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Everywhere I look, intoxicated people laugh and have a good time in the crush of bodies. I’m out of place in my own den of pleasure—this isn’t what I want anymore.
Part of me wants to drive home at top speed to Paige, but another part of me is determined to stay. Am I trying to prove something to myself? Or to her?
I keep my gaze forward as Dmitri eyes a woman who touches my hand, trying to get my attention. Dmitri swiftly pulls her out of the way, and grinning, shakes his head no. She stumbles away, shrugging the rejection off, and searches for someone else who is willing. I ignore it all as I think about Paige, but I won’t leave. Being seen out and enjoying life is the best way to show my enemies that I’m still invincible.
The moment I knew I was in love with Paige, she changed the rules. I’m dazed by the quickness with which her mind changed about me. She wanted to be with me until she took a closer look at my life and remembered the truth.
I don’t fit her image of the perfect man. I’m not the Prince Charming with the spotless reputation that Paige wants. I’m the black knight who saved her but keeps putting her in danger. I regret not telling Paige about her thieving father from the start and instead keeping her in the dark. But if I had, she would’ve resented me, and then hated me when she found out I was telling the truth.
She would never have forgiven me for revealing that her beloved father is a more unfeeling criminal than me.
“Andrei Vasilyevich, you are back.” Clyde, the club manager, hustles over to our private booth in the corner. “And Dmitri, my friend, how nice to see you.”
Clyde’s shoes squeak against the polished floors as we settle in. His dyed black hair is slicked over his bald patch, and he wears an olive blazer with damp sweat rings under his arms.
“Vodka,” Dmitri tells Clyde. “The good stuff, or I’ll shoot you.”
The man laughs at Dmitri’s joke, though he would’ve peed himself if I said it. My aloof manner does not demonstrate that I actually like Clyde. People that openly show their emotions interest me, and I don’t mind being feared except by her.
I sense another woman approaching. A different type of woman than Paige, the kind I used to chase after and forget the next morning. The scent of her perfume fills my nostrils. Once upon a time, it would have excited me. Not anymore.
I watch from the corner of my eye as she confidently sashays closer. I sense her body heat near my chair and then the gentle touch of her hand on my shoulder.
I’m about to be an asshole.
She leans in and softly brushes her lips against my ear. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back, my dear Andrei,” she whispers in a sultry voice.
Her name is Fatima, and she is stunning in a slinky cobalt gown that hugs her curves like a glove. Her blonde hair cascades down in waves, covering the dip in her deep cleavage, and her glossy lips curve into a seductive, tempting smile. She is one of the few females permitted to decide who she associates with at the club.
She cannot be approached for an encounter without men obtaining her consent first. I take her hand off my shoulder.
I motion to Viktor, and the young man leans forward to listen. “Take her,” I command, gesturing toward Fatima. “As your reward.”
Fatima stiffens, and her posture immediately reflects my cold betrayal. Her expression is a mix of outrage and disbelief. She’s too classy to dump a drink over my head.
The young man flinches and tries to speak, but I cut him off before he can even form words. “Do as I say,” I hiss through gritted teeth.
Viktor shifts in his seat and clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. Dimitri stares back at him, wondering why he’s taking so long. Viktor stammers, “I can’t,” his voice thick with emotion. “I have feelings for someone else.”
My face twists in anger, and the waiter hurriedly leaves his tray with our vodka and glasses on the table and flees.
I’m not to be refused, let alone for something as foolish as this.
Emma is thesomeone, and he can’t have her. I offer this boy a goddess, and he offends Fatima worse than I have by pining over a silly girl. Emma will marry a Bratva prince, not an underling with barely any chest hair.
I steady my breath, trying to contain my anger. “Viktor, you know the rules.” My voice is low and menacing as I recite the Bratva oath. “You care for no one but the Bratva, and you shall love none other than the Bratva. Don’t insult my friend further. That is my command.”
Viktor refuses to look at me. His gaze darts around the room, hoping for an escape. His ridiculous angst infuriates me, and I slowly rise to my feet. With one swift movement, I bring the back of my hand across the younger man’s face, delivering a sharp blow. The sound of flesh against flesh rings out and draws attention from the tables around us.
An angry red handprint slowly spreads on his pale cheek. It brings back shameful memories of when I was a teenager, desperately trying to hide my father’s abuse from my peers. I’d splash ice water on my face to conceal the fresh marks and not return to the house for hours.
Vasily taught me that violence is the way to get what you want from anyone. And here I am, using the same vicious tactics on Viktor. I’m not supposed to be my father, but this boy brings it out of me.
Thankfully, Dimitri swiftly steps between us, placing a hand on my shoulder in warning. “Spokoino,Andrei Vasilyevich,” he says sternly. “Don’t forget why we are here.”
My chest heaves as I step back, trying to rein in my temper and failing. I look directly at Viktor. “If you want to be initiated,” I say threateningly, “You will do as I command. Forget the girl and go fuck the whore. But first, tell me, whom do you choose—the Bratva or Emma?”
Viktor’s gaze drops as he hesitates for a few moments before speaking. “Emma is your wife’s sister,” he says quietly.
