Ruslan’s expression twists into something ugly. “My children are pathetic. A disgrace. All of you.”
Matvey reaches into his jacket and pulls out a pair of heavy-duty pliers. “I think you’re the one who’s disgraced now.” He steps closer, examining Ruslan’s genitals. “Marina made us promise to leave you alive because she has big plans for you. But that leaves a lot of room for interpretation, don’t you think?”
For the first time, something cracks in his expression. It’s not fear, but the realization that we’ve turned against him.
Matvey moves the cold metal into place, gripping Ruslan’s balls with the pliers. “This is for Mama.” The words are a quiet vow, followed by a sharp snap of the blades that causes Ruslan to howl like a lost soul in hell.
I stand back and watch as my brothers exorcise their demons, never looking away, never flinching. Part of me wants to join in, to make him hurt the way he made our mother hurt, the way he made Katya and Marina and countless other women hurt. But a bigger part of me just wants to get back to Dinara, to make sure she’s okay, to take care of her.
When the floor grows slick with his blood and he’s passed out, I tell my brothers, “That’s enough.”
They step back, breathing hard, looking like death incarnate.
I look at my father one last time. This man I once idolized, who I thought was invincible. Now I can see how very wrong I was. He’s just a broken, bleeding shell of a man who destroyed everyone who ever loved him.
“I’m going to live my life knowing I’m married to a woman I love,” I say, even though he’s not conscious. “Knowing I’m happy. Knowing I have everything I want. And none of it is because of you. Every good thing in my future will be in spite of you, not because of you.”
I walk away knowing I’ll never have to see that miserable piece of shit again.
An hour later I walk back into Dinara’s private hospital room, freshly showered and changed, and dying to see her.
I pause in the doorway, my eyes sweeping the very full, very boisterous room. She texted me earlier to let me know her family had arrived and she’d filled them in on everything, but seeing them all here makes it real.
A massive blond man stands near the window, with crossed arms and piercing gray eyes that land on me the second I walk in.
Pavel Fedorov. We’ve never met in person but I recognize the leader of the Belov Syndicate from intel reports. Moscow-based, ruthless as they come, and he’s currently looking at me like he’s deciding which bones to break first.
Beside him is a petite woman with glossy dark hair and a warm smile, holding the hand of a small boy with bright blueeyes and lashes that would make grown women jealous. This is Pavel’s wife and child, Hope and Kin.
In the chair closest to Dinara’s bed is a stocky older man with a bushy salt-and-pepper beard and hands that look like they’ve seen decades of hard work. Yarik Potapov. Her father.
All eyes are on me.
Before anyone can speak, Kin pipes up. “Are you Dinara’s pretend husband?”
I blink. “What?”
“Kin,” Hope says gently, but the kid’s already committed.
“My papa said the marriage wasn’t real. That it was for pretend.”
A laugh escapes me and I crouch down to his level. “Your papa’s got it wrong, buddy. Our marriage is as real as it gets. We just did it a little out of order.”
Kin considers this seriously. “Oh. Okay.”
I rise to my full height and lock eyes with Pavel, whose expression remains stone-faced. Let him get his panties in a knot. It doesn’t change a damn thing.
I cross to Dinara’s bedside. She looks exhausted, but her eyes light up when she sees me, and I lean down to kiss her forehead, then her lips.
“How are you feeling?” I murmur against her mouth.
“Better now that you’re here.”
I straighten and turn to face the room. Dinara sits up straighter despite the pain it clearly causes her. “I guess introductions are in order. Kirill, this is my father, Yarik. And that’s Pavel and Hope, and their son, Kin.”
Yarik stands, extending his hand. His grip is strong, his gaze assessing, but at least he’s not hostile. “Kirill. Dinara’s filled us in on… everything.”
“I imagine that was a lot to process.”
