He lounged on the couch in the club, Barron Sharpe sitting nearby on the same seating arrangement.

He swept his gaze around the packed club, the stank of sweat and stale air invading his senses. His cousin had just left, complaining of how much of an asshole he was.

Personally, he didn't see it.

As heir to the Zakharov household, he had a reputation to maintain.