Page 32 of Scarred Temptation

In the case of me stepping up to the helm, there’d been no bloody murder of the patriarch and former Pakhan, no need to exact vengeance on an enemy. He’d simply gathered his top people and his two sons in his office one Friday morning and announced that he and my mother were taking a trip to Europe on the first day of his retirement.

At that moment, I was made Pakhan.

To some, the transfer of power had been a letdown. There were captains within the organization that craved warfare. I’d simply been tossed the crown and told good luck. Although my father had been confident I could handle the task. After all, I’d spent my entire life being trained, disciplined, educated, and pushed beyond my limits to ensure I was ready.

The violence of our heritage had come later, after I’d taken the reins, a reminder of just how fragile a position of power could be. It was a lesson I’d never forget, which was another reason the two attacks had left me with a deep ache that no one outside of my brother would ever ascertain.

My leadership had now been challenged in the most egregious manner, which in the eyes of my captains had left me weak. As with any other found family, there would always be one or two eager to watch the king lose his crown. They truly believed they were the better man for the job.

Little did they know the nuance and finesse required to keep the operation afloat. They’d been summoned to the warehouse office almost immediately after the incident. Against my Brigadier’s advice. Sergei had suggested I clean myself up, allowing the doctor to handle my injury.

My reasoning for requiring them to watch was twofold. First, so they’d know while yes, even I could be attacked, there were ways of handling the situation. And more important, that I wasn’t deterred or terrified of what I’d endured. Instead I had a plan in mind and a willingness to execute it no matter the consequences.

I’d been taken to one of our warehouses near the docks, a location designated as the staging area for several clients with goods placed on hold prior to leaving for other countries. It also housed an office critical to our operations.

I never allowed business of this nature to be brought to my home, never allowing Mina to see or become a part of my dangerous world.

Each one of them stood in their finest suits, tailored in expensive designer houses, none appearing comfortable in their own skin. I found it interesting that only some men of our nature could pull off appearing as anything other than what we were.

Brutal monsters.

They tried as required and something my father had demanded for every formal meeting.

Which this was.

I had to ensure there were no traitors in my midst. Sadly, in the back of my mind, I sensed there were. No one could have known about the meeting with Grigor.

Except for a select few.

The quiet in the austere space was more annoying than anything. The sparse office was filled with the Russian soldiers, all standing along the perimeter as the doctor who’d been on the family’s payroll for years patched me up.

With my reputation and the notoriety involved, unless on death’s door, a hospital was never a destination. Through the years, I’d learned to control my anger, but tonight was an entirely different scenario.

The captains watched with quiet anticipation, their thick necks and broad shoulders straining against the designer material. A couple shifted back and forth from one foot to another, their freshly polished shoes squeaking as they did.

Let them sweat and let them wait. I had no problem reminding all of them who they worked for.

I was Pakhan. If they crossed me, they died.

There was a sudden, violent heat flooding my chest, like swallowing battery acid. I wanted to put my fist through the drywall just to let the pressure out. Yet losing control in front of my men wasn’t an option.

They needed to see a strong leader to ensure loyalty and respect. However, in the quietness afterward when they were gone and I was left alone in the peacefulness of my home, I’d allow the rage to confront my usual demons.

My shirt was off, my injury in full view. This wasn’t about sympathy, but about a reminder for the need for caution.

“You need rest. I’d offer you a sling for your arm, but I know you won’t use it. You’ve lost a lot of blood,” the doctor said after tying off the stitches. “And for God’s sake, Pakhan, take a pain pill. You must be in significant agony.”

“Painkillers dull the senses, which I cannot afford.”

As usual when I refused basic medical advice, his sigh was heavy and full of opinions, which he wisely kept to himself. He knew my moods as well as Roman, who stood close by, leaning against the bar with one hand wrapped around a drink, the other shoved into the pocket of his trousers.

He was also well aware of the time to point out the obvious and this wasn’t it. Not in front of the men.

“You’re a very lucky man, Maxsim,” the doctor advised. “A few inches to the right and we’d be talking an entirely different ballgame.”

“Yes,” I managed before taking a gulp of whiskey, a small bar stocked as required. That alone was my painkiller. “Evidently, I have a guardian angel standing in the shadows.”

The doctor pulled away, immediately yanking off his gloves and tossing them into the trashcan beside my desk. “I’ll need to change your bandage tomorrow.” He grabbed his bag, still grumbling under his breath as Sergei had done before. “Try not to do anything that will rip out your sutures.”