VLAD (The V Games #1)(7)

I simply smile at her. “We’ll see.”

With a roar, she storms from the room.

Sitting back down, I open an email to send to Ven. I’ll explain that Vika will be marrying Ruslan, and that his father will agree to it upon my father’s suggestion. That it will tighten our families’ bond if we send the future Mrs. Vetrov to live there during their engagement, so the happy couple can have a proper courtship before marriage.

And between the lines, he’ll realize he now owes me a huge fucking favor.

I just saved his neck by sacrificing his brother to the hungry wolf that is my sister.

Veniamin Vetrov will make good on that favor. He never lets me down.

My father may think he designed these games—not just The V Games, but every game in life. What he never counted on was for someone to change the rules.

New Rule Number One: You hurt my brother, I fucking hurt you.





The walls in Diana’s office drive me stir crazy. Why she insists on plastering art deco everywhere is odd to me. I prefer the classic paintings, real art, crafted by hours of an arched spine and hand cramps using oil paints and your mind’s eye.

“Shadow,” my sister snaps the nickname given to me by our father since before I can remember. Apparently, I’ve been living in my sister’s shadow since I was a toddler.

I look over to her from the armchair she allowed me to drag in here. Her auburn hair is pulled back into a tight bun. Smoky eye shadow and dark red lips decorate her large features. She looks like a film star even at the office. Her silk blouse is tucked neatly into her pencil skirt, showing off her slim figure and curvy hips. I look down at my own clothes and cringe. My checkered shirt has mayonnaise smeared down the front from lunch.

“Shadow?”

“Huh?” I jolt, remembering she called my name.

Fierce blue eyes that match my own pin me. “Irvac is coming in next, so pay attention.”

Pay attention? Her words are an insult. I always pay attention. Every detail is captured, logged, and stored away for later use. I noticed she’s wearing more makeup than usual and the top two buttons of her blouse are open instead of closed like any other day. The warmth in her cheeks is noticeable, and she keeps checking her cell phone, then crossing and uncrossing her legs.

“Are you sure the numbers are wrong?” she urges.

“Numbers don’t lie, Diana,” I say in a terse tone. “The people inputting the numbers lie.”

She sighs and takes a swig from a cup on her desk. She drinks too much coffee.

“This is unfortunate. Irvac has been with us a long time.”

I flit my fingers over my laptop and bring up the spreadsheet to show her the inaccuracy. We have more products leaving our warehouses than the return being entered. It’s small in the grand scheme of things, but it’s there, and thieves get greedy if left unpunished.

Volkov Spirits is one of the fastest growing companies in Russia with plans to expand our offices to Paris, New York, and London within seven years. Our product is exported in over thirty-five countries so far, and we employ over five thousand people, so our management needs to be loyal and capable.

Our legitimate businesses are the foundation for the other side of our business, and they need to be ran with the same reprimands to avoid these unfortunate events from reoccurring.

A knock at the door alerts us to Irvac’s presence. Diana’s office is situated in our father’s mansion. It shows her supremacy—makes us both less vulnerable to the men in this business who see women as inferior to them. It’s a power play, a my dick is bigger than yours show of dominance. Look where we live and see the money and influence behind us.

“Come in, Irvac.” Diana welcomes him with a hand motion to the chair in front of the enormous mahogany desk she had hand-carved with our family crest and shipped in from Japan. The lone, giant peregrine falcon’s wings inside the etched crest span the entire length of the desk. Long and tipped in black. Instead of a curved beak, she has the mouth of a wolf. Snarling and vicious. I love that she is female. Father doesn’t know this, but I’ve studied the markings of the giant birds. The one chosen for our crest is most definitely female. Her size indicates so, and also the fact that she has her claws curled around two eggs in a protective, motherly way. She’s fierce and takes shit from no one.

“Ma’am,” he greets. He’s broad and tall and enters with swift strides, tugging at his jacket before taking a seat.

His thick beard hides half his face, but if he’s the one stealing from us, his eyes will tell me everything I need to know.

“Irvac, are you stealing from us?” she outright asks, just like we practiced. It’s an old trick used by my father when testing members of his staff. Some would break despite the fact that my father had no proof or cause to ask. It’s just random and a sign of the power and fear he holds over people.

Irvac sits up straighter and squints, his gaze darting back and forth between Diana and me. “Of course not.”

Standing, I walk over to Diana and lean down to whisper in her ear.

“I fancy mors for dinner,” I murmur, and she nods. With a few words that are confusing to others, I indicate Irvac is a thieving liar.

His teeth grind and eyes narrow, wondering what I’m telling her. I move back to my seat in the corner, and she folds her arms.

“I’m going to give you the opportunity to come clean this one time.”