Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Yuri continued to plead for mercy, but my father was done listening to him babble. He turned and reached for his glass of vodka as he told Max, “Make it quick.”
I watched Max move behind Yuri and press the blade against his throat.
The edge bit in, and a thin line of bright red appeared.
That’s when I stepped back and closed my eyes.
I knew what was coming, and I couldn’t make myself watch. My stomach twisted when I heard the stifled gurgle and then Yuri’s last gasp. It was a broken, rattling breath that stuttered from his chest and was immediately followed by a hard thud.
Then nothing.
My head started to spin, but I forced myself to remain quiet. Even back then, I understood that crying made you weak, and if you were weak, you were prey. It was a lesson I’d learned when I stepped out of line and met my father’s leather belt for the first time. Each time I cried, I received another lashing. Needless to say, it didn’t take long for me to learn to keep my tears to myself.
Once I was back in my room, I closed the door and locked it, then slipped into my bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. I stared up at the ceiling and tried to come to terms with the fact that my father truly was a monster. It was a realization that broke something inside of me.
There would be no more hoping that one day he would be a better father.
There would be no more hoping that he would be a better husband to our mother. He was who he was, and he made no apologies for it.
In order to survive him, I had to become a monster, just like him.
I became ruthless and cruel. I faced the evilest of men and made them drop to their knees. I was a legacy in the making, but when my father died, I didn’t take his crown. Instead, I took my inheritance and every lesson I’d ever learned from being my father’s son, and I walked away.
I took what I had learned and used it to start a legacy of my own.
1
SERGEI
Iwas born into a world of violence.
My father believed loyalty was earned in blood and fear, and he ruled with an iron fist. Every lesson I learned was forged in the dark: how to take a life, how to protect your own, and how to never show weakness. Never.
That was my world. That was my existence.
It was a life I didn’t ask for, nor did I want, and I was done with it.
I was done with constantly looking over my shoulder. I was done with the killing and the threats. I was done hurting everyone around me. I wanted more. I wanted it for my mother and my brothers. So, when my father died, I walked away.
I sold the family estate and everything we owned. I packed up what was left, and I moved us to Little Rock, Arkansas. It was an odd location for a new beginning, but I had ties there and used them to buy us a new home. It wasn’t as elaborate as the mansion back in New York, but it gave us the room we needed and stables for my mother to raise her horses. Once we were settled, I started buying riverfront properties, and little by little, we started to create a life here.
I thought distance from the mafia world would dull the blade.
I thought a different city with different rules and different faces would make things better. I thought we would be done with men hiding in the shadows with knives and family vengeance running through their blood. But the truth was, it didn’t matter how far I ran. The bratva would always be a part of me.
It lived in my bones.
It was in every breath I took.
It was in every instinct and every move I made.
I might’ve left New York, but I hadn’t put it all behind me. It was still there, and I feared it always would be.
But that didn’t mean I was going to give up. I couldn’t. I had my mother and brothers to think of, so I would keep trying. I would keep pushing ahead, and maybe, just maybe, I could make something of this life we’d tried so hard to create.
It was a thought I clung to as I listened to Preacher say, “Another big turnout last night.”
“Another big week,” Creed added. “Saturday night was one of the biggest crowds we’ve had.”
Preacher was the president of Satan’s Fury MC, and Creed was his VP. They’d been working alongside my brothers and me for the past few months, and they were as pleased as I was that things were going well.
Preacher sat across from me, boots stretched out like he owned the place, and Creed was leaning against the wall near the window with his arms folded and that unreadable expression on his face. They were bantering back and forth like I wasn’t even in the room.