“Must be 9 pm already,” I said to myself.
My thumb halted over the remote control as a face stared at me from the television. It was just a headshot, but it hadn’t been long enough for me to forget his face.
The congressman from earlier tonight.
I held on to the remote control as I listened to the details of the news.
“...was reported missing before his severely mutilated body was found…”
I pressed the remote, not wanting to hear any more about it. The comedy show was merely a moving picture as I thought back to the call Viktor took just a few minutes ago. Then his steely stare as he cut into the congressman’s conversation back at the reception came to mind.
I wasn’t just wondering; I was sure.
Viktor did it.
For me.
Nobody ever chastised someone because of me, let alone hurt someone for me. But the man to whom I’d only been married for three days had killed someone for me.
I wasn’t so naive as to think he didn’t inflict pain on others in his line of work. But, killing them? That was a whole different, horrifying turf.
But he did it for me.
Does he truly care?
But that man definitely had a wife and probably children.
And here I am, mentally swooning at the thought of my husband killing someone who verbally hurt me.
Real, literal, never-wake-up death.
Oh my, what’s happening to my brain?
Chapter Eight
Viktor's POV.
The war room was never quiet. Even though no one spoke, the air buzzed with the weight of men who carried secrets, blood, and power on their shoulders. Maps, files, and half-empty glasses of vodka lay strewn across the long oak table. My brothers sat in their places; each one was a storm in his own way.
And in the midst of it all was Emilia, sitting in the corner, small and soft against steel and fire. She didn't belong here. She knew it, and my brothers knew it, too. Hell, every man in thisroom knew it. But I had dragged her in here anyway because she’s mine, and what’s mine doesn’t stay hidden.
"Reports say the Vipers are moving shipments through Jersey. They're testing how far they can push." I said, leaning back in my chair, cigarette burning between my fingers.
Mikhail slammed his fist against the table, rattling the glasses
"Let 'em test us, I'll light their boss on fire and leave his body hanging at the docks. That'll send a message."
Roman, leaning forward, exhaled slowly and assumed the role of ‘peacemaker.’
"You burn their ships, you start a war in broad daylight. Politicians will sniff, cops will sniff harder. We don't need the noise right now. All we need is control."
"Control?" Mikhail barked out, his laugh carrying more rage than humor. "You talk like control keeps us alive. Fear and blood keep us alive."
Roman's jaw tightened, his green eyes narrowed.
"And how many bodies do you want this time? Ten? Fifty? You must want another headline? 'Russian Mafia Floods the Street with Blood'? We don't survive on chaos, Mikhail. We survive because I keep those politicians in my pocket clean while you swing your axe."
The air in the room shifted, and my brothers began to circle each other; old arguments rose like storm clouds. I let it play out, watching quietly as smoke curled from my lips.
