Click.
I caught the rifle, checked the firing pin and chamber. Smooth. Perfect.
"Shut up." I grabbed extended mags from the ammo locker, started loading. "Vanessa's a pain in the ass. But she's useful."
Pavel whistled, pulled a tactical vest from a cabinet, and threw it at me. "You look like shit. Did Vanessa bully your little manor pet?"
I strapped on the vest and tightened the Velcro. "I didn't let her see Anthea."
"Smart. If Vanessa met Anthea... like throwing a rabbit to a viper. Wait—are you protecting your little mistress?"
I snorted, shoved a Glock into the thigh holster.
"I'm protecting the old man's precious future heir. Anthea's just a breeding tool."
"Sure. Keep telling yourself that." Pavel stepped closer, arms crossed, smirking. "Then why'd you look like you wanted to skin me alive when I kissed her hand? And I heard you replaced the entire medical team with women because she talked to a male doctor too long. That doesn't sound like 'tool' behavior. Sounds like a rabid dog guarding a bone."
I paused.
After a few seconds of silence, I looked up. Eyes dark. "I don't like people touching my things."
"Right, right. Whatever you say." Pavel shrugged, but his grin said he didn't buy it. "Still, you've got it good. Two women, total opposites. Which one do you like better?"
"They're both tools, Pavel." My voice was cold, emotionless. "One helps me run the drug trade. One gives me an heir. Tools don't have favorites. Just useful or useless."
"No wonder the Pakhan wanted someone to knock up fast. He's worried you'll never care about any woman and end the Thorne line." Pavel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So—"
"Stop asking questions if you still want revenge." I shot him a look, headed for the elevator.
Pavel's hand instinctively touched the vicious scar on his face—a gift from Tomaso three years ago during an ambush. That night, Pavel ran out of bullets. Tomaso pinned him down and carved half his face open with a knife. If I hadn't come back with reinforcements, that blade would've gone into Pavel's gut.
Since then, Pavel swore he'd chop Tomaso into pieces himself.
"It's Valentine's Day. No roses, but we can send Tomaso's crew some bullets and grenades as gifts." Pavel laughed—bloodthirsty, excited.
"That's why I'm bringing you." I watched the elevator doors slide shut, our armed reflections staring back—ready to kill.
I touched my lips. Vanessa's kiss still lingered—foul, metallic. But suddenly, I wondered what Anthea's mouth would taste like. Those clean, innocent lips that always trembled with fear.
The thought lasted a second. I shoved it down deep.
The doors opened. Cold wind hit my face, sharp and biting. Outside, the night was black. Bratva soldiers waited, armed and ready.
Time to kill.
Chapter Three
Anthea
Thin afternoon light spilled across the garden's sea of red and white blooms, cutting through days of cold.
I stood on the garden path, surrounded by white flowers. The air smelled clean and sweet. For the first time in months, I could breathe. Like these flowers had scrubbed all the weight from my lungs.
My hand brushed a white dahlia in full bloom, petals layered like fine silk. In this garden that had only ever grown red roses, the white stood out—wrong, somehow, but alive. Stubborn.
"Olei, look," I whispered to my swollen belly, smiling before I could stop myself. "Daddy planted these for us."
Silas, that man with his cold face, had heard me that morning when the nausea was worst. The next day, the flowers appeared.
