Page 1 of The Darkness is Calling

Chapter 1

Artem “Voron” Koronov

Five months earlier, Christmas party

“Here, we are all friends,” says the Arab after Devon DeLuca and his wife move away from us.

Interesting man. If he had chosen my path, he would have become a feared ally.

The guy runs a sex club I went to once, a couple years ago. There aren’t many things in this world that impress me, but that place had style. Elegant and designed to fulfill any fantasy.

“No. We are all friends with you,” I reply to Jassim, my face impassive. “But many of us are not friends with one another. And with this little gathering, you’ve revealed all your alliances.”

I click my tongue and slip one hand into my trouser pocket.

On the outside, I am calm. Cold. Too many, I probably look perfectly relaxed. But only I know that every sense I possess is operating at full capacity, and even though it looks as if I’m paying attention to nothing, I am alert and cautious of everything around me.

I know no one made it past the metal detectors at the entrance with a weapon, because Jassim made sure everyone here would be entirely safe. But there are still knives on the tables. And I highly doubt I am the only man here who knows at least fifty ways to kill someone with a fork and a butter knife.

For a second, my gaze slides toward Tristan Romano, one of my greatest rivals in Europe. The Italian is a rather sharp thorn, but that also makes him a worthy opponent.

And I adore challenges like that.

“Do you think it was a smart move?”

I decide to return to my conversation with the Arab. I have no desire to make him more agitated by telling him that even if he served dinner with plastic cutlery or chopsticks, he still couldn’t stop us if we decided to turn this place into a blood pool.

But the bastard winks at me, smiling with confidence.

“That was exactly what I wanted to show.”

And now I understand.

“Power.”

“There were too many rumors back home about my lifestyle, that started overshadowing my accomplishments. Tonight, I wanted to prove to my father and everyone else exactly who I’ve become, regardless of who I fuck, or who I share my women and my businesses with.”

I tilt my head slightly.

His lifestyle is none of my concern, but I feel responsible enough to warn him.

“As long as your judgment isn’t clouded by some pretty, well-perfumed pussy, I don’t see how it’s anyone’s business. Least of all your business partners’.”

“Everything is true until proven otherwise,” he says, the corner of his mouth curving. “You have no idea what it will be like when you find the perfect one.”

“I’ve found plenty of perfect ones. I’ve tasted them, stretched them open, and then moved on with my life. Nothing more.”

This time, he turns fully toward me, looking more seriously. His broad shoulders are covered by a suit as black as every outfit in this room tonight, but his brown eyes, shaded by thick lashes, study me with quiet thoughtfulness.

“Bratva will expect you to form an alliance through marriage one day.”

The corner of my mouth lifts with cruel amusement.

“Possibly. But I don’t care. I’ll do it on my own terms, with whoever I decide is convenient for the organization,” I say with confidence. “But your parents will ask the same from you. Not just one wife, maybe several, since that is customary in your part of the world.”

“They’ve already told me. But I’m in no hurry. The old men in my region don’t have the same power over my businesses that yours do in your situation. They can’t exactly impose things like that on me, no matter how much they may want to.”

I press my lips together, knowing he is right.