Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
That was not, and never had been, my reality.
A glass of whiskey lands on the desk, neat, no garnish. Dmitri settles into the chair across from me. I’m in his chair, but he wouldn’t dare ask me to move. He knows his place.
I should have known mine.
Dmitri stays quiet, sipping his whiskey, and though I keep my gaze on the screens, I feel his stare burn the side of my neck.
“Do you have something to say?” It’s a growl I feel in the back of my throat, low and cautioning.
My second-in-command takes a deep breath, lets it out as a sigh, and shifts forward, pinning me with his gaze. “Look, Evgeny. You need to talk to Eva. Tell her the truth. I have evid—”
“No.”
Dmitri presses his lips together, annoyance flashing across his face. His hand tightens around the crystal tumbler, his knuckles red and bloodstained. “I’m telling you this as your friend, not your Brigadier. You’re wallowing, and the men are noticing. Everyone has noticed. You’re worse than before, and you’re not thinking straight. It’s time to—”
My glass hits the solid oak so hard Dmitri winces for the crystal’s sake. “Are you telling me how to run the Bratva now? Are you going to tell me how to run my life, how I should comport myself, how I should talk? Are you going to start dictating my bedtime and what I wear?”
Dmitri’s shoulders straighten, a truculent glare settling over his features, making him look even more like a dangerous animal. “You know that’s not it. Stop being an asshole. You don’t scare me. Look—” His expression softens in a way that sends anger bubbling through me. He’s being patient with me. Me. “Ev, I’m worried about you. You’ve always been a beast, but this is different. I know you miss her. Take this chance to win her back.”
“No.”
I can’t even let myself consider the possibility, since hope would only rise and then break my heart again. It would destroy me, and I’ve learned my lesson.
“No. I will keep her far away, as I should have from the start. I cannot afford to have that kind of distraction or connection.”
When I wasn’t thinking of Eva, I was thinking of my father and how the loss of my mother broke him. For a few years, Ivan had run the Bratva, and it had suffered without my father’s vision and unforgiving hand. I swore long ago that would never happen to me, for the good of the Kucherov Bratva. For the good of the Kucherov men. For my good.
“Look at what happened at the yearly meeting with the East Coast faction. They all knew I was distracted, and you know how perilous distraction can be. My life is too dangerous. Look at what happened to Jordan.”
“What happened to the kid has nothing to do with you, and you know it.”
I shake my head but don’t argue because I know I’m right, my gut is telling me Jordan’s murder was about more than just the kid’s debts or the trouble he’d found.
“Okay, fine. How is your version of ‘staying away’ from Eva any different from having her back? You have people watching over her, over her family members. You’re keeping tabs on her.”
“Only to keep her safe,” I counter. And it’s the truth. All I care about is her safety. All I can stand to care about.
Though my gaze is back on the screens, I catch Dmitri rolling his eyes in my peripheral vision. He takes another breath to argue, and I take one to shut him down for good when Dmitri’s phone rings.
“What?” he snaps, not even looking at the screen before he answers the phone. An indistinct voice on the other end offers only a handful of unintelligible words, and the call ends.
“The guy is finally talking.” Dmitri is already in motion, rising from the chair and leaving the rest of his whiskey on the desk. He gives me a final look that says he’s not done with the conversation, then heads to the door.
I follow, gaining on him quickly. Since Jordan’s murder, I’ve been relentless in my pursuit of Tsepov and his goons, even more so than when my life had been threatened. I’m ending this territory war sooner rather than later. That was my mistake, one I will not make again.
The guy in the very back room of the club, the one only Bratva members know about, is barely conscious. His head lolls, his face a mask of bruises, one eye swollen shut, blood dribbling from his mouth and down his chin.
“One of Tsepov’s men.” Dmitri jerks his chin at the man tied to a chair, arms bound tight around the low back of the chair. “Caught him coming out of the deli on Pico.”
My men step away as I crouch in front of the guy. His one good eye cracks open, bloodshot and glassy with pain.