Page 40 of Dark Prince


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KRISHNA

Something didn’t add up in more ways than one when Sasha went with me to pay Alexey Kozlov a visit last week. His earnings are down and have been trending south for the past fifteen months when casinos nationwide are booming. I’ve suspected for a while that he’s falsifying his reports, changing numbers, and pocketing the rest of the money in offshore accounts.

But I don’t have the proof I need yet, or the why. Some might think the why is irrelevant, but that is never the case. The why could come back to bite you in the dick. Always find out the why when someone is fucking you over.

I questioned him in a way that wouldn’t tip him off that we think he’s a thief. You don’t steal from or betray the Bratva and get away with your life intact. Mischa Nikolayev doesn’t run the brotherhood in the traditional way. In fact, it’s less of a brotherhood and similar to the family dynamics of the Italians. My sister wouldn’t believe that even if she heard it from my lips, but one day she will learn Dad isn’t the man she’s hell-bent on believing him to be.

That doesn’t mean he’s a good man; though he is the only man I will ever look up to or take orders from. He’s murdered his fair share of men the same as I have and will continue to do so when necessary.

I haven’t told my sister, but he’s due to arrive any minute now. Dimitri Sokolov’s presence at Kozlov’s residence was a red flag. Sasha didn’t tell me what he said to her, but I could tell by her stance that morning even with him blocking most of my view of her, that she was uncomfortable. No one makes Sasha Nikolayev freeze up, not even our father. To someone that doesn’t know every single one of her tells, you wouldn’t know she was afraid, but I did, and it took every bit of willpower I possess not to pull that trigger.

I don’t want to start a war with the Canadian Bratva, but if the wrong motherfucker dares to touch my sister, I’ll kill every last one in their brotherhood that decides to cross me. No one messes with my family and lives to tell about it.

Don’t confuse me with being overprotective. I’m not that guy. I don’t care who Sasha fucks or fucks over. She’s a grown-ass woman. She can pole dance for money for the rest of her life if she wants—provided it doesn’t interfere with her upcoming family duties. Her days of not being a part of the business are numbered. Little sister’s vacation days have run out. It’s time for her to put in the hours I had to.

Was I fucking pissed to find out she’s married to Lorenzo Caputo? Hell fucking yes. She kept information from me that she isn’t allowed to withhold. She and the pakhan have more in common than she realizes, which is probably why he allowed her to hold on to her dirty little secret for so long. There is no doubt in my mind that he’s known about their marriage from the day she said her vows. It’s another reason I’m angry over the situation. I’m his right hand, his second-in-command, his fucking security, the person he’s groomed my entire life to take his place one day, yet he kept her secret to himself. If he wasn’t the one man that can, and has, hurt my ass, I’d challenge him over that bullshit.

Do I care that she married outside of Russian tradition? Not even a little bit.

Do I fucking care that she married Ren? Not really.

Who am I to judge who she enjoys screwing when I’m obsessed with his goddamn brother’s dick? I was never into cock until Domenico. I still like pussy too, and I’d damn sure love to have both at the same time. The problem is we’d break a bitch, so that fantasy will likely never happen. I know my limits and Dom does as well. Together we can cast our demons out of our systems and into each other. I don’t have to hold back and neither does he. With women, I think everything through before I make the first move so that I don’t hurt them—not in the permanent way, at least.

I wasn’t filling Sienna’s head with bullshit a few months back when I told her the only reason I’d never fucked her is because it would start World War III. I meant that in more than one way. I really did think our fathers would have had an uproar, but I know for a fact Dom would have put a bullet between my eyes or tried. It’s up in the air who would come out on top between us. Might have been worth it to find out. I’m a sick bastard like that.

“You’re still here?” Sienna’s voice pulls me from my perverse thoughts. “Don’t you have a job back in New York or something?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at a funeral or something?” I rudely ask.

“It was yesterday. We took an early flight this morning.”

“We?” I narrow my eyes on her. She’s dressed in tight black pants, a red top that’s covered by the black leather jacket I’ve seen her wear often, and black heels. She’s fucking hot, but then the Caputos are the epitome of good genes. “Did Dom come back too?”

“Yeah, I did.” My eyes pop over her head to see him walking toward us. “You say that like it’s a problem that I’d return when I’m running the house you’re shacked up in.”

Yes, actually it is a problem, but I don’t tell him that or give him any indication there is. My expression is bored. I’ve perfected schooling my features to show my audience exactly what I want them to see and nothing more. Dad coming here unannounced won’t go over well, and I could inform him now, but where’s the fun in that?

“You want me gone, say so and I’m out.” I push off the outdoor patio bar I had my elbow resting against to stand toe to toe with Domenico. He isn’t short, but my six-six height makes my line of sight three inches higher than his. His nearly black eyes are forced to look up to meet mine, and he hates it. His jaw turning to stone right in front of me proves it. “But let’s get one thing clear. I walk out, Sasha comes with.”

“Over my dead fucking body,” Ren spouts off as he steps outside from the door off the living room. “My wife stays or goes wherever I go.”

“She works for me. She goes where I go. End of discussion,” I say to Dom, ignoring Lorenzo.

“She should have thought about that before she hijacked her way into my family.” Dom’s lips quirk like that’s supposed to deter me. “She also works for me, and that trumps you. Her ass stays put unless I say so.”

I look toward Sienna, who I know would love to get Sasha away from her brother. Not that I need her on my side. If I say Sasha comes with me, she will, even if that means I have to tote her unconscious, limp body to do so. I’m not above doing damn near anything to get what I want.

“As much as I want to back you on that, K, I have to abide by the laws that the bossy-boss throws down.” Domenico doesn’t look at his sister, instead extends his arm and flips her the middle finger right in her sexy made-up face. “Love you too, big brother.”

“All of you can go to Hell,” Sasha adds to the conversation as she steps out of the house and walks around Ren, before heading to the bar. Walking behind me, she steps to where the outside alcohol is kept and grabs a glass, filling it with ice. “Each of you should know me well enough to know that I only do what I want to do. If I want to leave, I’ll leave. If I want to stay, I’ll stay.” She laughs as she scoops ice into the whiskey glass, then pours at least three shots of Knob Creek’s nine-year, single-barrel reserve over the ice. “I don’t abide by anyone’s orders.”

“Yes,” a voice with a thick Russian accent says from behind Ren. “If anyone is well versed on that subject, it would be me, moya doch’,” my father says, calling Sasha his daughter in Russian, to which she rolls her eyes. She’s predictable when it comes to the pakhan.

Stepping around Ren, he repeats Sasha’s path of walking behind the bar where he proceeds to make himself the same whiskey my sister poured, the one I’ve been sipping on for the past fifteen minutes.

“There better be a good goddamn reason you’re here without my prior knowledge, Mischa,” Domenico demands, his eyes finally breaking from our stare down to speak to my father, my boss.

Sasha tosses the contents of her whiskey back, then sets the glass on the counter before walking from behind the bar where our father still is. She isn’t a shooter. In fact, she rarely drinks—something else she has in common with her husband’s twin sister. Funny how neither one of them see the resemblance in each other.

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