphan.

A quiet, stone-faced man came over and handed Vasily a coffee. Sergei Pivchenko. He was one of two nephews the Tarasov Pakhan had in his inner circle. Truth be told, it was always more enjoyable when Vasily brought the other, Alekzander, because, even though both men had recently lost people in their lives, Sergei in a much more tragic way, at least Alek didn’t impose his silent rage and misery on every person he encountered. Alek’s sadness you’d only pick up on if you got the guy drunk. But with Sergei, all you had to do was make eye contact and you were infected. Lukas steered clear of him because he didn’t have time for such frail, transparent personalities.

Vasily’s byki, Dmitri Zolin, was another matter altogether. The solemn, steadfast guard was well-liked and respected. Because he’d been with Vasily for so long, he was a literal shadow who was never more than a couple of feet away from his Pakhan. He was currently moving from the main door to the window to the door of the hospital room. A reserved but attentive surveillance that never rested.

As Dmitri quietly communicated with one of the others who’d come down from New York, using a mic hidden in his sleeve, Lukas moved a few chairs over and sat. His back was aching, his Armani was destroyed, and he badly wanted a shower. It was still early enough that he didn’t have to rush, but he couldn’t linger because he needed to make it to Scorch before it opened.

Their nightclub in downtown Houston was noisy, hot, and usually too fucking busy for Lukas to show his face unless he had to. Its only saving grace was its exclusivity. The bottle service that started at fifteen hundred and ran past five grand was steep enough to keep out the wanna-be gangsters.

Which left them wide open to the real ones, but since they all but ruled that demographic, it wasn’t a cause for concern.

“Tell me about Dale,” he said to his brother as he scrubbed a hand down his face. “She’s, what, a chubby little comedian?”

Samuel’s normally contagious laugh didn’t encourage participation tonight. It didn’t last long enough. “Man, you’re such an idiot. Sometimes I don’t know how you survive.”

Lukas glared across the gleaming tile floor not found in public hospitals. The private places knew their clientele, and it showed. “Yeah? Tell me about Dale,” he tried again.

“Have you ever seen a chubby comedian on the floor at Scorch?”

“No.” It wasn’t Samuel who oversaw the hiring of waitstaff at the club but Samuel’s wife. And, Lukas had to hand it to her, Farah had a great eye.

“You boys should head out,” Vasily interrupted, looking at the Breitling on his wrist. “Talk about this on the way. Your cars have been brought to the front doors.” His concerned gaze went into the room that carried a symphony of sounds from a multitude of machines. “I’m going to speak to your father then I’ll meet you at the club.”

Knowing better than to argue—if their father learned of it, his boys would get a verbal ass-kicking no one would enjoy—Lukas rose at the same time as Samuel. They embraced the Pakhan, took in the expected encouragement that surprisingly made Lukas feel a little better, then left.

As they started down the quiet corridor, four men fell in behind them. Nobody spoke as they traveled. Lukas was too busy fighting the need to camp out until his father was able to leave this place by his side.

He shoved his hands into his pockets to check for his balls. Goddammit. He had to do better than this. He was thirty-four years old but thinking like an insecure fucking pussy.

Their group passed by a few wide-eyed nurses as they headed down a set of stairs to the main floor. A number of plain-clothed security personnel were walking the halls. He’d spotted a half-dozen mingling with more than a dozen of their own because the Zavrazin’s had also spread their people out.

They walked through the revolving front doors into a wall of humid heat when Samuel spoke.

“I feel like shit walking out of here, Lu.”

He gripped his little brother’s nape and gave it a squeeze. “Same, but we have to do what Papa asks. Especially now. We’ll start with you introducing me to this girl before the meeting. Does she know who we are?”

“I don’t know. But, listen, just because I mentioned her name, doesn’t mean you have to use her. Pick someone else.”

Samuel’s Bugatti was directly in front of Lukas’s black Land Rover at the curb. They stopped next to the vehicles as their byki surrounded them in a loose but protective circle.

“You chose her to serve the meeting tonight. Why? Because she’s nosy and obnoxious? Because she doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut?”

Samuel pulled a face. “Fuck, no. Dale is one of our best. Doesn’t matter what’s happening in her life; the minute she hits the floor, she turns on the charm like she has a built-in system. She’s honest, efficient, and is next to impossible to rattle. Farah loves her.”

All the reasons her name had surfaced in the first place. Samuel would never have considered putting Lukas in the position of having to introduce an air-head whore to their father.

“Then you can introduce her to me before the meeting,” he grumbled as he left his brother and the one byki Samuel traveled with and started walking again. “And email me her file. I want to go through it before I see her.”

