Page 12 of Ivory Ashes

I never expected him to. Death is a cruel fact of our world. If you’re powerful enough to avoid it yourself, then you’ll live long enough to see everyone you care about die. One way or another, it takes everything from you.

“I didn’t even have to fight him,” I add. “He was too busy beating his fiancée to see me coming and too drunk to resist. I exiled him. With the promise to kill him if he ever returns.”

He arches a graying brow. “I’m surprised you didn’t kill him for hitting Viviana. You’ve always had a tender spot for that kind of thing.”

“You’re confusing me with Anatoly.”

My father snorts. “I wouldn’t insult you like that. It’s always been you and Trofim. Now… I suppose it’s just you.”

That’s what it takes to earn my father’s respect: don’t be born a bastard like Anatoly and don’t be overthrown like Trofim. Who knew a father’s love could be so fickle?

“You’re right. It is just me. Which is why you are going to begin the process of handing over power to me.”

“You think you’re ready.” It’s a statement, not a question. But I hear the doubt in his voice.

“I’m ready to take the Bratva to new heights. I’m ready to demand respect.”

“That’s what we’ve been doing for?—”

“Not with fucking pageantry and politics, but with strength. Raw power.”

He leans back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach. “How will you do that?”

If there was any chance my father could wrench power away from me and keep control, I wouldn’t say a word. But he knows it’s already over.

I’ve won.

“I’m going to consolidate the entire North American gunrunning market under our control.”

His cool mask cracks under his surprise. “How?”

“I’ll worry about how,” I snap. “The only thing you need to know is that I’m going to make our family richer than you ever have. If you keep things peaceful, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. If not…”

I don’t need to finish the rest. This is his best option. He knows it. I know it. The only alternative is that I kill him now.

So he nods. “Things will need to be arranged. Plans unmade. I assume I’m not going to a wedding this afternoon.”

“It’s been canceled,” I confirm.

He starts to unbutton his sleeves. “What happened to the girl, then? The bride?”

Does he even know her name? My father was ready to sign Viviana up for a lifetime of suffering with Trofim and he doesn’t even bother with her name.

The realization chafes, but I ignore it. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter.

“She’s dead.”

In every way that matters, Viviana is dead. That’s all my father needs to know.

“That’s just as well.” He sighs. “One less thing.”

Exactly.

One less thing.

“Is there a body to dispose of?” Raoul asks the moment I step out of my father’s office. He isn’t smiling—he never is—but I see the hopeful gleam in his dark eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Mikhail wouldn’t have killed Dad without me.” Anatoly elbows him in the side. Then doubt flickers across his face. He turns to me. “Right? Please tell me you didn’t kill him, Mikhail.”

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