Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I took a blood vow when I was eighteen years old. And I’ll die before I break it.
Just like Gleb did.
The Thieves’ Code was ironclad:
The Bratva comes before all else.
Never cooperate with the authorities.
Never, ever betray your brothers.
There’s a reason we’re feared, a reason why the mark of the Bratva makes women hold their children closer when we pass and grown men tremble.
“We’re done.”
My eyes fly open. Someone presses a bottle of vodka to my lips. I drink as if I’m dying of thirst. It helps a little.
I sit up straighter. Every cell in my body seems concentrated on my back, the pain carved into my flesh, throbbing, unrelenting. I grip the neck of the bottle and take another swig.
Vadka lists off instructions for healing the brand. I only half hear him.
I spilled my blood and took an oath. Let them brand me. I did what had to be done.
Now, she’s the next step. My offering. My proof of loyalty.
My obsession.
I grit my teeth and think of her.
The runaway. The traitor. My ghost.
The one who ran away from my pakhan but made a fool out of all of us. Rafail has moved on. Thanks to my brother’s folly, Rafail married a woman he thought was Anissa while Anissa ran.
Unpunished.
She’s mine. I’m going to own her. Every inch, every breath, every scream. She doesn’t know it yet, but she already belongs to me.
I can already imagine her gasping beneath me, marked by me. I want to fill her, breed her, make her mine in ways no one can ever undo.
Rafail stands in front of me, feet planted on either side, his arms crossed. He’s dressed in a suit, still wearing his jacket as always.
“I’ll let you know when we have our meeting, Matvei,” Rafail says.
Though Rafail is happily married, Bratva men don’t forget betrayal. Rafail has not forgotten. He knows exactly why the specific date matters. I meet his eyes and nod. “I’ll wait.”
The others look on curiously, but it isn’t time yet to tell them why the dates matter. And Rafail doesn’t give a shit who knows what; he’ll tell them when he’s good and ready.
Even as I’m breathing through my nose, my body throbbing in pain, pride surges in my chest. Ink marks the sign of the Bratva, but branding means something entirely different. And Rafail trusts me.
London.
Perfect. My cousin Semyon has orchestrated a proposal, a coalition of the most powerful crime syndicates in the world, seeking asylum. They all assemble in London. Keenan McCarthy’s Clan from Ireland, now headed by his son. The Rossis from Boston’s Italian mob. The Yakuza and the Cartel. We sought the most dangerous, the most powerful.
Our family represents the Bratva.
The Irish would be there, of course. The McCarthy clan didn’t miss an opportunity like this. But it wasn’t Keenan who bothered me but his fucking rabid dog, O’Rourke. Rumor had it he kept Anissa close. And I don’t fucking like that.
“And from London, you’re heading to Dublin?” Rafail asks in my ear.
I nod.
Now I know why Rafail chose today for my branding. Word will be released that I’ve taken the ultimate step of allegiance. My tats tell a story, but the brand means absolute loyalty, proof that I’ve bled and suffered. Penitence for the crimes my brother committed. A chance to be reborn into Bratva leadership.
Breaking the Vorovskoy Mir is a death sentence. Brutal, slow, and inescapable.
Anissa thought she was clever, sneaking under the radar and flitting from one place to another, changing her identity. But it doesn’t matter if she took an oath or not—she was promised to my Bratva. She ran, and now I’m going to teach her exactly what happens to runaway brides.
She’s not just a target or distraction, a pretty little plaything to take the family name. No. She’s a fucking craving under my skin. I’ll chase her to the ends of the earth if I have to.
She never swore an oath, but she ran from a promise. From my family.
That makes her my responsibility, my obsession. My fucking craving. She’s not just a runaway bride—she’s the girl who made me invisible, and I’m going to burn my name into her skin like this brand is seared into mine.
She doesn’t get to run from us twice.
Everyone but Rafail leaves while I catch my breath. I try to play a mental game to move beyond the pain, but I can’t. So I sit with it and let it consume me.
He holds my gaze. Sometimes, I see my cousin. The guy I grew up with, older, who practically raised me when my parents weren’t around. Other times, I see my pakhan. The ruthless king of the Russian underworld.
My pakhan stands in front of me now.
“I want to give her to you, Matvei,” he says calmly, but the chill in his tone is unmistakable. “You’ve earned her. But make no mistake. If you can’t bring her in alive and under your control… she will be eliminated. If not from us, she’s one of Interpol’s biggest targets.”