Page 59 of The Russian's Bought Bride

The sound of his fist banging against his desk comes through the phone, and I barely manage to keep myself from reacting. “This is far from handled, Nikolai!”

I let the irritation hit me fully then, both because he isn’t wrong, and I’m already carrying enough blame for this without him driving it deeper. Of course, I can’t fumble a simple exchange without expecting reprimand.

“He made a move and outed his associations with Volodin and the others,” I say coldly. “We pushed them out, and now we know he’s out of hiding.”

“That’s not the point.”

It isn’t, but it’s all I have for now.

Roman exhales harshly through the line before speaking again, sounding more like he’s resisting the urge to completely lose it on me. “What’s your plan?”

The direct and demanding tone says the obvious part out loud…Roman’s a leader first and brother second. Always.

My gaze drifts toward the dark skyline beyond the warehouse district, toward the city where Grigori’s hiding. He can flex his resources all he wants, but he won’t be able to stay hiding for long.

“I’ll handle Malenkov,” I murmur, set on it despite a lack of leads.

“How?”

“I’m working on it.”

“That answer’s getting old, Nikolai. Try again when you come up with something original, for Christ’s sake.”

Biting back my temper takes careful restraint that feels more precarious as this conversation drags on, but I can’t lash out. Roman’s demands come first, as does the family. That is our foundation, regardless of all the ways he grates on my nerves.

“I’ll send a unit out to track them, and I’ll fix this before it escalates further,” I tell him firmly.

“You’d better before this turns into something bigger than it already is.”

Without warning, the line goes dead, and I lower the phone slowly, tension sitting heavy across my shoulders. I urge myself to breathe in and out, and to press on regardless of how it tries to drag me down.

Ivan walks over a moment later with an unreadable expression. “Bad?”

“Roman’s pissed.”

“That’s his default. He’ll survive.”

I snort to myself, but it’s hard to entertain the humorous for now. Maybe he will, but I doubt that will happen until I find a solution and bury Malenkov.

Dragging a hand through my hair, I stare out across the warehouse again and watch as our men begin the usual cleanup. They move the few bodies, with the majority being theirs, at least, and they recount inventory like physically resetting the place.

Our life doesn’t stop for grief or mistakes. You adapt, or you end up like those dead men, and it’s as simple as that.

Despite everything weighing on me right now—Dani pulling away from me, Roman breathing down my neck, and Malenkov escalating things—I refuse to crack. I’ve survived worse than this, but pressure doesn’t break me. It never has, and it never will.

But as I look out toward the city lights glowing against the desert darkness, one thought settles in my mind, leaving no room for doubt.

Grigori Malenkov just made this personal, and it’s going to be a very expensive mistake for him.

Chapter 18 - Dani

By the time the sun fully disappears behind the skyline and the Strip comes to life in the distance, I’ve managed to work myself into a knot of equal measures of frustration and determination.

All evening, I’ve been rehearsing what I want to say to Nikolai and how I want it to come across.

Pacing the length of the living room with my arms folded tightly across my chest, I’ve replayed the imaginary conversation over and over in my head until I know it by heart, all perfected down to a script with numerous arguments to cover every base.

I’ll tell him I can’t keep living like this, that whatever happened between us that night changes nothing about the fact that he’s still keeping me trapped here. I’ll tell him I need to go back to my life, to my apartment, my job, my grief.