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Then I was going to disappear.
It was a simple plan, but the best ones always were.
The only problem was plans were rarely simple when they came to fruition.
Especially when they involved a man like Gregor.
CHAPTER 2
Maxim Morozov
The vodka slid down my throat so smoothly that I tipped my head back and groaned softly with my approval. It was rare to find really good Russian vodka in a bar here in Boston, but in my bar, I shipped in all the best stuff.
The Iron Wolf Tavern was mine and I served what I wanted when I wanted simply because I could.
Nestled in a dimly lit corner of Boston’s bustling North End, the Iron Wolf Tavern was frequented by me, my brothers, my men, and all manner of Russians alike.
We had a reputation for being one of the best and I fully intended on keeping it that way.
I was especially proud of the interior. It was draped in deep red velvet fabrics and decorated with gold accents that shimmered under subdued amber lighting. Heavy, dark wood paneling lined the walls. The bar itself was a massive, ornate piece of mahogany, behind which rows of the absolute best bottles of premium Russian vodka were displayed like trophies.
Honestly, the place reminded me of home.
I sat in my booth in the back, watching as the regulars mingled, their voices a low hum of Russian and English words. The front door swung open, letting in a burst of chilly autumn air, and my brother Sergei walked in, scanning the room with his usual assessing gaze. With a wry grin on my lips, I lifted my glass toward him in greeting.
“Ah, the fortress stands strong,” Sergei commented dryly as he approached, nodding at the robust security at the door. His green eyes flickered with a hint of amusement as he clapped me on the shoulder before sliding into the booth.
“Only the best for us,” I replied, pouring him a shot from the bottle I reserved for family only.
No sooner had Sergei settled than Ivan strolled in, his phone in hand, likely closing another lucrative deal or hacking into something he shouldn’t. His distracted demeanor changed as he noticed us, a wide grin spreading across his face.
“Brothers!” Ivan exclaimed, pocketing his device as he slid next to Sergei. “You started without me?”
“Nonsense,” Sergei shot back with a smirk. “We were merely prepping the stage for your grand entrance.”
Before they could say anything else, Aleksei made his appearance. Always the most stylish among us, his tailored black suit was impeccable, which only added to his ruggedly handsome looks and well-groomed beard.
“Did someone mention starting already?” Aleksei remarked, his eyes scanning the shots of vodka lined up as he joined us. “Don’t worry, I come bearing gifts from the latest art auction. Spoils fit for kings,” he added, setting down a small, exquisitely wrapped package at the center of the table.
“Only Aleksei would bring art to a vodka party.” Nikolai’s booming voice filled the tavern as he entered last, his massive frame barely fitting through the doorway. He ruffled Aleksei’s hair as he passed.
I shook my head.
“You call this a family gathering? Looks more like a somber council of war,” Nikolai joked, enveloping Ivan in a brief, bone-crushing hug before turning to me.
“Maxim, you look like you’ve swallowed a bear,” Nikolai teased, his eyes twinkling as he took the seat opposite us.
“Perhaps he’s just savoring the vodka,” Ivan suggested, raising his glass.
“Or perhaps,” I began, raising my own glass, “I’m contemplating the empire we’re building.” I proposed a toast, and as our glasses clinked, the warmth of family and vodka filled me with fierce pride.
We were the Morozovs.
Since arriving in Boston only recently, my family and I have carved out our own niche in this bustling city. Coming from Russia, where life often felt like a high-stakes chess game, we brought with us a fierce loyalty to family and a robust sense of responsibility to our community.
I opened the Iron Wolf Tavern not long after we settled here as a discreet base for my family’s operations.
It hadn’t taken long, but Boston was our city.
