Chapter 16

"If we can get Nikolai to back off," Dimitri says as we drive toward the city, "maybe we can return to normal."

I almost laugh savagely. There's no going back for me, no remembering who I was before my Mila came along. For the rest of my life, I will always be her man, her protector. Hell, even if she has to marry Dimitri, I'll be there, watching, loving, taking care of her.

However, I don't want Dimitri to guess what's going on. It's simply another complication we could do without. "Is there going to be a normal for you after this?" I say, taking off my glasses and glancing at him.

Classic Dimitri stares stubbornly ahead. He doesn't want to look at me because it'll mean giving the truth away. Sometimes, my big brother likes that I can read him when nobody else can. Other times, I can tell he hates and resents it.

"Is it that obvious?"

"She's changed you, brother."

"It's been a week, less than."

That almost makes me howl with laughter because he's right. It should be impossible. It should be laughable that a man like Dimitri Sokolov could change so much so fast. He doesn't realize how many signals he's sending out, the ease with which he smiles, the new emotion in his usually serious eyes.

"She's changed you," I say gruffly. "Are you saying I'm wrong?" I go on, trying not to think about the meeting we're about to have with Nikolai, my woman's dad, who laid his hands on her. Sleep seems a long, long way off. I'm not even tired anymore.

Finally, Dimitri says, "I don't know what she's done or how she's done it. I don't know what's happening. Our father died. I saw it. Then there was my woman, and it's been spinning out of control so fast. I need time to think."

I've never heard him like this before. It stirs the little brother in me. I never thought Dimitri would be truly happy. As the heir, how could he be? He had to keep up his Bratva duties, or our father would turn the city into a trafficking hellhole.

"You don't need to think. I can see it. You're different."

"Why do you care so much?" he says gruffly. "Last time I checked, neither of us has ever had a love life."

"Maybe one of us can finally be happy."

"You always said marriage was pointless. You said making somebody a Sokolov would be the worst thing you could do."

I try to mask my rage with a smirk. It bubbles up in me, the fury, like a deep primordial instinct. Maybe I thought that once upon a time. I believed it would ruin everything. That was before a beautiful, fierce, shy, talented woman entered my world and changed everything forever.

"That's why I love you so much, brother," I tell him. "You always remember every little thing."

As Dimitri and I walk through the hotel lobby, I realize I've made a mistake coming here. The closer we get to the private meeting room with Nikolai, the more I think about standing in that cave that felt like a different universe earlier this morning. This man hit my woman. That means he belongs in the dirt. Yet if I were to do what I wanted, end his rat life, his men might revolt, which would mean a war and more death. I need to be smart about this.

We walk into a private poker room, Nikolai sitting at the poker table. Sweat pours all over him as he clumsily tosses a chip around, trying to be impressive. He smirks, and I think about tearing his eyes from his skull. He hit my goddamned woman.

"I like this place," Nikolai calls over.

Suddenly, I'm rushing across the room. I've leaped onto the poker table and kicked him in the face. He's fallen backward. Then I jump down, land on him, and go feral. I go berserk. He hit his daughter, and that's on top of everything else: the trafficking and the abuse of innocent people. My chest is rising and falling hard as I stand here, my mind vividly playing the beat-the-crap-out-of-him scene over and over.

I need to remember the Bratva and my duty. I need to be smart.

"We're glad to have you," Dimitri says. "Are you …"

"Alone? I know. It's sad, but I thought my men might enjoy the casino more."

"Your men are out there now?"

"Yes, is that a problem?"

It would be so satisfying to wipe that self-satisfied grin off his face. He knows full well that having the Petrov Bratva here, causing issues, could bring heat onto the legitimate side of the business. My mind flashes to Mila, screaming as this bully swipes his hand and …

Myhand strays toward my weapon. It takes all my self-restraint not to empty a clip into him soon.

"Of course not," Dimitri says, trying to sound casual, but I can hear how pissed he is.

I have to do something fast. Yeah, kill him. Make it painful. My head is pounding like there's a drum in there, beating aggressively, telling me I have to do this, have to end him. Now, now, now …

Lowering my voice, I tell my brother, "I'll head out to the casino and make sure they're not causing a fuss. The last thing we need is your name linked with theirs."

"Good thinking."

I quickly leave the room, opening and closing my hands as tension scorches through me. I'm fighting every instinct I possess as I walk back down the hallway and enter the casino's main room. People glance at me as I walk by. I'm not the CEO of Sokolov Securities, so I'm not as well-known as Dimitri, but I'm still a Sokolov.

Oleg, Nikolai's second-in-command, sits in the bar area with his back to the wall, watching the casino. A cheer comes from a blackjack table. I don't have to look over to know they're Nikolai's men. They're being obnoxiously loud.

