Wicked Heir by Mila Kane EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Mila Kane
- Language: English
- Formats: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Genre: Organized Crime
- Price: Free
- File Size: 2 MB
KIRILL
I walked the pier at Brighton Beach and watched people slipping on
the wet, rain-slicked boardwalk. I lived in a penthouse money alone
couldn’t buy, but I was always called back to the pier. The salty, squalid air
was a fitting reminder that even if life was luxurious for a moment, the cost
of that privilege was here, in the warehouses behind the seafront. In the quiet,
terrible things we did in the dark.
The brine never truly left my nose. It was ingrained.
Cold, gray water rushed under my feet, and noisy gulls circled. Couples were
walking, and children were playing, somewhat dangerously, in the syringelittered sand of the beach. Tweakers and pimps wandered the boardwalk,
passing shops pushing international calling cards and signs in Cyrillic.
Brighton Beach was home to Russians in New York, and it was a shitty junk
store hallmark card for all who came here seeking the American dream.
I
didn’t know if my father had ever imagined the lauded ideal when he washed
up with his fake papers, ready to disappear from immigration and anyone he
owed money to. To Viktor, the American dream was green. He didn’t care
how he came to acquire that green, and he especially didn’t care if it was redstained.
A little bloodshed and mayhem had never stopped Viktor Chernov
from doing what he did best—rising to the top of a dirty, lawless heap.
I shifted my weight off my bad knee. In this kind of shitty, cold weather, it
ached. Usually, I didn’t mind the pain so much.
It reminded me of her.
“Kirill.”
A voice spoke behind me—my guard, Ivan. Ivan spoke English well, a
necessity for the job.
To my father’s contempt, his son and potential heir to his dark dynasty didn’t
speak Russian well. It wasn’t my fault. I had barely spent more than two
minutes with the man until I was nineteen. Before then, I’d had choices, a life
to live, and hope, amongst other things. After that, everything but him and the
bratva had gone, slipping through my fingers like sand.
“What is it?” I asked Ivan, turning to shield my face against the wind on the
pier and light a cigarette. One thing I liked about Brighton Beach was the
cheap and fragrant fruit-flavored smokes. Russians were strangely whimsical
about some things and utterly brutal about others.
“The package is in the warehouse. Pyotr wants to know if he should get
started.”
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