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He wanted the Pakhan’s seat.
I knew I was right. All my instincts told me my father’s Two Spies had combined forces to fight Maxim, and Maxim was currently winning, otherwise we wouldn’t be here. We’d be in Brighton Beach, the Bratva’s main seat of dominance in the city.
My hands furled into fists, but the lack of pain didn’t resonate with me. I didn’t need the pain from my battered palms to clear my mind. I had enough going on inside my body, but that didn’t detract from my resolve.
I was of no use to them.
It was Victoria.
They wanted her for the same reason Maxim did—to legitimize their claim in the eyes of the men.
To the New York Bratva, the Vasovs were nobles.
And the one way to take the throne?
To marry the princess.
I didn’t know much about Father’s business, but I knew that he, Abramovicz and Lukov were it. The leaders. Father hadn’t, but I knew his Two Spies had treated the rest of the foot soldiers as if they wereboyeviks,whether or not the man had a higher position. It was why they weren’t popular. I’d seen that through body language alone.
Lukov was already married, though, so he wasn’t a threat. If his wife wasn’t who she was—Abramovicz’s daughter from his second marriage—I knew he’d probably kill her too if it meant getting to Victoria. But while they were allied, his hands were tied, which meant Abramovicz was the one to worry about.
Vicky was only fifteen, but Abramovicz wouldn’t care about that. He’d keep her in his mansion, abusing her, tormenting her, holding her captive until she was of legal age to make her his bride.
The thought made me want to howl with outrage.
I would not,could not, allow that to happen.
Maybe it was stupid, maybe it was crazy, but I had to act. If I died, then so be it. I’d spent a lifetime trying to convince myself to live, but to protect her, to save her from that fate, I’d gladly sacrifice myself.
And maybe, if the luck of the Irish really was on my side, Brennan would show up in time to save me.
I turned to her, whispering, “Vicky?”
She peered at me, her brow furrowed. “Yeah?”
“No matter what, remember two things.” Her frown deepened. “Never forget that I love you—”
“Camille,” she rasped, her shoulders straightening in surprise.
“—anddon’t, whatever you do, look.”
Back in West Orange, Nyx had given me the nickname of ‘the Hoover’ because he said I was great at giving BJs… I had to pray that I could earn that rep now. That it would hold me in good stead.
Without waiting for her to reply, knowing this was it for me, I stormed forward, fists raised and I banged on the door, not stopping until I heard someone snarl something in mumbled Russian, before there were heavy footsteps and the distinct clicking of the lock.
I pulled back, knowing the door would open outwards, and I faced down Abramovicz who was sneering at me like he was already the king of the castle.
“Irish slut,” he snapped as a greeting. “You’re awake.”
The door closed behind him to keep us contained, just like I’d hoped, and a light switched on overhead. He was a fat fuck, as unfit as could be, so rushing him in an attempt to escape wasn’t impossible. It was his ego and the fact that he thought we were frightened of him that made him step inside at all.
More than that, it was me.
I knew how he looked at me, knew what he was thinking whenever his beady eyes dropped to my cleavage. I could be wearing a nun’s habit and he’d slobber all over me.
“I demand to know why you’re holding us here,” I bit out, straightening my shoulders, relieved when the predictability of this man followed through like night did day. His gaze dropped to my tits. Even though I wore a respectable neckline, my dress had a mid-calf hem and my breasts were covered fully, he still justhadto look.
“So eager to know your fate,” he practically purred. “You think we’d just believe the bullshit Lyanov spewed? Svetlana would have been a fool to have fucked around on Antoni—”
