Page 10 of The Lazarov Bratva

“Oh, absolutely.” Mikhail scoffs as if it’s the most obvious answer. “I’m sure you wouldn’t understand, being one of the women and all, but when it comes to things like business, there’s a certain business savvy that can’t be taught. You either have it or you don’t. My father had it, but times have changed. We want the best weapons that are on offer to protect our own Family and to sell on to those that need them, but the weapons coming from the East are no longer top-quality.”

It’s too easy to simply nod and make noises in my throat as Mikhail continues, rambling about his father’s poor decisions and the importance of letting the younger generation take the reins when securing the future.

I’m slightly envious of how freely he speaks. My future is simply securing a husband and strengthening an alliance.

It’s difficult not to roll my eyes, and as my gaze wanders through the party, past crowds of tipsy people, glittering decorations, and the intricate artwork decorating the walls, one thing suddenly catches my attention.

Kristof.

He has returned from the garden with my father by his side. My heart immediately leaps into my throat. He’s so fucking handsome.

With thick, silver hair sweeping across the top of his head, tanned skin, and a jaw strong enough to be any lady’s seat, just the sight of him sends a flurry of warmth through my body right down to my core. The sleeves of his jacket are rolled up, exposing the dark ink that swirls across his forearms, and once again, I wistfully imagine how many more tattoos exist under that jacket. He’s so tall that I know he’d dwarf me, and I would enjoy every second of it.

The strength he must carry in those muscles excites me.

But it’s just a crush. The thought of kissing him morphs into the almost animalistic way he kissed his date, and with that memory comes a sourness that sweeps across my tongue and churns in my gut. By his present, he clearly still sees me as a child.

Maybe that’s the problem.

Suddenly, his silver eyes, like glistening pools of moonlight, snap up and lock onto mine from across the room as if he heard my very thoughts. I can’t breathe under his gaze and warmth prickles across my chest, lancing down my spine. Carefully, I lick my lips, chasing away their sudden dryness, and under Kristof’s full view, I slowly turn to Mikhail and take his hand.

Mikhail’s rant tapers off and his brow lifts, then a knowing smirk grows across his lips.

“Do you want to go somewhere more private?” I ask, angling my body toward him and leaning close enough that my next breath has my breasts lightly grazing his arm.

“You know a place?”

“I have a secret spot. Follow me.” Stepping back, I glance back at Kristof, and he’s still staring at me, only there’s a slight darkness to his eyes now.

A darkness that excites me further.

I want him to look at me. I want him to see me leading Mikhail away from the party. I want him to feel even a fraction of the jealousy that coursed through me when he kissed that woman.

Maybe then, he won’t see me as a little girl anymore.

I get my wish as Kristof’s eyes remain locked on me until Mikhail and I slip away.

6

KRISTOF

“I trust there is a good reason you turned up to my home covered in blood?” Aleksander stubs out his cigar on the wooden beam next to where he’s leaning, adding another scorch mark to the collection of smudges decorating the paint.

“I was in a rush.” It’s the honest answer. “Didn’t want to miss this. Last night was a lot of killing and a lot of drinking.”

“The Petrovs?” Aleksander raises a brow. “Are they still a concern?”

“No.”

We fall into step together, lazily walking back to the house that’s lit up like a Christmas tree. “Adam Petrov turned up to the deal just like I suspected. He definitely didn’t expect to see me there and was pretty quick in surrounding me. Thinking he had the upper hand, he spilled all the information we already knew. He’s been whittling away at the West Coast even before we lost the docks. Claimed that we were so far from there that we didn’t put enough care into the defense of the area, and he was tired of spilling his own blood for us.”

“And the Irish?”

“I spoke to O’Neill. He confirmed that Petrov approached them with a deal, but he claims it all seemed above board, complete with your approval.” I flex my shoulders as memories of last night trickle back in through the alcohol fog in my mind. “He backed off when I told him Petrov skinned Brennan alive.”

“Skinning is not Petrov’s style.” Aleksander chuckles, sending me a glance.

“They don’t know that.”

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