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There’s a murmur of agreement.
I sit beside him, growing more and more agitated. Impatient. I came for fucking answers, not a late-night story time get together.
“The Levitskys were once on good terms with the Antonovs,” someone points out.
My ears perk up. “The fuck did you say? We don’t know them.”
“TheoldAntonovs. When things were still run by Konstantin.”
I glance at my brother. The mere mention of my uncle’s name sends a chill down my spine. Before Mikhail and I took charge, the Antonovs were probably the most violent, bloodthirsty, and vicious Bratva to ever curse the streets of Moscow. We prefer to run things more diplomatically. Why waste bullets when you can cause even more damage with some well-timed words and, if necessary, plenty of blackmail?
“What a shame nobody knows where Konstantin’s been locked up,” Igor Rachman says with a chuckle. “Imagine all the information he could provide.”
My guts tie themselves up in knots. My palms are clammy. “We’renottalking to that psychopath.”
Unfortunately, my brother has that determined look in his eye—the one that always ends up getting us into a world of trouble. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Misha, don’t. We have him locked up for good reason.”
“We have no other choice. If he has valuable intel, then we need to do everything we can to make him give it up.”
I want to argue more, but there’s a room full of other anxious, trigger happy Bratva I’d rather not have breathing down my neck right now. Besides, I know my big brother. Once he sets his mind to something, there’s no talking him out of it. While I admire his conviction, sometimes I hate his bullheadedness.
“I’ll arrange a meeting with him and call you when everything is ready,” he tells me before turning to the rest of the room. “We’ll keep you informed. Until then, stay vigilant and sleep with your piece at your bedsides.”
* * *
I get home a lot later than I was expecting. The house is silent, dark, and still. It’s spotless and tidy thanks to Dahlia’s hard work with the upkeep, and it sounds like Father and Simon are down for the night. I’m tempted to check in on Natalya, but it’s almost two in the morning and I’m sure she’s had a very long day. I quietly climb the stairs and head to my office, tugging off my tie with a groan.
Levitsky. Konstantin. The car bomb, the drive-by shooting, and the attacks experienced by the other Bratva. I knew I was right to worry about an impending war, I just can’t say for certain withwhom? Something big is going on in the shadows, some devious plot at play—and Ireallyhate being caught up in it.
My phone buzzes with a text from my little brother, Luka.
Holy shit I’m in. Give me the date of the car bombing, and the general time of the shooting.
I give him the information and ask him how long it will take.
Hold your horses. I’ve got thousands of cameras to sort through, plus hours of footage. I’ll work as fast as I can and report back.
I lean back in my chair and sigh, rubbing my eyes. I really should see a doctor about these migraines. They used to happen rarely, but ever since I’ve become Mikhail’s right-hand man, they’ve been a constant annoyance. Maybe the stress of the job is finally getting to me.
“Dimitri?” a soft voice floats into my ear.
I look up and find Natalya at my door, poking her head inside timidly. Just the sight of her face makes me feel instantly lighter, all my problems suddenly melting away.
“What are you still doing up?” I ask, standing to greet her.
She enters and closes the door behind her, nibbling on her bottom lip. She’s dressed in an oversized white t-shirt and a pair of light blue jogger shorts, her long blonde hair spilling over her shoulders like streams of white gold. My eyes are instantly drawn to her long, smooth legs, the marks I left on her thighs contrasting sharply against her pale skin.
I’m not going to lie. I’mverysmug about them.
“Did you stay up waiting for me?” I ask, flattered.
She shrugs. “Maybe. I guess I wanted to take you up on your offer, after all. To pick up where we left off.”
I chuckle darkly, my cock already hardening at the thought of bending her over my desk. She was such a sight to behold last night, with her messy hair, flushed skin, and languid moans. I crave so much more. I want to fuck her every way imaginable, watch her come undone, and now—thanks to my soundproof office—I plan on making her scream every dirty thing under the sun.
“Come here,” I order. “Are you going to be good tonight? Or am I going to have to give you a spanking?”
