Page 2 of Ivory Ashes

But if Trofim gets his way, the bloodshed portion of the event is going to start tonight.

Trofim laughs. The sharp, grating sound skitters down my spine. I flinch away from him, but he fists his hand in the back of my robe again. The sleeves are halfway down my arms now. I’m one gentle tug away from standing here in nothing but my silk and lace nightie. And Trofim is anything but gentle.

“What’s hers is mine,” he sneers.

“Not until tomorrow,” the deep voice barks again. “And not ever, unless you let her go. Now.”

“Or what?” Trofim challenges.

He’s the son of a pakhan. Unless it’s his father standing in front of us—which I know it isn’t, since the elder Novikov is just as bad as Trofim—there’s nothing anyone can say to scare Trofim. He always has the upper hand. And the backhand, as my poor cheek can attest.

There’s a brief pause. “Or I’ll have no choice but to kill you, brother.”

Brother?

Before I can stop myself, I look up.

Trofim has two brothers, and if you’d asked me three seconds ago, I would have put all of my money on it being Anatoly in the doorway. The man is a golden retriever in human form. If anyone would have a soft spot for a battered woman, it would be him.

But it’s not Anatoly in the doorway.

It’s the brooding, mysterious, never-met-a-smile-he-wanted-to-try-on youngest brother standing in the doorway.

It’s Mikhail Novikov.

Mikhail hasn’t so much as glanced in my direction since I first saw him at mine and Trofim’s engagement party, and now, he’s standing here. In my bridal suite. Threatening to murder his own blood brother to save me.

What in the ever-loving fuck is going on?

“You’d kill me over her?” Trofim shoves me forward, but his hand is still fisted in my robe, so the material slides off my arms and I flop onto the floor between the brothers like a dead fish. A dead fish in very tiny, very revealing pajamas.

I glance up at Mikhail Novikov from my knees. He’s staring down at me, face as unreadable as ever. It’s the same blank expression he gave me the first day we met.

It was my engagement party. As the bride-to-be, I was the reluctant star of the show. Terrible as my groom was, I’m a Sagittarius through and through. I love a good party and the Novikovs throw great parties. Incredible parties, truthfully. Ice sculptures, champagne fountains, and canapés abounded.

With a smoked salmon cracker in one hand and three flutes worth of champagne fizzing in my veins, I marched up to Mikhail in the corner and hit him with my most dazzling smile.

Hello there. I’m Viviana, your new sister. Pause for polite laughter.

But… crickets.

Mikhail didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. He didn’t even bother giving me a disapproving once-over. No, he simply took a sip of his drink… and walked away.

Like I was nothing. No one.

Like I didn’t matter.

Now, I’m sprawled half-naked on the floor in front of him—while he is trying to save me from his abusive older brother, no less—and I still get absolutely nothing from him.

Mikhail sighs and meets his brother’s eyes. “I’d kill you for almost anyone, Trofim. Fucking give me a reason.”

I start to lift myself up. Maybe I can slink away while the brothers duke it out. But Trofim’s foot lands in the middle of my back. He presses me down to the floor, stealing the air from my lungs.

Mikhail takes a half-step towards us, but he stops. I can’t see his face from my new vantage point literally under Trofim’s heel, but his voice shakes with rage when he says, “Final warning.”

Trofim laughs. “I gave you a reason the moment I was born, little brother. Do you think marrying Giordano’s daughter will secure you the Bratva? I’ll inherit the title of pakhan whether I marry this bitch or not.”

“This isn’t about her,” Mikhail snarls. “This is about you. You’re unfit.”

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