Oleg is a large man, which is more evident when he slowly stands at my approach. In contrast to his boss, Oleg is respectful and offers his hand. "Mikhail," he says. "How long has it been?"

"A few years since the last shindig," I say, finding it difficult to speak when all I can think about is hurting his boss in the most gruesome, messed-up ways.

"Would you like a drink?"

"Sure," I say.

He pours me a glass of whiskey. I'm not much drinker, but I need to speak with Oleg seriously. If keeping the drinks flowing helps with that, I'll take it.

"My condolences, Mikhail," he says after a pause, offering me the glass.

I take it. "Thank you, but my old man deserved much worse than he got."

I knock the drink back, then carefully place it down. There's so much restlessness in me. I'm worried I will squeeze it too hard and shatter it.

"Some people might find that concerning," Oleg says carefully, then takes a sip of his drink.

"I know," I reply. "Some people might also think it's a petty, pathetic power move to bring your men in here and have them obviously and publicly make their presence known. It's almost like you want people to connect the Sokolovs and the Petrovs."

"Mikhail, friend," Oleg says in his accented voice. "The entire world is going to know very soon. When Dimitri and Mila marry …"

I grit my teeth, saying nothing. Under the table, my hand opens and closes again as the tension works through me. Ugly images of my brother in his suit, Mila in a beautiful dress, the two holding hands and saying I do, twist my mind into a thousand ugly pieces.

"How's the boy doing? Dr—" I stop before I say Drake. "Anatoly?"

I can feel Oleg looking at me. Out of the corner of my eye—or maybe it's just a sense—he's searching me for a sign of something. "That's a curious question coming from you."

He hits his daughter. He beats her—my Mila. My head is pulsing with the need to do something drastic.

"He's doing well, as far as I know," Oleg says. "A good, hearty, healthy boy."

Oleg pours two more drinks. I move my finger around the rim of the glass. The whiskey has loosened me up a little, making me think of going back to the meeting room and grabbing Nikolai by the throat, crushing his weak frame in my hand, and making him sorry he ever dreamed of hurting Mila.

"Is there a reason you're not in there with them?" Oleg asks.

"I could ask you the same question."

Oleg flinches as I turn to him. The big man's eyes flare with anger, and right now, I see it—the resentment he holds, but I have to be careful not to overstep. Any talk of betrayal in the Bratva world can mean death.

"Why else?" he finally snaps. "Nikolai ordered us to."

"He ordered you," I say in disgust, shaking my head. "How did he do that, Oleg? By what right? How did a small, snively, weasel of a man like Nikolai force you out here?"

Oleg sits up with his Bratva instinct. I hold his gaze and don't let him see the adrenaline pumping through me. After the torture, the sleeplessness, and the closeness with my woman, I feel raw and on edge in a way I never have before. It's like everything could fall apart at any moment.

No, that's not right. It's like I could rip it apart. Our whole world. The peace we've managed to keep.

"Those are brave words," Oleg says quietly.

"Maybe," I reply. "Or maybe Nikolai is a man whose power came from my father's backing. Maybe your men find it difficult to be inspired by a man like that. Maybe you've been thinking, Oleg?—"

"I haven't been thinking anything," he says quickly, not wanting to seem like a traitor.

He's going to be reluctant to agree with anything I say, but I can tell, just from looking at him, that I'm right. It's not like it takes any insane level of insight anyway. Nikolai is a worm, and Oleg is a big, strong, self-assured man. How could he respect him?

"Nikolai always had my father's backing. The Sokolovs are more powerful than the Petrovs. That's not an insult, just a fact."

Oleg inclines his head, but he's watching the casino as though he doesn't want to meet my eye. I need to make him understand. I need to rewrite the code of our life so that I can get my hands on Nikolai without ruining everything. That means taking a risk. Oleg doesn't want to be honest with me because he can tell I'm not being honest with him.

"Mila is never marrying my brother," I say.

Oleg turns to me sharply. "I did not hear that, Mikhail."

"Yes, you did," I growl, leaning close and looking him in the eye, letting him see how deadly serious I am. "She's not marrying my brother … because she's my woman."

Oleg massages his forehead. "Mikhail, I cannot hear this."

"You can. You will." My tone gets low and dark and murderous—the tone of a man ready to do what it takes for his woman. "Mila doesn't belong to her father. She doesn't belong to my brother. She belongs to me. She's told me what her father did to her. I can't let that stand."

"You're talking about war."

"No, I'm talking about sacrifice."

Even Oleg flinches away from me. I can feel the dark side of me trying to push through, the person trained in the ways of this life, the coldness, the rage, the ruthless violence.

"My father's time is past. Nikolai has no backing. He has no right to pretend to be in charge when I know, for a fact, you don't respect him. His men don't respect him. You don't have to be afraid, Oleg."

