Page 96 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

For every fucking bruise I endured as a child, then as a young bratok in his ranks. And finally, that time he nearly killed me.

With animalistic grunts, I continue to plunge the knife into his hollowed-out chest. My breathing sounds ragged, and I’m wheezing almost as bad as he is. Blood pours across the sheets in thick dark waves.

My father’s body twitches once beneath me before finally going still. Then silence crashes down over the room.

Drago catches my wrist before the next strike lands. “Kirill.”

I look at him, knowing I’m covered in blood. “You have something to say to me?”

Drago lowers his head toward me. “Pakhan.”

That hits differently now. Because it’s real. It’s undeniable.

I stare down at my dead father and feel nothing. “The brotherhood is now mine.”

“I’ll tell my wife,” Drago says hoarsely, going to be the strong husband to tell my sister our father is dead.

“Then call the coroner on our payroll.”

“Yes, Pakhan.”

I look at the blood soaking my hands. I hadn’t thought about that beating in years. Much of it I forgot. A coping mechanism.

Today it came back in vivid waves. That beating I got was for Sandrine.

And his death by my hand today is also for her.

Chapter 29

Kirill

Ishower in my father’s bathroom so I don’t track his blood all over Iron Keep. When I finish, someone has laid out clothes for me on the vanity.

Hair wet and slicked back, I’m buttoning my cuffs when I step back into Papa’s bedroom. Ksenia is standing there looking down at our dead father.

Fuck. I didn’t want her to see his mutilated body. My murderous glare burns into Drago’s thick skull.

He holds up his hand. “She wanted to see him. I told her it was gruesome.”

“It had to be done, Ksenia.” I brace for an argument.

Crying. Screaming.

Nothing.

“It had to be done,” she repeats and then walks toward me in her elegant stride. “Pakhan.”

We share a smile. Here we are. Officially in charge.

“Nurse?” I ask over her shoulder.

“Let go,” Drago says. “I told her the old man coded and she’d get a check to pay out her contract. She’s one of us. Nothing to worry about.”

I nod. “I have to tell Sandrine.”

I leave my father’s wing and find her still in Violet’s bedroom, sitting in a chair with a sketchpad while our daughter sleeps. She’s so focused she doesn’t see me stride up to her. I look down and see she’s sketching snow angels. I remember how she would sketch in one of my shirts. Bare legs. Messy hair. My cum dripping from her.

For a second, I just look at her.