“Kaz—”
“We belong to you. All of us.” He places a hand to his chest and bows slightly at the waist—a Bratva sign of respect. Ofloyalty.“My life is yours. And when the time comes, so will be my death.”
I decide, then and there, that Desya will get Kazimir’s life over my dead fucking body.
I don’t respond. Just pat him on the back one last time before heading back to the prow of the ship.
“He’s not wrong, you know.” It’s Maksim, following at my heels. “We all live to serve you. If that’s how we die, then we’ve done our jobs.”
“No one dies tonight.” It comes out like a snarl, with bared fangs and claws. “That’s final.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I’m not,” I agree. “I’m ordering it. So don’t you dare disobey me.”
A brief smile flits across his tattooed face. “Yes,pakhan.”
Bratva.A band of men. A brotherhood. All this time, I’ve kept that word at arm’s length. Never accepted what it meant, not truly.
Because losing one family hurt enough for a lifetime.
These past few weeks, I got the sense that Mia was torn about my commitments. That she was wondering whether my Bratva was more important to me than my family.
But my Bratvaisfamily. My men—they’re willing to lay down their lives for me. That earns them the right to be called brothers. And they’ll protect what’s mine with their last breath.
“I take it Mia didn’t find out about tonight?” Maks asks, glancing around. Every guest at this yacht party, every person mingling—they’re all covert operators.
“No.” I clench my fists at my sides. “This is a Bratva matter. I don’t want any more innocent blood spilled.”
“She won’t take it well, you know. Regardless of how this ends.”
“I’m aware.”
“She might leave you.”
My knuckles turn white. The thought of Mia breaking things off for good is more than I can let myself focus on right now. But if she’s alive to dump me, then I’ll have done something right.
Last year, I put her in the line of fire. Recklessly—carelessly.
This time, I’ll draw the fire to me.
Just as I’m thinking that, I hear it. A soft, sharp sound piercing the night.
A silenced bullet.
I swirl towards Kazimir, but he’s unharmed. He’s drinking, chatting, unaware of the fact that the danger isn’t lurking on the sidelines anymore—it’shere.
Here, but where?
“Yulian.”
“He’s here,” I say, turning to Maks. “Alert the sentinels. We need to?—”
That’s when I see it: a dark stain spreading across Maksim’s shirt.
Time stops. My breath freezes in my lungs. “Maks.”
“Run.” It’s a whisper—a bloody gurgle. “Run, Yuli.”
