Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
But I remembered. Not just the steel, not just the blood. I remembered the fire in his eyes. Violence, da. But also love—the kind that said no one insulted his daughter and walked away breathing.
That day set a precedent. Prejudice? Slurs? Nyet. I hadn’t heard a single one, not again … until Rurik.
“What did he … call you before hanging up?” Jake whispered, dragging me from the memory.
I blinked. He was speeding on a more level road.
Not one to mince words, I told him the phrase. The memory of the blade. Papa’s response that nearly made prejudices go extinct.
Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. “Normally, I don’t condone violence, but I’m with your father, Sima—ahem, Simona.”
I rubbed the heels of my palms into my eyes. “The man he murdered was a Mikhailov. Lev Mikhailov’s little brother. Lev … he is father to Rurik and Edik.”
“That’s where the bargain was struck? You girls had to marry their sons?”
“Da.” I ran a hand over my arm. “I know the cost of my skin. I have lived it. Endured it. Learned to carry me proudly even when whispers come with venom. I did not know it then. All I knew? The Mikhailov name was a dirty whisper. Then Rurik and I had tea. I was fourteen—him too. But his eyes—bozhe moi—you could see it.”
“What?”
“Those eyes belonged to a man who already knew death.” I sighed. “He had killed men long before his beard came in. I ran off to America.”
Annoyed, Jake ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further, before gripping the steering wheel. “Why have tea if they were your enemies?”
“Papa later told me how he learned the man’s name. Lev wanted an alliance. We hold Western Russia. Mikhailov enforces the south. War between us? Deadly.”
Jake nodded.
“Together, we are family. Happy. They own the KGB. We have our international liaisons. Sons and daughters betrothed. A marriage made in heaven.”
“Does your father know what Rurik called you?” His voice cracked as he accelerated past the speed limit. He shook his head. “No. Simeon can’t. And I get it—you’re stuck marrying him—but he’s racist, Simona. Your father needs to know.”
“Nyet!” My voice sharpened. “He is a loyalist … He understands one death births another. If he refused this alliance, he’d have to relinquish something else.”
“Like what, allow them to slay his brother?” Jake snorted, bitter.
“Da. Vassili would’ve been the pawn.” The words settled between us like wet ash. I loved my dyadya. But until today? I hated how Natasha and I’d become his sacrifice to protect the rest of our family. Now, acceptance sat heavy in me. Something sharper coiled beneath it. The way Rurik’s gaze crawled over me—devouring, worshipping, defiling. A sickness, fetish wrapped in silk.
Jake’s jaw flexed. “Okay, next question. Why two daughters for one … brother?”
His voice broke halfway through, and when he glared at the road, I saw it—enlightenment.
In Russia, daughters were a debt. Sons? Brothers? Currency. Now two lambs had paid for one bad wolf.
54
LORENZO
The moment the Resnov caravan approached the estate’s long gravel drive, I was already in position. Last night, I followed Natasha and Lachlan to the grocery store with the app Rain had installed on my phone and spotted someone else. A Russian with an eagle head and snake body. The Mikhailovs’ tag. I watched everything—the acts she’d carried out with Lachlan. Sent a sweet video of her and Lach in bed to Vassili. Since I didn’t want to humiliate the Resnovs yet, I only forwarded it to Big Brody. It could go viral later. I also saw her abduction this morning.
“Russians are doing my job for me.” A smile curved my lips as my legs wrapped around a large branch toward the top of a massive Scots Pine tree. My rifle scope tagged the top of Lachlan’s head while he ducked in an SUV. The guards rushed around the yard like wolves guarding their den, and the Resnovs?
Vassili, his brute brother, Simeon, and their smaller entourage hid behind Range Rovers. Chests puffed at the audacity of the Mikhailovs for the fire fight. All pomp. All pride. Neither side realized their fates continued to balance on the twitch of my trigger finger.
Stay there, Vassili. Enjoy the show. Once I offed every Mikhailov inside, I’d approach the window with Natasha. Show them that they no longer owned her. If I didn’t make it out alive? I’d take her with me.
Scope pressed to my cheek, I lined up the shot. The world slowed—my heartbeat steady, my breath shallow. Crosshairs danced over foreign skulls. One squeeze, and another of Mikhailov’s lieutenant’s heads exploded from the caliber of my rifle. Blood sprayed the moss-dark stone.
Gunfire continued to erupt in staccato bursts. I took out a few more men, evening the odds for the five-man team behind that SUV. Then I scaled down the branches, hitting the grass in the front yard of the home across the street. In no time, I’d ran around the side of the Mikhailovs iron fence and jumped over it. Boots soft against the wet grass. Two guards rounded the back veranda, rifles loose in their hands as they barked about the commotion. My blade whispered across the first one’s throat before the other could lift his Kalashnikov to spray me with bullets. His gasp became mine as I drove steel into his belly, twisting until his body slackened.