Page 42 of Deviant Need

“I gave you one responsibility. One. Run the clubs and generate revenue. And you cannot even accomplish that simple task.”

My leg bounces under the table. The clubs are thriving because I’ve expanded everything, brought in higher-paying clientele, renegotiated every contract. But none of that matters because the number isn’t perfect.

“Lev manages port operations worth millions and exceeds expectations every single quarter. Yulian has expanded into three new territories,” he says and comes back around to stand in front of me, leaning his hands on the table. “And you? You’re incapable of running three clubs without making a complete mess.”

My jaw clenches.

“Perhaps I was wrong about you. Perhaps you are incapable of being anything more than a disappointment.”

The word hits exactly where he aimed it. Disappointment. That’s all I’ve ever been to him.

“I can do better,” I say.

“You will do better. Or I will remove you from that position and give it to someone competent. You will bring those numbers up by next quarter. You will stop humiliating this family in public. And you will conduct yourself like an Avrorin,” he says, sitting back down.

I don’t say anything because arguing is pointless.

“The fighting ends. Today. No more cage matches, no more brawls, no more excuses. You represent this family, and I will not tolerate you dragging our name through filth any longer.”

My throat closes. He pushed me into fighting. Forced me into that cage as a kid because he thought it would fix me. But I can’t say that.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He picks up his phone and checks something, dismissing me without looking up. “The others will be here soon.”

Sinking back in the chair, my jaw clenches so tight my teeth ache. The cocaine is wearing off now, leaving behind the familiar crash that makes everything feel heavier.

The door opens, and Daniil walks in without looking at me. Doesn’t even glance in my direction. Lev and Yulian enter behind him. Daniil moves to the seat furthest from me and sits down, still not looking my way.

My stomach drops.

He always sits next to me. Every single meeting, every family dinner, every time we’re in the same room. It’s automatic. But now he’s deliberately putting as much distance between us as possible.

My hands curl into fists under the table, and I force them to relax, then clench again. Repeat. Trying to breathe through the anger because losing it right now will only make Father worse.

“Why did you bring us here? It’s late, and I had to miss my flight to Vegas,” Yulian says and settles into his chair, running his fingers through his dark brown hair, looking irritated.

His navy suit is perfectly tailored, not a wrinkle anywhere. He looks at me for half a second with those blue eyes before focusing back on Father.

Father sighs and leans back in his chair. “We had issues with the Nozares family again.”

My left eye twitches hearing that name.

The Nozares family has been our biggest rival since we moved to America.

Father took the city from Santiago Nozares before we even got here, tore apart everything he’d built on the East Coast. Anyone who wouldn’t bend got eliminated, no exceptions. The Nozares family relocated to the other coast after that and started their operations over there.

That family is cartel royalty and has been for generations.

The cartels are ruthless, everyone knows that, but the Nozares are something else. They control their territory more effectively than the actual government does. If one of their men gets hurt or taken, they’ll shut down entire cities in Mexico until they get what they want. That’s the kind of control they have.

We’re different from them in how we operate. We stay behind the scenes, keep our names out of newspapers, avoid having people talk about us at all. Any publicity is bad and none of us want it, which is exactly why he just ripped me a new one. Almost everyone knows our name, but nobody dares cross us because they know what happens when they do.

Last year, Yulian gave me and Daniil intel about a warehouse that we fed to the family, and Alexei ended up shot and almost died because of it.

They blamed us, of course, even though we had followed Yulian’s instructions to the letter. Everything he said, we did. But it didn’t matter because when things went wrong, it was easier to blame us than admit someone else fucked up or the plan wasn’t as solid as they thought.