From Russia With Loathing

Part 4

Viktor

"Fucking bullshit that we have to wait for the fucking princess to grace us with her presence" Gregor says with distain.

Gregor, Sasha, and myself had stepped out of the house for a cigarette. A heated argument was about to go down about one of the most recent misplaced shipments. I already didn't want to be here and the last thing I wanted to deal with was a stupid argument.

The elite of the Yahontov Bratva had all been summoned by my father and Maxim to have dinner at Maxim's home. We had meetings all the time but we never had to get dressed up and sit down to dinner. We were Russian, not Italian.

In the five years that I had been living in the states I think I had only been to Maxim's privet residence twice. I didn't mind the man. He was a strong leader that got shit done. But he's starting to losing his grip, things were slipping through the cracks.

Maxim's oldest son, Evgeni, was like his father, but he was a prick. Running drugs, guns, and women were beneath him. He preferred brick and mortar businesses like bars and clubs. I had no idea why. Our organization was built on illegal important and exchanges. There was no real money in doing all the business above the table.

At least he had his head on straight. Which was more than his three little shit head brothers had going for them. They were reckless idiots who usually cost us more money then they brought in.

For the longest time I had only ever heard rummers of Maxim's daughter. Her father never spoke of her. Half of the men though she was just made up to make Maxim look like he had a weakness. The other half speculated that Maxim had killed her at the same time he had killed her mother.

You were more likely to see a snowless Russian winter than see Maxim's daughter.

Evgeni had gotten shit faced at one of our poker games a long time ago and told us she despised everything about organized crime and her family. She had taken the loss of her mother extremely hard and completely isolated herself. She wanted nothing to do with anyone or anything that was involved with the Yahontov Bratva.

He said she even refuses to learn and speak Russian. She also refuses to go by her full Russian name. She just goes by the American version, Anna.

It still hasn't sunken it yet that I am being forced to marry her, a complete stranger.

I had never yelled at my father like I did the day he told me about him and maxim's plan. I threw a half empty bottle of vodka at him. I also haven't spoken to him in the week since.

After he told me, I went on a week long bender of endless women and endless alcohol. Sasha and Gregor found me this morning in my apartment. They threw me in the shower, forced me to eat some food, and then dragged my ass here. I was hungover and defiantly not looking forward to sitting a table with my father.

I was defiantly not looking forward to meeting the bitch that I would be chained to for the rest of my life.

I hadn't even told the guys yet. I hadn't had the chance. I also couldn't bring myself to say it out loud.

A click sound at the bottom of the front steps grabbed our attention.

Fuck.

That's all I could think

I'm seriously fucked.

Anastasiya Demidov drop dead gorgeous, and I fucking hated it. She was blonde. I had always had a thing for blondes. Most Russian women had dark hair, it had become boring to me a long time ago. She wasn't thin but she wasn't big either, she had just enough curves. Her dress hit in all the right places and showed off her legs. Her long legs. Her hips swung back and forth every time she took a step up.