Sergey is an easy liar. They say history is written by the winners, but Sergey rewrites his own history either way. He inflates his successes and papers over his own shortcomings and failures with an alternate reality. One that ignores how I streamlined his string of businesses into a corporation and once again made the Viktorov Bratva the most feared force in the city.
“If that’s true, then why didn’t you hand it over to your biological son?” I ask. “Afraid that one apple who fell a little too far from the tree could bring the whole thing tumbling down? Doesn’t sound secure, if you ask me.”
He arches a brow. “No one asked you.”
Sergey and I have always been good at this back and forth. We’ve butted heads since the beginning, but I always curbed myself. I knew he could get rid of me if
