Page 57 of Twisted Cage

Konstantin will hate every last minute of this and that holds the most appeal of all. “Deal.”

21

KONSTANTIN

After three hours and two SUVs full of everything I can think of Faith may need for her babies, I finally make my way back to the safe house. Demitri and Grigori don’t know shit about babies which meant I had no choice but to take the lead on a task I would have happily dumped on them otherwise.

The mere mention of baby shopping and Grigori’s eyes darted around in panic. A man who’s buried countless bullets between the eyes and broken thousands of bones for a living brought to his knees by the idea of diapers and bouncy seats.

Demetri, on the other hand, had a damn look of excitement on his face. Like this was a fucking field trip with a gift shop stop at the end and a limitless credit card.

He’d come back with bullshit gadgets and toys—ones he might share with the babies, or not—and I’d still be running out for the basic necessities.

No doubt Nikolaj has a few scathing words for how long I’ve been gone.

Try me, son.

He has no one to blame but himself. He’s the one who caved the minute his sister put the pressure on to bring a friend.

A friend with infants.

This isn’t a fucking field trip. It is life or death. Faith doesn’t look old enough to vote, let alone to have twins. And Nikoletta marched all three of them right into our world of crime, balanced on fragile alliances, all on a river of blood.

And those fragile alliances, the crime—that is the best case reality for the established power system within the Bratva, which we aren’t. We are the hunted… a fact my little Pcholka seems to have forgotten in her time away.

Maksim will never stop coming for us as long as his heart remains beating and the minute it stops, Vlad will take over entirely and carnage will ensue. Nikolaj, his number one target, and me, a very close number two.

Vlad loves the power trip, but he craves playing deadly games more. He has no real awareness of how easily his life can be snuffed out with one wrong move. Instead, he gambles as though he’s made a deal with the Devil to live forever.

With no rhyme or reason to his actions, his next moves are impossible to predict.

Nikolaj has killed hundreds of men in the time he’s worked to build power. As a member of The Ophidian Society and the illegitimate son of the pakhan, the body count is just the tip of the iceberg. He’s maimed far more than that. A formidable opponent for Vlad, but under the influence of his sister, his edge wavers, leaving room for catastrophic mistakes.

He needs to shore up his defenses—and fast.

Pushing my way through the door, I jerk to a stop, my eyes going straight to the center of the room where Nikoletta stands on a small riser, a shimmering gold gown cascading down her every curve.

My gaze lands on the wisps of hair breaking free of the messy bun on top of her head, brushing over the soft skin of her neck. Blood rushes to my cock and I clench my teeth as I take in the expanse of skin exposed as my eyes trail down her spine.

Gut churning, I close my eyes against the glimpse of back dimples in full view, barely an inch above her mouthwatering ass. The slightest shift and she’ll be revealing a hell of a lot more than her sexy back.

I hate the fucking gold gown as much as I want to bow at the feet of the designer for their fucking brilliance.

My knuckles ache from how hard I squeeze the handle of the door. Jesus Christ, my heart cannot take this.

If she wants to keep me away, she is doing a shitty job. In that gown, she’s all but guaranteed I’ll have my cock grinding against her ass the whole time the dress graces her body to hide what is mine, goddammit.

Our tailor, Ahmad, kneels at her feet, pins pinched between his lips as he adjusts the length of the dress. He keeps his head down. Smart move or I may just have to put a bullet in his skull for seeing her so exposed. Fuck rationality.

Next to them stands three clothing racks with everything from casual clothing to designer gowns.

On the living room rug, Faith coos at the babies lying on their backs on a plush blanket. Their little legs kick as they squeal with the softest of giggles.

Just last week, this place had been silent as a tomb. Now—I can’t even begin to process the now. It’s the goddamned fashion district meets daycare center.

When not chasing leads on Nikoletta’s whereabouts, me and my men spent our time here studying an array of monitors from our surveillance cameras to keep an eye on our more volatile new allies.

Nikolaj never goes straight to the top to make deals and attain power. He starts at the bottom. Rather fitting for an unofficial Bratva mafia operating underground.

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