Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“That’s why…”
I know he’s thinking, We need to use Lia, but then he trails off and doesn’t follow up.
“Since when did you get such a soft spot, anyway?” I ask.
“For who?”
“Mila’s little brother.”
“He’s a kid,” Mikhail says in disgust, then hangs up the phone.
I drive through the desert, sunlight slowly seeping into the world, shadows appearing, then growing shorter. I know Mikhail’s right. We should keep the bastard would-be kidnapper in our underground cells until we’re ready to use him. Yet I can’t stop thinking about driving through the gates, running to him, and slamming my fist until…
“Calm down,” I whisper, loosening my grip on the steering wheel.
Between our father and Lia and now all the bloodshed, I’m in danger of losing my ability to think clearly. I’ll need it as we move forward, but that man tried to take my woman and hurt her.
Finally, I reach the compound. The guard at the front is on the older side. His name is Denis, and he’s been with my family for as long as I can remember. He opens the gate for me and then gestures. I roll down my window.
“Sir,” he says. “Some of us have been talking. We want to pledge ourselves to the ring. To you, sir.”
Denis is at least ten years older than me, but he speaks sincerely. I can tell how badly he wants this; they all want it. It makes me realize how foolish I’ve been. I’ve let my pre-father habits affect how I run the Bratva. I should inspire loyalty, not see enemies everywhere. That’s my father staining me.
“I understand,” I tell him, then keep driving.
Mikhail is on the basketball court, I see, idly shooting hoops. I walk toward him, my body feeling dog-tired, my eyes heavy, my limbs weary from the fighting, the killing, and the gravedigging.
“Can’t sleep?” I say.
Mikhail shoots another hoop, swishes it, and then glances at me. “The man’s name is Kirill. Our father hired him specifically so that he’d work for Nikolai after he died. He sold us out—his own sons.”
“The only thing that confuses me about that,” I tell him, “is that you’re surprised.”
“Not surprised,” Mikhail grunts. “It’s just got me thinking. All those times, I thought about killing the prick. All those times, I dreamed about doing the right thing. I should have.”
“It would’ve meant—”
“Our demise, war, I know,” he growls, “but at least we would’ve gotten to be the ones to do it. Right now, it’s like he’s still pulling the strings.”
I nod. It’s not like I can argue. “I’m going to get a couple of hours of sleep. I can’t afford much, but dammit, I’m running on empty. I need to recharge. Thanks for handling Kirill.”
“I’d like to do more than handle him,” Mikhail says darkly. “It takes a big man to threaten women, to scare them. He wasn’t so big when I got through with him.”
“Will he live?” I ask, part of me regretting bringing Mikhail into this, dragging him away from his video game passion.
“Unfortunately,” Mikhail replies.
I walk into her bedroom as quietly as possible, trying not to wake her. Even with exhaustion tugging at me and trying to drag me down, my body still stirs when I see the outline of the silk sheets against the perfect undulations of her curves. I take off my shirt and climb into bed with her.
She moans as she sleeps, rolling over and touching my chest. I try not to wince when her palm scrapes right across the bruised area from where the bullet slammed into the Kevlar vest.
“Dimitri?” she whispers.
“It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”
“I’m not dreaming?”
I smile, kissing her forehead, savoring her warmth. She wriggles closer to me. Before I forget, I grab my phone from my pocket and set the alarm, leaving it on the nightstand after checking it has enough battery. I wish I could stay here with her forever. Already, she’s making the world seem more bearable.
“No, you’re not dreaming.”
I pull her closer to me, then close my eyes, sinking deeply as though the mattress is swallowing me. Trying not to think about the murder is difficult—the way I plunged the knife into him, the way he squirmed and cried out. More lights switched on, and then I carried him, bleeding, to the car. I called Angelo to tell him what had happened and where to clean up.
“Dimitri?” Lia murmurs, kissing my chest in the semidarkness, the slightly cracked curtains letting in the morning sunlight.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” she says in her classic stubborn voice. “Where were you tonight?”
“Remember the men who attacked us?”
“How could I forget?”
I can’t help but smirk at the sassiness in her voice, despite the circumstances, despite everything. “There’s one more we’ll never have to worry about again. This scumbag also confirmed that Nikolai was targeting you.”
“But I have nothing to do with any of this.” She lets out a shuddering breath. “That man said something like that, too. I guess they think…”