Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
And I witnessed something I was never meant to see.
A scream.
A gunshot.
A man with blood on his hands who doesn’t pretend to be a hero.
Samuil Volkov runs the Bratva with violence and precision.
Men fear him. Enemies disappear.
When he pulls me out of that alley, I become a liability.
I saw too much.
And the men he crossed want me gone.
One night changes everything.
One reckless mistake binds us together.
Now I’m carrying his child.
His enemies are closing in.
The man who swore he’d never have a family is ready to start a war.
Because the Devil didn’t just save my life.
He claimed it
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
SAMUIL
Iwatch as blood runs down the marble sink, disappearing down the drain. The longer I scrub my hands, the pinker the water becomes. Finally, when I’m sure I’ve gotten all the blood off, I towel my hands dry and slip out of my ruined shirt. Hopefully, Rosalina will be able to get the stains out. I know better than to wear white when I’m dealing with a problem, but this scuffle came up unexpectedly.
It doesn’t matter. I’m used to blood, and so is she. Good help is everything in a job like this.
I grab a new shirt from the small linen closet. This is what I mean about good help. Rosalina keeps my office closet well-stocked at all times. She knows better than anyone that I often have to change quickly like this. I take great pride in my appearance, so tailored, designer suits are a must. If only I could stop ruining them with blood.
I walk out of the marble washroom and step back into my office. The lights are low to help Davýd with his headache. When it’s dark in here like this, it’s easier to see the sprawling city below my window.
Davýd sits in one of the leather chairs facing my desk, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Blood marks his shirt in a rough smear down the front, and more darkens his collar. His lip is split. The gash above his eye is swollen so badly that his lid has completely closed. He hasn’t bothered with ice.
I open the small stainless-steel fridge behind my desk and take out one of the ice packs I keep stocked for nights like this. I toss it to him. It lands in his palm with a soft thud. He groans and presses it to the side of his head, hissing at the sting.
“You need to work on your defensive stance,” I say, turning away from him. It’s half-truth, half-reproach. Davýd can win in a fight against just about anyone, but sometimes he forgets he’s not invincible.
He doesn’t laugh at the joke. He hasn’t laughed much in the last few months.
I move to the window and rest my hands on the polished wood sill, staring at the city below. From here, all our problems seem so small and insignificant, but they’ve clearly followed us home. My ruined shirt and Davýd’s face are proof of that. At least the blood isn’t mine.
“They’re not going to stop coming at you,” Davýd mutters behind me. His voice is low, strained, and tired. He’s been tired a lot lately.
I turn my head enough to see him.
“No,” I say. “They won’t, which is why I need to stop them for good.”
He lifts his head enough to peer at me with his one good eye. He looks like he wants to argue, to caution me, but he knows better. There’s a line between brother and subordinate, and he never tests it when my mind is already set.
“You want to hit Lebedev where it hurts,” he says instead, settling back in the chair. It isn’t a question. He knows me too well.
“Whether he claims the attack or not, you and I both know he’s not going to stop hitting until his hands are broken.”
Davýd’s jaw tightens as he considers this.
“Lebedev is unpredictable. He’s drunk half the time, and paranoid the rest. You take him out and his men scatter without a leader, but the fallout will be messy.”
“The fallout doesn’t concern me,” I say nonchalantly. “My main concern is cutting off the head of the beast.”
He snorts softly, winces at the pain from his cracked lip, then adjusts the ice against his brow.
“All right.” He sighs. “Then tell me what your next move is, and what you need me to do.”
I look away from the city and back at him, at his battered face, at the fatigue in his shoulders. He’s loyal in a way most men can’t even imagine. He has bled for me too many times to count. I walk back toward him and stop beside the desk.
“I need you to take a team to the warehouse on Ninth,” I say. “Call the men in shifts. I want eyes on Lebedev’s shipments at all times, and I want confirmation on who he’s been meeting. I suspect he’s got someone else funding his operation, and I need to know who that person is.”
Davýd nods easily, accepting the order despite the fact that his face is still swollen and he can barely see out of his good eye.
“Do you have someone to watch Anya tonight?” I ask quietly.
His shoulders stiffen and he lowers the ice pack to look up at me fully. “I can manage Anya on my own,” he says. “She’ll stay with me.”
“You don’t want her anywhere near this shit,” I remind him. “How’s it been with her?”