"That is a very foolish thing to say," he replies. "In this life, fear is the only way we survive."

"Then you should fear what'll happen if Nikolai stays in charge," I growl. "I won't stand by and let him hurt his son and torture his daughter by holding her brother prisoner. One way or another, I'm taking that bastard out, Oleg. The only question is, are you with me or against me?"

"I have heard nothing," he replies.

"You will hear it, goddamn you," I growl. "It's this … or war."

Oleg takes another sip of his whiskey.

"We both know you would've walked away the second I started talking if you were going to say no. Cut the crap."

Oleg pauses, then says, "How would it work?"

"You'll become the new leader. I'll take care of Nikolai. Life goes on but better than before. No more trafficking."

"I've never enjoyed that business," Oleg says, sighing.

"Would your men follow you?" I ask. "Be honest … with yourself and me."

"The men are keen for an official alliance between the Petrovs and the Sokolovs. You're right. The Sokolovs are richer and more powerful. Legitimate business has many avenues we cannot explore. Many defenses. Many benefits. If Mila and Dimitry were to marry still, then yes, the men would support me."

"You said an official alliance," I tell him, "between Petrov and Sokolov. Last time I checked, I had the same last name as my brother."

"That could work," he replies, "but officially, Mikhail, this conversation never happened."

"However, if the time came, and the chance was presented to you, would you stand with a woman-beating, child-abusing, sex-trafficking sadist or the richest Bratva in America?"

Oleg allows himself a rare smile. "When you phrase it like that, it seems obvious."

"Be ready," I tell him.

"There has to be a marriage—Sokolov and Petrov. I empathize with your feelings. We all have feelings, even me, but the marriage has to come before feelings."

My mind burns with images of the future, with my woman looking up at me, our hands intertwined, the future beckoning to us. Nobody is ever going to hurt her again.

"Give me your word that you'll be ready," I tell him.

Oleg takes another drink, reaches into his pocket, and takes out a small blade. Holding eye contact with me, he keeps his hand out of sight as he makes a short cut in his palm, not flinching. "I swear by blood, Mikhail. I'll be ready."

This is serious business. It means he'll never be able to live with himself if he goes back on this. It'll violate his sense of honor, which he has, unlike his boss.

"You be ready, too," Oleg says, "because I will make it clear to Dimitri that a marriage is required."

When a table crashes across the room, both Oleg and I jump to our feet. Our hands go to our guns, driven by the same instinct as we prepare for something to happen. It's just his men causing a ruckus. Somebody yells, "You're counting the cards, motherfucker!"

Oleg sighs, then shouts across the room in Russian, "You will be counting down the seconds until your death if you continue with this juvenile silliness."

As the men immediately stop arguing and a couple of them set the table upright, I know I've made the right choice. I know that if Nikolai were to give this order, it would take a lot longer for anything to happen.

"We'll speak soon," I tell Oleg in Russian, then head back to the meeting room.

I've got every right to go inside, of course, but I don't trust myself to go in there and not completely wreck that prick. I have to be patient. Then I'll be able to make him pay for every single time he dared to touch her, make her feel small, or trick her into believing she's anything other than what she is—perfect.

Finally, my brother emerges. When I see it's just him, Denis, and another of our men, I approach him, lowering my voice. The men stand at a respectful distance.

"I just had a fascinating conversation."

"Oh yeah? With who?"

"Oleg Novik."

"Nikolai's second-in-command?" Dimitri says, sounding intensely interested. "What did he have to say for himself?"

"There's trouble in paradise, brother," I reply, "which means there's a way out of this that might not mean war. It'll mean you can be with your lady, and …" Yet even now, I don't want to tell him. I don't want to make it real until I know one hundred percent that Mila won't have to marry my brother. "… go back to normal."

Dimitri nods. "Nikolai wants to come to the pledge."

The pledge is the official swearing-in of my brother as Pakhan of the Sokolov Bratva. Denis requested it, but all of the men want it to happen. They've most likely resented our father for years, and now that he's gone, they want to make sure their real leader is official.

"That might be the place," I tell him.

"A party," Dimitri muses, nodding.

The door opens before he can say anything else, and Nikolai appears. He seems weak as he walks into the hallway, the four of us against him. He does a weird shuffle as he walks by us. "Out here conspiring, are you?"

Dimitri laughs because he can laugh. I turn away and hurry down the hallway.

"What's wrong with him?" I hear Nikolai say.

"He's ill," Dimitri replies, and it's not even a lie.

I feel sick down to my stomach every time I think of what he did to her. It's like it brings out the two sides of me with more fierceness than anything else ever could. I want to hold her gently, let her feel the protectiveness wrapping around her like armor, all the while wanting to turn full devil and take her father to hell.