I’m only haunted by the scars that man left me with. My mom’s sick and twisted husband. Who thought that because he was married to my mother, I became his property too. Not only did he break me, but he did it in my safe place. My sanctuary. The ballet.
Those scars are the ones that hurt, yet not a single soul can see them except me.
“Well, he’s on his way here in twenty minutes, so get your ass back and explain that to him.”
I sigh and merge onto the highway. “I’ll grab him a coffee too.”
As soon as the call ends, I put on my playlist and turn the volume up as loud as it will go, hoping that it will drown out the noise in my mind.
CHAPTER TWO
Drago
Song- Gods, Sleep Token
I smash my fist into the bag one final time, and pain shoots up my arm. “Fuck!” I hiss out.
It’s taken months to heal, and even now the damage lingers. Being tortured until you almost die has a way of etching itself into your bones. The scars don’t bother me. They feed the fire. They remind me why this war matters. Pain is temporary. It’s what I drilled into Charlotte when she was held captive by Vlad. It’s what I’m teaching her daughter now. The human body survives more than the mind ever believes it can.
Shaking out my fist, I drive a kick into the bag, so hard that the chains rattle overhead. I grin. I’ve still got it, even as forty creeps up on me. Fighting isn’t a skill. It’s a life carved into muscle and power. It has saved me more times than I can count.
And with war closing in on Pennsylvania, I need every edge. Back in Russia, the land itself fought beside me. Here inAmerica? I rely on the Quinn family, the fierce Irish brothers who rule this part of America. Each state is part of a larger empire ruled by Enzo Testa. For the last year, he’s made sure I know every street, every shadow. He’s the King, and we’re all the pieces that defend him, that sacrifice ourselves for him.
And right now, we’re up against a cult. A sick and twisted one that traffics women and children in the name of their savior. The Preacher.
Because even the villains in this world have morals and lines we won’t cross. And when someone else does, we fucking hunt them. We do what other people are scared to do.
There’s only one thing I still don’t know.
Who the fuck is The Preacher, and where do I find that ghost?We have families in Vegas, Phoenix, New York, Italy, and Russia. All ready for war. But this time we’re fighting a phantom. A cult with a faceless leader.
My lungs burn as I hammer the bag again. The left side still slows me, the old wounds dragging at me, but I refuse to stop. Not now.
“Uncle Drago!” Isabella screeches.
I wipe sweat from my forehead and turn as she barrels into me. Every time I see her, she gets taller. And with each month that passes, living with her father here, her smile gets bigger. She’s happy, and that’s what makes the scars on my body worth it. I catch her and spin her until she giggles. “Hey, little one,” I say, ruffling her hair and lowering her to the ground.
Charlotte steps in behind her, carrying Noah, her curls twisted into a purple bun. She’s smiling a real smile, despite everything she survived. Love looks good on her, and motherhood has turned her even sharper, even more lethal.
“Charlotte.” I greet her.
She shifts the toddler higher on her hip as he tugs at her earrings.
“Is that left side still giving you problems?” Charlotte asks, eyeing the deep scar across my ribs.
“Yeah. It’s better. Don’t worry, I can still protect you,” I say, glancing at Isabella.
She sticks out her tongue. All sass, just like her mother. “I don’t need protecting, Uncle Drago. I’m fierce, remember?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, you are. Because I taught you.”
She huffs and stomps to the punching bag, kicking it with all the strength of a tiny warrior, while Charlotte and I hide our laughter.
“What do I owe the pleasure? I’m not due to train either of you today?” I ask, taking Noah from her arms. The boy melts into my shoulder with a soft sigh. Perhaps one day, I’ll find some peace and be able to have kids. Find a woman who will drag me out of this dark hole and fill it with light. Someone who can see past the violence and dig deeper to find the man who wants a softer life.
I doubt that’ll ever happen.
“Declan wants to see you, Drago. And Isabella wanted to come and collect you herself,” Charlotte says with a soft smile.
