Page 14 of Emerald Malice

“What do you care if Slavik is here or not?”

“I don’t care. I’m just saying.”

Viktor never outgrew his desperation for our father’s approval. He was never perceptive enough to realize that, by the unchangeable nature of his status as second son, he’d never mean shit to Slavik Kuznetsov. He took the lack of attention personally, having no idea he got the better end of the bargain.

I was the one who got fucked.

I have the scars to prove just how unfortunate it is when Slavik Kuznetsov takes an interest in shaping you as a man.

Meanwhile, as I was bleeding and suffering in the dirt at my father’s feet, Viktor was fucking his way through half of New York, thinking that somehow qualified as an accomplishment.

And after Slavik fled the country in the middle of the night, with no warning and nothing left behind but a scrawled note and a wake of dumpster fires for me to put out, it fell to me to keep Viktor in line.

I thought he deserved a break.

I’m starting to think I’ve been too easy on him the last few years.

Viktor offers me the bottle, but I shake my head. “One of us needs to be sober for this thing.”

“I don’t see why,” he says with a deranged cackle. “The only way to get through a wedding is to be drunk. Honestly, I don’t know why anyone would subject themselves to this—” He breaks off, his eyes veering to me. “Well… you did.”

“I never got married,” I remind him gruffly.

“But you would have.” He’s always been braver when he’s drunk. No way would he dare to bring up this topic if he were sober. “I’ve always been curious: what was it about Maria? Did she have some sort of golden pussy or?—”

In an instant, Viktor is spluttering, his eyes bulging like a toad’s as I cut off his windpipe with an elbow to the throat. He keeps trying to choke out words, but I’m done listening to him talk.

“You’re fucking wasted,” I hiss. “It’s embarrassing. If you want to keep toting around the title of Kuznetsov, then you’d better clean yourself up and start acting the part. Look around: do you see any of my men acting like a fucking joke?”

I release a tiny bit of pressure on his neck so he can breathe. A few guests have noticed the fracas, but the smart ones look away.

“I’m done making excuses for you, Viktor. You’re not a boy anymore. Get your shit together.”

I peel myself off of him and leave him there to lick his wounds. Anyone with an ounce of sense in their head gives me a wide berth as I stalk away.

“Boss…” Leif approaches me from around the cocktail bar with a grim expression. “I’ve got news. The girls that you asked Viktor’s security to apprehend, they’ve… they’ve…”

“Spit it out, Leif,” I rasp. “I’m not in the mood for guessing games.”

“They’ve escaped,” he finishes in a broken whisper.

“Four soldiers couldn’t keep their eyes on two civilian women?”

Leif gives me a look. What did you expect from Viktor’s goons? “Should I get a few men on their trail? They can’t have gone far.”

I could just let this go right now. The blonde was nothing but a scorned conquest from Viktor’s past and the brunette—Natalia, I remember, tasting her name—was a hapless sidekick. Neither one has any connection to Nikolai Rostov, and neither one is pregnant with a Kuznetsov baby.

So what does it matter that I no longer have eyes on them? What does it matter if they got away?

In many ways, it’s for the best. They can disappear into the night and I can turn my attention to more important things. Like crushing the last remnants of Nikolai Rostov’s dying Bratva.

And yet…

“Find them,” I order. “And if it comes down to a choice between the blonde and the brunette… bring me the brunette.”

5

NATALIA

---