77

Mikhail
In silence, Pavel drives us down a gutted road toward an almost identical concrete building enclosed by lush, tall weeds. I look at each utility pole lining the way and wonder which one Ippolit shot. It’s impossible to tell when the scenery looks the same. Instead of fighting over castles and mansions, we fight over these blighted industrial areas-an odd mixture of the sinister and the banal. The only thing I know for certain is that the brigadiers will continue to defy my authority.
The only thing that will change that is death.
“Ippolit was a good man.” Pavel’s voice interrupts my own dark thoughts. “Damn good shot too.” Pavel looks at me in the mirror. “He taught me how to shoot. He didn’t have to, but he did.”
“And look where that got him.” I sigh.
“Stubborn bastard almost made it to old age,” Pavel scoffs. “What a waste.”
I’m surprised I have it in me to laugh. But the conversation stops when the SUV reaches a nondescript door. No signs of any kind, and I wonder if it’s a trap.
“Wait here,” I tell him, getting out of the vehicle. “And discourage any curious onlookers.”
Pavel nods and parks the car so he can see all vantage points clearly. The metal door opens without a key, and I enter a pitch-black hallway despite the invading daylight outside. My senses are in overdrive as I walk down a narrow corridor, and my footsteps echo with each step. My heart starts to pound in my ears, but I can’t tell what’s making me anxious. Am I worried about being ambushed or seeing Maria again?
The light from my phone illuminates a door at the end of the hallway with a sign that reads “Office.” Cautious, I open the door slowly with my gun at the ready.
Maria lies on top of a table, using her arm as a pillow. Though she’s asleep, her expression looks troubled. Her fist is clenched under her cheek, and her forehead is creased as the corners of her mouth pull down.
Something tugs in my gut when I see her.
She’s the picture of innocence and beauty, and I’ve ruined it all.
Gently, I brush my fingers along her cheek, savoring the softness of her skin. I let my mind imagine how she’ll greet me. Will she open her arms wide and fling herself into my grasp? Will she let me hold her close as I bury my face in her hair?
But that’s not our story-I’m the pakhan, and she is the traitor’s daughter.
And when her eyes open, she instinctively backs away and slides too far across the table. I rush around to the other side to keep her from toppling off, and she clutches my jacket only to regain her balance.
I feel her body trembling against mine, and another surge of remorse at what I’ve done to her courses through me.
She shoves my hands off and glares at me with pouty lips I want to taste. She has every right to hate me for what happened, but it still doesn’t stop the tugging feeling in my chest when I see her.
“Why are you here?” she asks sharply.
“I’m taking you back to the penthouse,” I reply.
Maria jumps off the table and backs away from me. “No.”
Smirking, I try not to laugh, as if she could stop me. “Would you prefer my brigadiers?”
She doesn’t answer me, but her eyes do. And I don’t like what they tell me.
“Did they hurt you?” I demand to know as if I own her.
“Fuck you!” she shouts, anger twisting her mouth. “Don’t touch me again.”
“Maria,” I warn her with my tone. “Did they hurt you?”
“Maybe I should wait for my father instead.” She smiles sarcastically, waiting for a reaction.
Enough of the games. Pavel is a good shot, but not if he’s ambushed by a gang of armed Lanzzare men. Or by Zakhar himself.
“I don’t have time to play games,” I snarl as I snatch her arm. “I don’t intend to chase you across state lines again. So don’t be stupid.”
She smacks my hand off her arm and steps farther away. Her chest rises and falls as she watches for my next move. It’s too fast for her to react. Maria tries to push me off, but this time, my grip is tight as I hoist her over my shoulder and carry her out of the room, leaving the door open to light our way.
Maria pounds my back with her fists and curses my nerve. “Let me go!” she screams. “I don’t belong to you.”
I lower her to the floor until she lands on her feet and pin her to the outside door. Instinctively, my body pushes against hers. I let Maria feel what she does to me. How her rebellion is turning me on.
“But you do,” I whisper near her ear. “And you will never leave me again.”
I press my lips against hers, but Maria turns her face away. I grab her chin and force my mouth on hers, but I stop abruptly when I realize she’s not playing. She glares at me as tears appear in her eyes.
I let Maria go but grab hold of the door handle so she can’t push it open and run.
“I will always bring you back.” My words are low and threatening. “I will hurt anyone who helps you, and I will make it so that you won’t dare to try again.” I step closer so my breath warms her clenched lips. “It’s time you learn the oath like a Bratva queen. Repeat after me … You care for no one but the Bratva …”
Maria stares at me in horror but refuses to speak. I grab her throat, applying enough pressure until she opens her mouth and gasps for air. Maria grabs for my hand, and I let go.
“Say it,” I hiss.
“You care for no one but the Bratva …”Her quivering voice sounds like music, the sweetest song I’ve ever heard.
“Good,” I reply. “Now repeat-and you shall love none other than the Bratva.”
She swallows hard as a tear lets loose from her lashes. “-and you shall love none other than the Bratva.”
Maria says the last part with conviction, and the hate in her eyes should turn me to stone. The tears on her face aren’t a sign of weakness. They’re a sign of how much she hates me.
I’m lucky she doesn’t have a gun.
I open the door while holding her upper arm tight and guide her toward the waiting SUV. Pavel promptly gets out and holds the back door open for us. I expect Maria to slide in and try to bolt out the other side, but she’s smart enough to know there’s no escape from here. Miles of undeveloped land stretch around us as the tall weeds sway in the hot sun.
Nowhere to run.
Nowhere to hide.
I get in beside her, and Pavel shuts the door.
Maria shrinks away and makes herself small, leaning into the door as far away from me as possible. I don’t blame her for her reaction. I’ve become the enemy not only to Zakhar but to her. I stretch out, letting my legs open wide and taking up more room on the seat than I need. She scoots away, but I won’t leave her alone. There is a wall rising between us, and I’m in the mood to challenge it. I place my hand on her waist and pull her against me.
“Let’s practice it again,” I whisper. “You care for no one but the Bratva, and you shall love none other than the Bratva.”
Maria swallows a hiccup and speaks the words slowly. “You care for no one but the Bratva, and you shall love none other than the Bratva.”
“This is where you belong, Maria Zakharovna.” I greet her for the first time with her own patronymic. “With your people. With us in the Bratva. Welcome home.”
“The Bratva is not my home,” she whispers. “It will never be my home.”