Page 86 of Sexting my Bratva Daddies

Anton’s eyes went wide. “No.”

I removed the gun from his mouth. “Yes. You brought this on yourself. All you had to do was let us keep her.”

“I did nothing to your little whore.” Anton tried to lunge at me.

Misha clapped a fist on top of Anton’s head. Between his forearm on Anton’s windpipe and the clout on the head, Anton fell silent.

Viktor moved around the room, and within minutes, smoke curled around his feet.

While Anton preferred to conduct business in his high rise, we’d made sure we caught up with him in his two-story building next to the warehouse where he’d held Peyton. My father would have been disappointed in me for giving in to such baseness as love.

To hell with him. Peyton had been the one good thing in all of our lives. Money and power were nothing compared to our feelings for her.

“Burn it all down.” I nodded at Misha, who bared his teeth in that savage smile I hadn’t seen since the day Peyton walked into our lives.

“You brought this on yourself.” I pointed from Anton to Misha. “You took our world. Now we take yours.”

I turned my back, giving Misha permission to do whatever he felt necessary to ensure Anton’s demise.

Fists on flesh sounded behind me, Anton’s cries starting out loud but quickly fading.

“Meet us downstairs.” I nodded at Viktor, who followed me to the lower level.

We lit fires as we walked. Misha would catch up. He knew what to do, and I trusted him not to give in and die alongside Anton.

The three of us met up in the parking lot outside the building. Our men surrounded it, watching every exit.

“No one leaves.” I gave the order with a pointed look. “No one puts out the flames.”

Viktor pressed a phone to his ear, my orders going straight through to the fire department and police under our payroll. This was my decision, and I would not have it contested or taken away.

We stood there until the building crumbled, leaving behind nothing but rubble.

I felt nothing since losing Peyton. Even revenge did not give me peace. It did nothing to ease the emptiness her death left behind.

As the building where Anton worked turned to nothing but embers, Viktor, Misha, and I walked away.

Misha didn’t speak.

Viktor glared at anyone who looked our way, which wasn’t unusual, but the ferocity in him doubled as the car doors closed around us.

Smoke and death rode shotgun, and in the days that followed, the feel of the Sig between my own teeth became a daily ritual. Living without Peyton was merely a ghost of an existence.

Misha retreated into himself alongside Viktor.

Nothing mattered anymore. Business continued, but only because we’d already built it to sustain itself.

Sitting on the edge of my bed every single night with Peyton’s presence lingering in every breath as I buried my head in one of the dresses I’d found in her closet, I finally faced the truth.

My truth.

I loved her. I’d fallen so deeply, completely in love with her. I never gave myself permission to say it, afraid she would abandon us and take my heart with her.

It was too late to take back my mistake, and I lived with that for the next five years.

Grief became my constant companion, my faithful friend. It followed me everywhere.

The office door opened, allowing Misha and Viktor entry.