The car pulled away from the house and down the driveway. Radovan and Spartak followed. The gates were still opening when we reached them, the men stepping aside quickly. Iskra curled her fingers around my inner thigh. Inches from my balls.
The tips of her fingers were red tonight.
I was already thinking of how and where to take her in my club.
A few drinks.
A few moves on the dancefloor.
A few shots.
Then corner her.
“Everything is just fine,” I said, patting her hand.
??????
The Pakhan didn’t dance.
But he watched his wife dance.
The slow sway of her body, unhurried and entirely comfortable in itself. Her hands rose above her head, the movement showcasing the line of her figure as the shimmer of her dress caught and released the flickering lights in pulses of red. No one went near her. My men had cleared a space without being asked — they knew better.
“You’re not joining her?” Konstantin said, amusement evident.
“Shouldn’t you be at the pit?” I asked, without looking away from Iskra.
“I was. Bogdan mentioned you were out. I thought I’d come along for the extra security.” A pause.“The good kind.”
That made me look at him.
His expression was serious. The solemn quality Konstantin reserved for the things that actually mattered to him, which were fewer than most people assumed.
“The next generation needs to be protected at all costs,” he murmured.
“Thanks,” I said, and meant it.
It was a legitimate concern and not a sentimental one. We had enemies—had always had enemies—and the playbook was well established. Kill the head. Escalate the chaos. Claim the territory from within the vacuum it created. Killing the boss meant eliminating the entire family. Anyone who could step into the role. Anyone who carried the name or the blood.
Anyone who was still growing.
“Thanks for the reminder,” I said, standing.“I think I’ll show Iskra where the office is.”
His laughter followed me across the floor as I went to collect my wife.
I moved behind her, placing my hands on her hips and pressing myself against the curve of her ass. Her head jerked around before she registered it was me. Then her body leaned back and she writhed against me with the ease of someone who had stopped pretending she didn’t enjoy this.
“Let’s go,” I growled beside her ear.
“But I want to dance,” she complained.
“You can dance on my dick,” I said, and held her arm until she followed.
Thebykicleared a path. I steered her toward the back of the floor and accessed the private elevator—old, heavy-doored, requiring a key to prevent anyone without clearance from using it.
Iskra turned and placed her hands around my neck the moment the doors closed.
The music from the floor below filtered up, loud and fast, the bass pressing against the walls of the small space. Her body began to sway with it, entirely unbothered by the confined quarters or the two armed men standing at parade rest behind her.
