I was bred for this. For Mafiya. Instead, I relinquished my crown to my younger brother. I’m the dirty side of the Mafiya. I clean up the messes. The bodies. The problems. Here in America, I’m the Russian King. I never expected to want my mark. To crave her, to need her. One thing about being the leader of the Bratva, I always get what I want. I’m corrupted, I never promised to play fair.
Unwanted and unloved. I lay in that hospital bed, broken. One bad decision and I almost killed someone, myself included. The dark shadow coming to finish the job, turns out to be my bright light. I try to hold back, fighting temptation. Who would want someone so damaged? He doesn’t know it, but I’m good at keeping secrets. You have to be, when you have so many.