He hangs up with a grim expression as he glances first at me, then Hades.
“Drazen Krylov would like to speak to us. Now.”
Hades whistles low when we step off the elevator into the entryway of Drazen’s penthouse.
“God damn,” he mutters, looking impressed as his eyes scan the pinnacle of opulent luxury surrounding us.
Not gonna lie, Ares and I have the same “holy shit” look on our faces as we gaze up at the enormous, vaulted ceilings and staggeringly huge walls of windows past the foyer that look out over Central Park.
Drazen doesn’t live that far from the Drakos estate, actually. He’s recently moved into the top of New York’s newest ultra highrise on “billionaire’s row”, which looks out over all of Manhattan from near cloud level. As you might guess, there’s a reason they call this billionaire’s row: you’ve gotta have three damn commas in your net worth to even consider buying a unit here.
Drazen owns three, which he’s had gutted and merged into what is almost certainly one of the top five most expensive residences in the city at this point.
When I say the Serbian-Russian motherfucker exploded onto the New York scene a year or so ago, I mean it.
“My friends,” Drazen rumbles in his gruff but polished accented baritone. He appears from around the corner, clad in one of his usual custom dark gray suits that fits him perfectly. Yet, he always wears them with an element of disdain. It’s like he knows it’s part of the trappings he has to wear, but he hates the fact that in this world, he needs a well-cut suit to be taken seriously, rather than an AK-47.
“Please, come in.”
There are a number of Krylov men in black suits standing around Drazen’s gargantuan living area, which has double if not triple height windows overlooking the park from ninety stories up. But at the slightest dip of their boss’ chin, they wordlessly file out.
“Fuck me,” Hades mutters quietly, well out of earshot of our host. “How do we get that kind of discipline from our guys? That shit was surgical.”
“Go fight an ethnic cleansing civil war in the Baltics,” Ares mutters over his shoulder at us. “Most of Drazen’s men were child soldiers with him during the Yugoslav Wars.”
“Yeah, think I’ll pass,” Hades grunts back, making a face.
After his men have left, Drazen turns to us with a tight smile. He’s objectively a handsome guy. But there’s a bitterness to his looks, like there are scars hidden beneath the surface that still pain him.
“Please,” he grunts, gesturing to the three huge, dark leather Chesterfield couches arranged near the windows. “Have a seat. May I offer you drinks?”
As a rule of thumb, if a Bratva pahkan offers you a drink, you take it. Doesn’t matter if it’s nine in the morning and you’re in church.
The three of us nod as we sit. Drazen pours us all crystal tumblers of vodka and then strides back over.
“Živeli,” he says, raising his glass.
Cheers.
We all drink and then set our glasses down on the table in the middle of the couches. Then Drazen takes a deep breath, settling back in his seat with his fingers tented in front of him.
“I have found New York extremely welcoming since moving here,” he growls quietly. “In particular, your family has been very generous and fair in our business dealings. I want to thank you for that.”
“And we appreciate the relationship, of course,” Ares adds. “Especially with the West Side development”.
Drazen’s silence speaks volumes. My older brother smiles wryly.
“I’m guessing that’s why we’re here, isn’t it.”
The Serbian nods slowly.
“I’m afraid it is. You see, yours isn’t the only family or organization that I’ve gone into business with since arriving in New York. As you know, I’m an investor in Club Venom, which puts me in bed…so to speak…with your fiancée’s brother.” He glances at me with a raised brow. “And by extension, the rest of The Commission. Additionally, I have…business with the Chernoff Bratva.”
Fuck.
I clear my throat. “I’m guessing you heard about the dustup at my engagement party after you left.”
Drazen nods again. “I doubt Mr. Chernoff is exactly pleased about his friend’s nephew’s broken face.”
“He’s lucky that’s the only thing I broke,” I growl quietly.
Drazen smiles slightly. “Again, I have no emotional tie to these people. However, money talks. And, at the end of the day, I’m a businessman.”
“You have our word that nothing will be pursued against Grisha or any of Mr. Chernoff’s interests,” Ares says sternly.
“There’s more.” Drazen exhales thoughtfully. “Davit’s passing and Arian’s ascension to the throne is…troubling to me. Not just because Davit, may he rest in peace, raised a terror of a son. But because that son has the backing of a splinter group within Te Mallkuarit—one that would like to see the organization become much more…aggressive…in its methods of acquiring new territory and business.”
God damn. I knew I didn’t like Arian when I met him.
“So that’s why I’ve invited you here,” Drazen growls. “Out of respect to you, Ares,” he says, nodding his chin. “I need you to know that none of this is personal. However, business is business, as I’m sure you’d agree. Right now, the Drakos family is…entangled, I suppose you could say…with two other business interests of mine, and one direct threat.”
One of his eyebrows arches severely, a dark look spreading like smoke across his face.
“Should any of these entanglements escalate any further, I’m afraid I’ll need to sever my business relationship with your family, including my investment in the West Side development.”
Fuck. Me.