Both he and Samuel kept excruciatingly detailed files on most of the people they formed any lasting relationships with. Some, because it paid to know the dirty details of a person’s life, and others, because it paid to know the dirty details of a person’s life.

“Where are you going now?” Samuel called as Lukas shrugged out of his jacket and neared the Land Rover with his personal guard of three.

Milan and Yasha Demidov were brothers, and Adam Demidov, Lukas’s driver, was their cousin. Milan and Adam had been with Lukas almost a decade, but Yasha had come over from Russia just a few years ago. The Demidovs’ uncle had been one of Lukas’s father’s best men for over twenty years. He’d been killed earlier tonight, along with two others in their organization.

“I’m going to the condo to shower. It’s quicker than going home and I want to try to catch Maksim before he leaves the club. See if he’s learned anything.”

Samuel came over and stuck his head in the SUV as Lukas and Milan settled themselves in the back. “Kirov’s looking into this? I thought he was just double-checking security.”

Lukas understood the excitement in his brother’s voice. Aside from being an absolute horror to their enemies, Maksim Kirov, who was tucked tight under Vasily Tarasov’s wing, was a brilliant computer genius—hacker—and a high-standing member of the Tarasov Bratva. And that came with some perks. The main one being that even though New York was their base, the Tarasovs continued to nurture the heavy presence they had in Moscow. To most organized crime factions, whether they be Russian, Italian, Asian, or otherwise, that was a powerful signal to steer clear.

Having those ties to Russia was attractive to Lukas and Samuel because that meant every base would be covered. If last night’s action had been a planned hit, and it had come from a higher authority back home, Maksim would have a little bird chirping in his ear to supply that information.

“Maksim’s Pakhan was at the warehouse last night, Samuel. Did you not hear the fucking Goliath vow to hunt down the bastards responsible for nearly killing them? I heard him talking to Dmitri about hacking a satellite feed to get a bead on where the getaway vehicles were ditched, for Christ’s sake.” He blew out a sigh and gave his scratchy eyes a quick rub. “We need to find us a Kirov.”

“No shit.” Samuel looked serious as he no doubt pictured the six-foot-seven giant who had a reputation like Lukas’s in the sense that neither of them was particularly forgiving or lenient with those who crossed them or their families. “You mind if I tag along and listen in?”

“Yes.”

His brother’s expression flattened. “Why?”

“Because you have a wife to worry about.”

That had Samuel hopping into the SUV and slamming the door. “Do you know something already?”

“No, Samuel.”

“Then why did you bring Farah into it? The only time you do is when you’re about to go on a bender and leave a trail of bodies in your wake.”

Lukas took his phone out and texted Maksim, asking for a time and place to meet. “If I learn something from Kirov, I don’t want to waste time arguing with you when I could be heading out on that bender.”

“Wrong.”

Lukas turned a raised brow on his younger brother who met the excuse-fucking-me look head-on.

“Regardless what you learn, you’re going to have to put it off until after the meeting. And, Lukas, I’m not talking about the one we’re going to have around a big table. For once in your life, you’re going to have to find a way to put your personal life before business. What if meeting Dale and seeing you ‘happy’ is what gives Papa the incentive to get through this?” He’d made half-assed quotation marks in the air. “You can’t deny us that.”

Huh. How the fuck did one put their personal life before business? Lukas’s main goal tonight should be to get out there and get the information he needed so he could decimate those who’d dared to cross his Bratva. Instead, he had to allow Samuel to take the lead while he suffered through a meet-and-greet with a woman he would be introducing to his father in less than twenty-four hours.

He bumped his closed fist on a blood stain that had dried on Samuel’s knee. “I love you, brother, but I suggest you leave now because there is nothing that pisses me off more than when you bring logic and reason into a conversation.”

Samuel didn’t even crack a smile. “You have to make a real effort this time. He thinks he’s going to meet the woman you want to have children with. You understand that, don’t you?”

Since producing an heir was the whole point of finding Ms. Right, of course, Lukas was aware of that. The goddamn anvil had been swaying back and forth over his head for ten fucking years now. Since Samuel and Farah couldn’t have children without the pregnancy killing Farah, it was up to Lukas to keep their line going.

Feeling as bad about that as he always did, he grabbed his brother’s head and pulled him in to kiss his temple. “I’m tight. I know what’s going on and I’ll act accordingly. I give you my word.”

Samuel nodded and got out of the truck, and as Adam got them moving, all Lukas could think was this chubby little comedian better throw a spark or two his way. Otherwise, the future would be one bleak sonofabitch.