Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
My instincts tell me if I don’t completely repair the crack once and for all, Vadim may finally challenge me for the position.
Which I will give him over my dead body.
To avoid mutiny, I need to find a way to marry the new ways of making us all rich with the old ways of putting family first.
A wife and an heir would help convince those old school vory that I value family over the substantial wealth and power I have added to the Zarkov name in the last twelve months since I became pakhan. It would also put an heir between Uncle Vadim and the throne.
But a wife and heir have always been years in the future.
“The threat is real,” Feliks says soberly. “You need to give this your immediate consideration.”
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be other than here busting my balls?” I snap because I know he’s right. But I don’t want to think about a bratva bride or an heir right now.
I’ve got more pressing matters to figure out. Like the looming deadline for the new dementia medication ZeeMed is launching in the fall. The trials are proving very positive, the results are looking good, but it’s just not there yet, and I’m starting to get impatient. A lot is riding on this medication being successful. More than ten billion dollars’ worth of profit.
“Someone is in a particularly prickly mood this afternoon,” Feliks says, rising to his feet and walking toward my desk.
Feliks has been with me since the very beginning. We grew up together. Both sons of important men in the bratva. Together we navigated the stormy years between being horny teenagers with only one thing on our minds, to becoming men with so much more responsibility on our shoulders. When I stepped into the role of pakhan, it was only natural that he would stand beside me. I trust no one over him.
Sometimes I envy him. Before my family was killed and I became pakhan, I was the same as him. Easygoing. Flippant. Like I didn’t have a care in the world.
But that life is long gone, and that version of me is so far in the past I can’t even remember what it felt like to be him.
20
BROOKE
For twenty-four hours, he lets me stew in my anger, and I don’t see or hear from him.
An older woman brings me food on a tray. At first, I don’t eat, so every time she brings me a new tray, she has to take the untouched one away with her.
But eventually, my protesting stomach wins, and I decide I might as well not add hunger to the growing list of things I hate about being kidnapped.
So I eat and I spend the next few hours dreaming about all the different ways I could kill Lev Zarkov.
Various scenarios include strangling him with his own tie, pushing him out of a moving vehicle, shooting him with his own gun, and making him stand without sleep for days until he begs for mercy and falls into a heap on the floor. But then I remember Lev doesn’t wear a tie, that his car has child locks, that I’ve never shot a gun in my life, and if our one night together is any kind of indication, Lev Zarkov has the stamina of a god.
When I start to feel the walls close in on me, I take advantage of the magnificent bathroom attached to the room and take a shower. Like everything else in the house, it’s huge and opulent, with marble floors and walls, and gold taps and wall sconces. Not to mention the best water pressure in New York.
It’s also fully stocked with an array of toiletries, so I’m able to brush my teeth.
Afterward, I stand under the steady stream of warm water and let it massage the tension from my shoulders. There’s shampoo and conditioner and a scented body wash that reminds me of sunshine and days at the beach.
But as nice as the shower is, it’s not enough to stave off the panic I feel building inside me as I dry off and redress.
Just as I’m about to start bouncing off the walls with boredom, my bedroom door opens, and a young woman appears in the doorway. Wearing a black housekeeping tunic, she walks in carrying a big bag and closes the door behind her.
“Hi, my name is Enya. I’m one of Mr. Zarkov’s housekeeping staff. It’s very lovely to meet you.”
“Hi,” I reply awkwardly. “I’m Brooke.”
“Oh, I know.” She smiles sweetly, and two dimples appear on either side of her full lips. “Mr. Zarkov asked me to bring you some clothes. He said your luggage had been misplaced by the airline and you’d need some clothes during your stay. I sent over to a couple of clothing stores for some clothes you might like. I hope they fit.”