We make it downstairs and into the dining room. My father sits at the head of the table, already in his high-backed chair. Katya’s there too, chatting animatedly with Irina. My uncle. My cousin. The i***t.
These are the last surviving members of the Drognov family, either alive or not rotting in prison.
My uncle used to run the Kremlin casino, the one I control now. He nearly tanked it. Then wanted his son, Arthur, to inherit it, but I took it, the way all power in this family is won: earned, or seized. He tried to kill me, twice. I put him in the wheelchair.
Then there’s my cousin. Dresses like an accountant. Six kills under his belt. Claims he wants peace. Loves animals. Still the coldest, most brutal bastard I know. He keeps running petty Ponzi schemes. Fraud is where he thrives. If
