Page 9 of Sold to My Ex's Brother
It’s not like I haven’t been here before. Plenty of times, as a matter of fact. Mostly in my younger days, when life was more focused on drinking, partying, having fun. But there’s something different about it this evening, and I’m determined to figure out just what Artem has planned.
Because I’ve heard plenty of stories in these last few days, plenty of buzz about the events apparently taking place tonight.
All planned by my brother, who definitely didn’t tell me about it.
There’s a small line outside the door, the first sign that something isn’t exactly as it is meant to be. I frown as I shoulder past a few of them, reaching the bouncer, who looks me up and down.
“Name?”
“Anton. Anton Valiski.”
It takes him a second to register the name I give him, the fact that it matches the one held by the owner of this place. As soon as he realizes, though, he jumps back, pulling aside the rope and gesturing for me to go inside.
“Of course, Pakhan,” he blurts out. “Right this way, please...”
I feel him watching me as I make my way inside, probably wondering if he’s pissed me off beyond the point of no return. The last thing anyone here wants is to get on my bad side.
Even Artem, for all his arrogance, knows that I hold the keys to this city, and I will not let anyone take them from me...
I scan the room for my brother, mostly so he can tell me just what he’s planned. I notice the place is heaving with activity, mostly men, to my surprise. Normally, he pays a few girls to wander around and flirt and chat, keeping the clientele entertained as best they can.
But there’s no sign of them this evening.
I head for the bar, where the bartender practically leaps into action to make sure I have everything I need.
“Can I get you anything, Pakhan?” he asks me, reaching beneath the counter to pull out a glass in preparation for my order.
“Vodka. Neat,” I reply.
“Of course.” He pours me my drink and pushes it across the counter, and I pay for it, making sure to leave a generous tip.
“What’s going on here tonight?” I ask, gesturing around.
The bartender pauses, and I can tell that he has been warned not to speak too openly on what isactuallygoing on. Whatever Artem has planned, he clearly doesn’t want anyone else to knowabout it. But there’s enough buzz to tell me that he has spread the word to those who might be interested, and I want to know what, exactly, he is dragging our family name into.
Because I might be the Pakhan, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t still feel like he has a right to do what he wants. He’s my half-brother, technically, the illegitimate child of my father by another woman—I only learned about him when I was a teenager and his mother insisted that he have a part of my father’s legacy.
My father didn’t give him anything close to what I was owed as his legitimate son, but he made sure he had plenty to keep himself busy with. Gifted him this bar and told him he could run it however he wanted, which Artem has taken with a great seriousness. Though, these days, it seems to have taken on a darker edge.
And I need to know what that means.
“I’m not sure,” the bartender replies, but I can tell he’s lying.
I lift my chin, not breaking his gaze for a moment, daring him to lie to me further, and his eyes slide to the right, trying to escape my scrutiny.
“You don’t know,” I repeat, and he shrugs.
“I just tend the bar. I?—”
All of a sudden, a door opens behind him, and a man leans through.
“Ilya. When’s that drinks order arriving downstairs?”
He nearly jumps out of his skin, and I cock an eyebrow. His cover is blown. Whatever is happening, it’s going down in thebasement. Out of sight, and, as far as Artem is concerned, out of mind, though it’s not going to work that easily.
“I’ll be right there,” he replies, and as the man ducks back inside, he turns back to me, wincing. His cover is blown.
“Downstairs,” I repeat, and he nods.
