Ruthless Souls (Ruthless Series # 1) |✔|

Chapter - 2 Bride of Ruin

Nixon POV

I leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking beneath my weight, and let the silence stretch. The office was dim, washed in the low amber glow of city lights bleeding through bulletproof glass. Paperwork lay scattered across the desk—contracts, ledgers, blood-soaked alliances disguised as business agreements.

I skimmed through them with bored precision.

All of it was meaningless.

This wasn't about money.

It never was.

I still had to convince my dear baby brother to walk into a marriage that would drag the Russian Bratva into my world—right before I burned theirs to the ground. Slowly. Methodically. Bone by bone.

Maxim Volkov.

His name tasted like rust and old blood.

I would destroy him.

Not just kill him. Killing would be mercy. I would tear his empire apart brick by brick, drown his streets in red, and make the city choke on his legacy. No one would stop me. No one ever had.

My hand drifted unconsciously to my chest, fingers brushing the scar that had fused itself into my skin nine years ago. Thick. Ugly. Permanent.

The memory rose uninvited.

Mud clogging my lungs. Darkness pressing in. The suffocating weight of the earth as it swallowed me alive. Every breath burned. Every heartbeat screamed.

Buried.

Left to rot.

I exhaled sharply and forced the past back into its cage.

The door opened without ceremony.

Erik walked in like he owned the place—which, in every way that mattered. My right hand. My shadow. 

He smirked as he dropped into the chair across from me, sprawling with careless confidence.

"Good newzz," he sang, dragging the word out like a taunt.

I didn't look up. "Bark."

I signed the last document with a sharp stroke.

"Maxim agreed."

The pen slipped from my fingers.

That didn't happen often.

I looked up slowly, the corner of my mouth curling into something dangerous. A grin that had ended wars.

"Well," I said quietly. "That's... fucking beautiful."

Erik chuckled. "Told you he'd bite."

"Leo," I said, standing. "I'll need to talk to him."

He nodded.

"The bride?" I asked, turning back to the desk. "Who did he offer?"

There was no way I'd accept just anyone. This wasn't a marriage—it was leverage. And leverage had to be precise.

Erik's eyes gleamed as he reached into his jacket and placed a black file on the table.

"His niece."

I stilled.

Interesting.

Maxim Volkov didn't give away what he loved unless he was cornered—or playing a longer game.

"He's offering blood," I murmured. "Bold."

"Or desperate," Erik countered.

I picked up the file but didn't open it yet.