Glossary:

-M-4s, Ak'sBTR-90s = weapons.
________________________________

A good 6 months earlier:

"Amber?", a familiar voice calls out from across the bar, making me grit my teeth in response as I roll my eyes at Steve, the guy working alongside me for this shift.
We both know who calls me by that name.

"The usual."

"Coming up", I mumble, getting on it.

The man is Dmitri Orlov, the club owner's son, one of those spoilt sick mob kids who use their guns before their heads. He's part child and part wuss in front of Mr. Orlov, my employer and step father of sorts. 

" Why are you guys here so early?", he asks the two of us as he takes the empty club in, his eyes raking over me a few more times than I'd like them to.

"We work here, Dimitri." I offer him my personal chilling smile, screaming 'lay off' but get that stupid smirk of his in response.

"There."

Placing his tumbler in front of him, I nod at Steve and get a sigh in return.

Wiping my hands, I look around. The club really is very empty. It's still the pre-rush hour between five and six in the evening so save for a few lousy drunks, I spot nobody. These are amongst the people who drown their sorrows in the bottles they down. Since I'll be calling each of the three men a cab before 6, I guess they'll have to wait another day for liver cirrhosis.

"Well Amber, how's your boyfriend?", Dimitri's voice cuts through my thoughts like a knife.

I really dislike him even if he's my step brother. He's a sick man.

"Don't have one."

"Why, I recall Steve telling me you did."

"Steve lied."

"He did?" Dmitri's eyes widen as his hand leaves the tumbler and goes into his jacket.

"Nuh-uh, brother. No killing in my bar."

I smile as he points the gun at Steve's face and I shake my head. This isn't good. Steve is new. Very new here and probably the only friend I do have.

Withdrawing my own gun from the cash drawer, I point it in Dimitri's face point blank.

"Get out." I can barely conceal my anger at him. He can't chase away another friend. He always does this.

"Amber I'm hurt." He keeps his gun pointed at Steve, mock hurt masking the usual malice in his voice.

"You care more about that lowlife than me?"

"I care about my staff running away since your sorry ass can't even take care of the uptown bars, alright? I do that."

"Taking care and owning are different things."

I roll my eyes and turn to Steve to find him sweating bullets, staring at Dmitri in horror.

Right.

I already know he's too terrorised for his life now to even talk to me unless necessary after this. I've seen it too many times, that look in a coworker's eyes when Dmitri terrorises them.

What is his problem with me making any sort of associations with people anyway?

"Keep the gun down and get the fuck out of my bar before I call the cops on you, Dmitri."
He laughs. Laughs. That pathetic man.

"Alright Amber, sure. You can have what's left of Steve the boyfriend."

"It's Grace. Get out. Now."

Without a warning, he actually shoots Steve square in the forehead, making me jump as the gunshot resounds in my ear. I swear as Dmitri smoothly gets off the barstool and marches out with that one bodyguard closely following behind him. My eyes sting as my vision gets blurry, a ringing sound in my ears. He shot Steve, my only friend. The blue eyed, light haired college kid. The guy who loved his cats too much to leave them home. The guy whose smile warmed me up more than that stupid fireplace back home ever did.

Feeling the need to throw up, I rush to the side of the counter and throw up in the waste bucket, my eyes watering like crazy. I heave until my fingertips go numb and I can't move my feet. Reaching for the top of the counter, disregarding everything my body is screaming at me, I pull myself up anyway.

I need to get this cleaned up and employ a fresh staff.
What use are the bodyguards Mr. Orlov boasts of anyway?
Where the fuck were they?

***                  ***              ***    

"Name-"

"Dad? We need to talk." I yell out, disrupting whatever sort of interrogation Mr. Orlov was involved in, kneeling on the floor facing a blond in that damned wooden chair, his head bobbing slightly.

I hear a sigh echo in the dingy makeshift holding cell. This is technically Mr. Orlov's summer house but precisely the interrogation and arrest house. Most people never leave alive from here and I try not to think about that as I take the sight in. The dimly lit room is classy, complete with glass walls and I'm pretty sure that someone's watching me through a surveillance camera this second.

"Please wait outside, sunshine."

"Don't you dare sunshine me.", I grit my teeth as he turns to face me. He's a man of around 55, fast greying black hair and white stubbles. A spitting image of his being Dmitri, only a much younger version. His royal blue eyes usually have a humour and affection about them when he's around me but right now, I see it with an undertone of immense rage. The rage of the ruthless, murdering Mafia that he is.

His eyebrow furrows as I storm out of the room, trying to make it look like I'm furious but the truth is that I can never be mad at him. His son is a whole different story altogether.

I cross my arms across my chest and stand right in the middle of the deserted corridor.

" Look this better be good, love." His Russian accent makes me squeeze my eyes shut for a second and when I open them, I find him standing across from where I am in exactly a similar stance. He raised me, we're so similar.

"Dmitri shot dead another staff from The Grace."

"And?"

"The Stepanov brothers came looking for him. All I'm saying is that he needs to keep it down. It's not long before the Orlov family is taken down by the Stepanovs because of his stupidity."

"That's all sunshine?"

"Stop calling me-"

"You deal with that dimwit whichever way you want. Keep your fights to yourself.", I hear a firm response and ball my fists up. I contemplate whether or not to let him in on what I know against Dmitri and before I can hold my tongue, "He's selling M-4s, Ak'sBTR-90s out. I don't know where he stashes them but it's a rebellion. "

"You're saying my son is-"

Rebelling against you?

"Exactly. Now if you'd understand why I don't want any part in the Orlov business? I'm content with my bars. So keep my staff safe or I'll shoot my brother one of these days when he decides it's fine to touch me again."

Upon hearing that, I see his eyes glaze over with an immeasurable amount of fury. I know that he's not proud of Dmitri's actions and strange fetish for me. He hates that he can't protect me from his own son and it hurts me to see him in such anguish. That might have been a threat way below the belt but I want him to see how truly out of control his son is.

And I'm scared. Mr. Orlov can't really do much to help with that fear.

We both see that clearly.

***               ***               ***
A/N:
I really hope the chapter was likable. It'd be awesome to get feedback and/or suggestions.
Happy new year to everyone though! 🎉💖
P.s. There will be grammatical errors because all chapters right now are first drafts.