"Promise me." His eyes are fierce now. "Our child needs a mother. I need to know that if I die, you'll live. That something good comes from all this."
The tears I've been holding back finally spill over. "I can't promise that."
"You have to."
"No." I shake my head. "I can't live in a world without you. I tried it for six years, and I barely survived. I'm not doing it again."
"You have to. For the baby."
"For the baby, I need their father alive." I grip his face in my hands. "So you don't get to die. You don't get to sacrifice yourself. We survive together or not at all."
"That's not—"
"I mean it." My voice is fierce. "You want me to promise something? I promise I'll fight. I promise I'll protect our child with everything I have. But I won't promise to give up on you. Ever."
"Stubborn woman," he murmurs.
"Stubborn man."
"We're going to survive this," he says, and it sounds like he's trying to convince himself as much as me.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Maksim
The photographs spread across the kitchen table look like something from a horror film.
Three crime scenes. Three families. Three leaders who made the mistake of being even remotely sympathetic to my return.
All dead now.And not quickly.
Semyon points to the first set of photos. "Found in his warehouse three days ago. They took their time with him."
I force myself to look. To catalog the brutality. The dead man was sixty-three years old, a veteran of the bratva who'd survived four decades of violence. He was loyal to my father. And thatloyalty would have transferred to me, assuming I even wanted the job.
I didn’t think I did.
Not anymore.
“Did he make a move against Roman?” I ask.
“No. No one has but there are rumblings. People are talking about ousting Roman and installing you.”
I wince when Semyon moves to the next set of photos. "Found yesterday."
More photographs. More brutality. The man had a wife and three children. I know how this game goes. He’ll start with the head of the family, but the families will suffer next.
The third set is the worst. The man was an old friend. Someone who'd known me since childhood.
They tortured him for hours before finally ending it.
"They're sending a message," Semyon says, stating the obvious. "Submit to Roman's rule or this is what happens."
I study the photos, my jaw clenching so hard my teeth ache. These weren't quick executions to eliminate threats. These were torture sessions designed to break spirits before ending lives.
Performances. Warnings. Terror tactics.
If Roman wins this war, this is what waits for anyone who opposed him.
