Page 13 of Bound By Hate (Born in Blood)

Mikhail drops his head and sighs deeply. “That was Damien. Damien Petrov.”

The name doesn’t ring any bells. It’s obvious from Sofiya’s expression she doesn’t know either.

“His father was Ivan Petrov. The man who …” He doesn’t finish. Sofiya gasps.

“Oh, Mikhail. I’m so sorry.”

“I just need a minute.” He heads toward his office, ignoring all the looks his other guests are throwing his way.

“Who?” I ask Sofiya.

“Mikhail had a wife and son long before he met me.”

I go still. “You never told me about that.”

“It was his news to share. Well, his son was killed by a man named Ivan Petrov. The man who just walked in is his son.”

“Jesus,” I murmur. “I don’t …”

“I know,” Sofiya adds. “I wonder why he showed up? Mikhail told me he never got to have revenge on Ivan because he died of a heart attack soon after, and his son, Damien, went into hiding after the incident. He was a kid himself when it happened. So,he’s not to blame for Mikhail’s son’s death. But I’m sure seeing him wasn’t easy for Mikhail. I should go check on him.”

“Yeah, go.”

Sofiya hurries away, leaving me standing there and looking out into the sea of male faces. Coming to Russia, I was trying to escape my problems. But it seems I’m not the only one with problems.

My eyes land on Aleksander. He raises his glass to me before taking a sip.

I quickly look away. If Mikhail is dealing with his own issues, then how can he properly protect Mila and me?

I thought coming here would be a better option, but I’m starting to wonder if I was wrong.

Chapter

Three

VIKTORIYA

The party is still buzzing after Damien’s exit. I’ve never seen Mikhail look so shaken before. He’s the one who is supposed to protect us—it worries me someone could upset him like that.

I want to go into his office and demand that everything will be all right, but that’s not my job. It’s Sofiya’s. Mikhail is her husband. She’s the one married to the head of the Bratva.

Whereas I … am only a woman, unmarried, with no power. All I have is my father’s last name. Morozova. And not even that has kept me safe.

Gleb walks over to me, and I can’t hurry away in time. “How are you faring, Viktoriya?”

“Why would you ask?”

“Because I’m here to make sure you’re all right.”

“Oh, yeah, as my father figure. Completely forgot.”

He chuckles, and it grates on my ears. “Not exactly a bright one, are we?”

I bring my teeth together to keep from snapping at him. I should have gotten something stronger to drink than just water to get through this evening, but I don’t want to let my defenses down around all these men. Now that Mikhail isn’t in the room, more of them are looking my way.

I glance around for Mila, but I don’t see her anymore.

An older man—probably in his sixties—approaches us, speaking in Russian. That’s the thing, even though my family is Russian, we’re Russian-American. My father never felt the need to teach us any language other than English. I don’t know how Sofiya has survived this long being in a different country where she doesn’t even know the language. Part of my power is being smarter than anyone else in the room, but I can’t do that when I can’t understand what people are saying.

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