he l

d left me

an prote

R

IN LOS ANGEL

yye ko

g nigh

ths. And now, out of nowhere, c

n her whi

f her mouth as her sc

the

uch

taining the whit

my hands, trying to shake away the black whirlpo

, I do what I always d

is. I take a swig straight from the bottle and re

ully under my breath in Russ

es fade

ood a

a hand graze

dy to snap the elbow if need be. It's an automatic refle

see her face. Her blue eyes stare back

Her short blonde hair no longer holds the glo

g me," she whi

alize that I'm sti

little gasp before scurrying away to the opp

ise to my feet. "Get

e grey flashes. I do remember that she screamed so loudly that she had giv

left me feelin

e since any woman has come close

ere. But when I hear no movement, I p

o pay you or

sounds confuse

last

lizes what I'm asking. The fear

ing hooker, ass

n what are yo

search of her clothes, huffing in anger. She has to step over several empty bottles o

remember now why I picked her from the crowd last night: t

o Blahnik stilettos and neon-red Bot

th smudged mascara and eyeliner.

. "What do you t

oo pissed for words, before storm

st night's booze, until I hear the f

cking r

gone, I head to the bathroom to su

so hard with the drugs and the drinking. It was a

ch up and touch the scar next to my left eye. My bod

I won't go

I've spent several years drowning. But it only tak

ther will be watching at the meeting. He has been wa

the culminatio

so cold that it stings, but that's what I'm after-

y, it keeps the

ark pants and a long-sleeved henley shirt. My father prefers th

he wants

what to do-not

he don of the K

reads eight fifty-six in the evening-I've slept the whole day away-which mea

is neve

elevator doors peel apart in the main foyer to reveal a st

just as I spot the top-of-the-line Range Rover that

. And that's without knowing about the performance tread tires, the bulletproof ballistic glass wi

y father is not one for

vived as many assassination attempts as he has, investi

he tinted window before I open th

e inside, both dressed in sharp gray

anislav and Budimir Kovalyov were brothers. They had the sam

same beer bellies. And the sa

My father, Stanislav, has shrank into himself, developing a slight

l out, a by-product of the cancer treatment

er. He is still the don of the Kovalyov Bratva. A

ldness in him that runs deep. He's ruthless in a way that my father isn't. The kind

" my uncle remarks w

to my seat. "Good to

erves, his lips pursed up with displeasure. Thirty years in Am

like I'm being strangl

s accent is slight. Only the faintest hint of the motherla

"And what part

eir to the Kov

re, Artem," Stanislav inte