RUSLAN
There’s something about the symmetry of a boxing ring that centers me.
Which is exactly the reason I had a twenty-four foot diameter ring installed in the massive gym complex I designed for myself and my crew. It’s an exclusive membership. Price of entry? Lifelong fealty sealed with the mark of the Oryolov Bratva branded onto your skin.
I pull my gloves on and breathe in the scent of freshly-sanitized leather. They’re stitched with my initials on the side so the men know they’re off-limits.
What can I say? I’m a possessive bastard when it comes to my things.
Kirill is jumping in place inside the ring. He’s the only one I box against consistently because he’s the only one who offers me a challenge. We’re close to evenly matched. Fifteen years of beating each other to a pulp mean
