Cold Hearted Bastard (Underworld Kings)

I waited for Leonid to say what else he wanted. The real reason he’d called me here tonight wasn't to give me personal thanks for the job I’d done.

“Come, have a drink with me.”

Before I could’ve said anything—not that I would’ve declined the invitation, which would’ve been in bad form—Leonid and his sons were walking past me and out the door. I followed the pack out of his office, the soldier coming up behind me as we made our way toward one of the elite rooms. On the door, a beautiful script in Russian was written in gold leaf.

A????????. Anastasia.

The double doors swung open as if on their own, and I followed Leonid inside. He headed straight toward the bar that stretched along the entire back wall, the decor in Anastasia all black-lacquered and golden accents.

I noticed a drunk and boisterous man off to the side, his Bratva tattoos visible on his arms deeming him a high ranking member. His voice was slurred as he shouted in Russian at the sex workers who’d been brought in as entertainment. His words were crude and sexual, and it was clear by his heavy-handed intoxication that he was probably a violent drunk.

I curled my lip in disgust as he started manhandling one of the women, her high-pitched giggle practiced if not forced.

There were a handful of other Russian men in the room, their overly excited and loud voices, the illegal cigars they smoked, and the constantly filled glasses of liquor creating a dangerous, sloppy atmosphere. Too much groping, damn near fucking, and a lot of money being exchanged for “extras.”

The furniture was set up in several loose circles of couches and chairs, men sitting on the leather with barely dressed women perched on their laps. An elaborate crystal chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, prisms of light cutting across the room and giving an almost hazy quality to the surroundings.

A fire roared between two large, dark couches, the flickering, low light casting shadows but unable to hide the debauchery currently taking place. Women were starting to become half-dressed as their breasts were exposed, hands disappearing into laps and through open flies and unbuttoned slacks.

The smell of Cuban cigar smoke filled the air, the low, sexually laced female laughter sounding in my ears. When we were at the bar, I kept my body sideways so I could see the entire room and have the entrance in sight. I kept my right hand free in case I needed it to pull my gun out. And then I just stared at Leonid as he ordered four glasses of whiskey. As the drinks were being filled, Leonid gave me another sharklike grin, his teeth white and straight, his incisors a little too sharp.

“I was discussing with my sons the tension rising within the Bratva and Cosa Nostra, as well as with the 'Ndrangheta, who have just claimed territory in the west. Pressure is very high right now, many deaths as territories are being fought over.”

I didn’t say anything. The bartender slid the drinks in front of us. I took mine, keeping my eyes on Leonid, and brought it to my mouth.

He grabbed his glass and tipped it in my direction before he brought it to his mouth and took a slow drink of the amber-colored liquid. I followed suit. His sons stood behind him like watchful shadows, their dark gazes locked on me as if they saw me as a threat. They were smart in that regard.

But I had no intentions of ending Leonid tonight, even if I thought he was a slimy fucker and the Bratva could do with a stronger Pakhan, one who was more rational and less psychotic.

As he’d said before… it would be bad for business.

“Because of the mounting violence,” he said and set his glass down on the bar, his fingers staying wrapped around the crystal, “I’m going to need a powerful army behind me.”

“The Bratva is stronger than ever,” I replied.

“It is, but you and I both know how easily that can splinter before breaking irrevocably.” He glanced around the room, but not once did I take my focus from him. “And you and I have a history, do we not?” He stared into my eyes once more.

I set my glass down then, the soft clank it made on the polished wood seeming overly loud at that moment.

“You killing your father, a traitor among the Bratva, the same man who had been going behind our backs and selling information to the Italian mob, showed me how loyal you are, Arlo. I want you on our side fully. I need the most powerful at my back, the strongest men as my weapons.” He held his hands out, palms up, his current grin slow and satisfied as if he were a cat who’d just caught the mouse. “Being a free agent doesn’t and won’t offer you the safety and stability the Bratva can.”