Page 90 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

“Leonid…” My voice cracks. “How many?”

He exhales through his nose, slow, like he’s been expecting this question for a long time.

“Don’t lie to me,” I whisper. “Please.”

“I’d never lie to you,” he says quietly. “No. It wasn’t the first time.”

The air leaves my lungs in a sharp gasp. “How many?” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “How many people have you killed?”

He gives a single, slow shake of his head. “Don’t ask me that.”

“Why not?” My voice cracks. “I deserve to know, don’t I? After what I just saw?”

He exhales through his nose, arms still folded across his chest like he’s bracing himself. “Because the number doesn't change anything. It doesn’t make it easier for you to hear.”

I swallow hard. My throat feels raw. “Why do you even have a gun?”

“Because of the line of work I’m in.”

I almost laugh. “You’re in hospitality. A real estate mogul. How does that involve guns and killing people?”

He studies me for a long moment. Then he nods toward the bed. “Take a seat.”

I don’t want to obey him. I don’t want to do anything he says right now. But my legs are trembling so badly I’m afraid they’ll give out. I sink onto the edge of the mattress, hands clenched in my lap, watching him. He stays by the door, arms still crossed, shoulders tense.

He takes a deep breath, like he’s gathering pieces of himself he’d rather keep buried. “Have you ever heard of the Bratva?”

I blink. “Yeah. Isn’t that… the Russian Mafia?”

He nods once. “You’re right.”

The room tilts. My stomach lurches as I immediately realize where this is going.

“You’re in the Russian Mafia?” The words taste like ash.

Another nod. “I’m the Pakhan of the New York Bratva.”

I gasp so hard it hurts. “What?”

He doesn’t repeat it. He just watches me, waiting for the realization to finish sinking in.

“So you’re not… you’re not a businessman like the rest of the world thinks?” My voice is barely above a whisper. I had always assumed the bodyguards, the men who moved like an army guarding his estate, were there because of his immense wealth. It never once crossed my mind that his power ran deeper, that he was the king of the Bratva!

“I am,” his tone is calm, measured. “But that isn’t all I do.”

“It’s a cover.” The words fall out of me. “You use your businesses as a front. The hotels, the real estate, the investments, all of it. It’s just… camouflage.”

He doesn’t deny it.

I press my palms to my thighs, trying to stop them from shaking. “So you lied to me. This whole time.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you.”

“What difference does that make?” My voice rises. “You let me believe you were just some wealthy, legitimate businessman. You let me fall in love with a version of you that doesn’t exist.”

“I was going to tell you.” His voice is quieter now, rougher. “I was waiting for the right moment.”

I let out a short laugh. “The right moment? I had to find out by watching you shoot a man in the head in your basement.”