I leave the church, my mind spinning as I trace the order of events back in my mind. I discovered Maksim, dead on his hotel room floor, cup of tea sitting half empty by his night stand,the almondy smell of cyanide heavy in the air. I questioned the hotel manager and staff to find the comings and goings of whoever might have been in his room. Months later, Mikki finds the culprit, Emil Andreev, who was seen at my hotel the night Maksim died, and the rest…
I waged war against Nikolai, knowing his retaliation would come, and it did. Last night, Mikki was attacked with a message from him… or at least, that’s how it all appears.
If Nikolai wasn’t behind any of this, then it means that someone is setting me up. Someone set usbothup. But who? Who would have the most to gain from the fall of my Bratva?
I drive home, running a list in my mind. Maybe there are some within my own Bratva who set all this up in the hopes that Nikolai and I would tear each other apart and he would just pick up the pieces after. Seems like the most likely thing. Destruction from within seems logical. Mikki even said that Kat was doing her best to sow dissent. Maybe it was working. And maybe whoever it is knows better than to stick his neck out after seeing what I did to Lev. It looks like I missed someone crafty enough to stay under the radar.
As soon as I pull into my driveway, I see another car parked behind Mikki’s. A little pink sportscar with the top down.
Kat.Fuck.
I park and get out, half jogging, half walking up to my front door.
When I walk into the living room, I see Kat standing next to Natalya. Her hair is mussed and her face is covered in sweat, but under her bangs, I see a little swelling on her forehead… and there’s a little line of blood under her chin, right at her jugular.
Kat has her arms crossed as she side-eyes Natalya, whose eyes are wide with genuine fear. As I step in slowly, I notice a fresh bruise on her arm, red welts turning blue by the second.
“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” I say to Kat.
Kat half scoffs and laughs and says, “Anton. You’re here! Your little friend was just telling me?—”
“Get out.”
Her smile drops and she puts her hands up to me in a defensive position. “Wait, let me explain. I came over because I just wanted to talk to you. That’s all.”
I close the gap between us, grabbing her by the arm. She flinches under my touch. “Let’s go.”
I drag her all the way out of the house, pushing her as soon as we’re outside. She stumbles just short of the steps. “Now hold on one second,” she said. “You don’t have to be so rough on me?—”
I get right in her face. “I saw the bruise on her arm,pizda,” I growl at her. “You put your fucking hands on her, didn’t you? You put a knife to her throat?”
She just stares up at me, emerald eyes wide with horror. “I–I didn’t mean?—”
“If you ever come near my home again,” I tell her, “I will slit you from your throat to that rotten cavern of poison you call a pussy. You understand me? I will kill you, bury you in a landfill, and piss on your grave.”
Tears form in her eyes as she stares at me, her horror giving way to sadness. “You don’t mean that?—”
“Have you ever known me not to follow up on a threat, Katerina? Ever? Even to you?”
She shakes her head quickly.
I point my finger in her face. “Darken my doorstep again. I dare you. It would make my day to finally put your demonic ass in the ground once and for all.”
She utters a sob and steps back. I hurt her, which isn’t an easy feat. Kat has armor like steel around her heart. She doesn’t bother saying anything to me. She just turns and rushes off, her sobs carrying on the wind behind her as she gets back in her car. I stand and watch until her car is far down the lane and driving through the gates of my estate.
21
NATALYA
Watching Anton drag Katerina away fills me with fear and something else. Gratitude, maybe? It settles warm and hungry just below my navel.
I hear him outside. The bass in his voice resonates off the walls like a drum. He hasn’t hurt her, barely put his hands on her, but the moment he walked in, she looked like she’d seen a ghost.
“What’s going on?”
I glance behind me to see Mikki coming down the stairs. He’s wearing the same clothes he had on last night—a torn dark muscle shirt and black pants—but his hair is slicked back and shiny wet. The faint smell of soap wafts off him as he approaches.
I don’t know how to answer his question, so I just say, “Some woman named Katerina. Claims to be his fiancée.”
