I'd survived worse than this on my own.
I was no damsel, and he was no hero.
Then…the room spun, everything becoming fuzzy.
CHAPTER10
ARTEM
Whoever said working with family was a bad idea may have had a point.
Every word between Gregor and me carried the weight of years of unspoken rivalry.
And I hoped he fucking choked on it.
Gregor and I each sat at opposite ends of the polished wooden table. My brothers to my right and his brother and brother-in-law to his. It was supposed to show that he and I each led the family, that neither of us was above the other.
All it did was give our brothers the ability to shoot annoyed looks at each other, caught in the middle of this power struggle.
"Solovyov is not your concern,cousin," I said, keeping my tone even, fingers drumming silently against my thigh beneath the table.
"He is coming after my territory,cousin. That is very much my concern," he returned, his tone as deceptively controlled as mine.
"Maybe, but as you have pointed out, he is only over here coming after you because Kostya's late wife gave him the idea. This problem started in Moscow and spilled over into the States. I should be the one to handle it."
"I think—" Gregor started, and I cut him off.
"Besides, I'm sure your plate is already overflowing with such a large territory. The rumor is that you have bitten off a bit more than you can chew, and when you add the demands of your wife and?—"
"Careful," Gregor growled. The veins in his neck bulged, a pulse of warning.
Ah, the wife, Samara, was his trigger. I already figured that to be the case, but I loved confirmation.
"I like Samara," I said, my lips curving into a smile. "I think she is good for you. But the fact remains, this territory is large, spread out and demanding, even for a single man. I'm simply stating that perhaps it'd be better to let us clean up our own mess."
Gregor sat back in his chair and glared at me. Everything I said was aboveboard. But my cousin was not stupid. He was reading between the lines. He knew what I wasn't saying.
What was worse, he knew the thinly veiled message was accurate.
I was telling my cousin that he had too much responsibility for one man. He could not continue to divide his time between his wife and child, and such a large territory. Pieces were slipping.
Any underground organization had to be meticulously set up and maintained. If a larger seat of power were to fall into another's hands, then the entire empire would topple like dominoes.
"Why should I let you and your men continue to operate in my territory when your brother cost me millions in bribes and damages? Seems to me like it might be easier and cheaper for me to send you packing and clean this up myself."
His message was also clear. Why the fuck would he let me fight off Solovyov, when he could do it himself without giving me an in to carve up his kingdom?
"Risk versus reward, cousin." I stood and moved to the wall of glass.
It really was a stunning nighttime view of the city sprawled at my feet. From this vantage, I could even see the great American overcompensation, the Washington Monument. The tall white tower that was clearly meant to show world leaders how big America thought its cock was. All show and no substance, the American curse.
But with that curse came money. Millions that were up for grabs.
Young politicians were idealistic and cheaply bought with a donation to the right charity. Older politicians were jaded, which meant they were even cheaper, happy with a direct donation to their reelection campaign or their second mistress's offshore bank account.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" Gregor's question carried an edge sharp enough to cut.
"It means that the world thinks your marriage has turned you soft. As did the marriages of Damien and Mikhail." Returning to the table, I raised my hand to stop the protests, my palm slicing through the tension.
