Page 6 of Rule of Three

But not like this.

Not like a man who wants to devour me whole.

I shimmy the last bit of fabric over my hips with a delicate sigh. When I look back up at Ezra, he’s thrown on a black muscle tee and pants that match mine.

It’s not meant to be cute that we’re matching, but it is anyway.

“Favorite pants, huh?” I tease. He must be one of those guys with multiple pairs of his favorite outfits.

With the way those pants hug his ass, I can’t say I mind.

Now that we’re both clothed, some of the tension in his shoulders relaxes. He rolls his neck, cracking the joints loudly.

I straighten my spine and pin him under my gaze. Despite the rocky start, I’m here on business. I need to see my father. I make a point to clear my throat. “Ezra. I need to see—” The words my father turn to ash in my mouth. Familial ties don’t mean as much as rank to the Bratva, so I know a better word to use than father. “—your pakhan.” Lifting my chin, I meet Ezra’s onyx eyes. “Take me to him.”

Ezra’s jaw clenches. I imagine he’s weighing all his options for what to do with me. It’s unorthodox to interrupt a pakhan’s schedule without warning—in fact, I’m sure men have died for it.

With how angry my father undoubtedly is after my sudden departure, I might not survive the encounter, either.

I really should have brought backup.

“You want to see the pakhan,” Ezra repeats, his eyes narrowing. “Why?”

“That’s— that’s none of your business.” Some of my bravado fades, but I keep my head held high. In truth, seeing my father makes me nervous. I’m not expecting him to give me any answers willingly. I’ll probably have to trade him something of equal value to get what I want.

A shiver runs down my spine. All I have is my name, my body, and my bloodline.

Three things that I should own. But that’s not how life works when you’re a mafia princess — you’re rarely in charge of your own life. Someone else claims it for themselves, turns you into a marionette, and pulls your strings however they please.

It’s the life I thought I was destined for.

I clench my fists by my sides. But that won’t be the life I accept anymore. “I need to see him. It’s the only reason I came back.”

Ezra’s scowl deepens. After a long moment, he gestures towards the exit. “Then go find your pakhan.”

I swallow hard. The thought of facing my father alone. . . Icy dread snakes through my veins. The last thing I want is to be alone in a room with him. “Take me to him,” I order Ezra, lifting my chin. I resist the urge to say please, but only just.

We stare at each other as the seconds tick by. Finally, he moves to the door and holds it open, his face an impassive mask as he slips back into the role of protector.

I roll my shoulders back as I step past him. At least some things haven’t changed?—

A hand on my wrist yanks me back into the room, and all of a sudden I’m tossed face-first onto the bed. Before I can react, Ezra presses the full weight of his body over mine and wrenches both my hands behind my back, cinching them together tightly.

“Ezra!”

“Quiet.”

“What are you?—”

He snarls in my ear, and a shudder wracks my entire body.

Fuck me.

“You do not get to call shots.” Coarse rope wraps around my wrists, tying them in place at my back, Ezra’s breath hot across my neck. His scent envelops me from all sides, hinting of metal and smoke and danger.

After five years away from the blood and ruin of the Bratva, I forgot what that tasted like.

“You do not get to do anything.”

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