Page 12 of Reign of Four

In truth, I wasn’t sure who all would be inside the room. Now that I’m here, I’m not sure I should have entered dressed like this.

To some people, a woman is merely a target, something to tease and touch as they please. A pretty woman in a dress, oozing sweetness like me, is damn near irresistible. That was the point of this little ensemble—to catch eyes and attention, to let them know that I’m not going to sit in the corner and wait to be called upon—and it’s clear that, for the two youngest associates, at least, it’s working.

They’re hungry, and they’ve just spotted their next meal. As I approach the first of the two men, I can’t help but feel like Little Red Riding Hood approaching the Big Bad Wolf, my basket of treats in hand, while the monster drools at the temptation in front of him.

Me.

As I’m readying a new plate for the next guest, Liam chooses that moment to speak up, the word orphanage stealing my attention away from my hands. I distractedly push a bagel off the tray and onto the floor, the soft thud lost to me over the words booming through the room.

“If we don’t have enough men, we’ll simply take more. How many are housed there?”

“They aren’t ripe enough yet. Some are barely fifteen, pakhan. They can’t even handle their own dicks, let alone a gun.”

“A fifteen-year-old can be taught to shoot.”

“We don’t have that kind of time?—”

Fingertips brush the inside of my wrist, jerking my attention back into my body. My heart races as the man beside me sets the fallen bagel back onto the cart, his other hand hovering over my wrist. “Are you alright, love? You look a little flushed.” The pads of his fingers press into my skin, his eyes lighting up as he finds my skittering pulse. “Mm, heart racing, too. Nervous about walking into the lion’s den?” He chuckles softly, more to himself than to me, and I blink to focus. Focus.

Francesca’s name rings in my ears, as do the words gun and training. What the hell do orphaned kids have to do with either of those things?

I let my smile slip a moment ago, and I carefully reapply it, giving a smaller, more timid one this time. “I’m a little clumsy today. What can I get you, Mister . . .”

Liam’s voice booms like thunder, crashing heavily from above. “If you want to keep that hand, Anton, I suggest you move it before I misunderstand what you’re reaching for.”

Anton’s lips curve into a confident smirk as he releases my wrist, reaching past me for an empty mug. “No offense intended, pakhan. Your wife is sweet to dote on us.” He licks a stripe across his front teeth, flashing his canines, before glancing at his pakhan. “I’m a little jealous, actually. Wish I had a pretty wife waiting on me like this. You’re lucky that you’re the oldest, brother.” His eyes sweep back over to me, darkening as he notices me staring back. “Or you’d be mine, pretty girl.”

Liam mentioned siblings once a long time ago, but I never put two and two together, especially not after how crazy everything’s been. If Liam’s in the mafia, of course his siblings are, too.

As Anton addresses Liam, I can see the familial resemblance in the bright blonde faded cut, the shape of his stubbled jaw, and the fucking insanity for being so casual in a room full of criminals. Criminals who are glowering at us.

Anton remains unfazed. He smirks as he takes his seat, likely thinking my blush is for him, but it’s not.

I’m fucking furious. Embarrassed. Never in my life have I felt so objectified, and I see so clearly that this is the life I would have had, if I’d played my role as princess perfectly five years ago. Nothing more than a trophy with a big, wet hole to fill.

Anton taps the empty mug in his hands, waiting for me to pour him coffee. “I like mine full of cream.”

One of the old men standing closest to Liam—Kravinsky, I think is his name—laughs. He gestures between the brothers, his voice bitter. “This is the family meant to lead us? Fawning over a woman?” He tsks, his eyes roaming toward my grandmother. “Allowing the matron in the meeting room, as well. Tolkotsky must be rolling in his grave, God rest his fucking soul.”

Liam’s jaw tics. “Please, Kravinsky, keep insulting me. I’d be happy to fill your seat at my table. What is it you keep telling me? That your sons are itching for a promotion?” He flicks open a switchblade and stirs his coffee with it, clinking the metal against ceramic. “I can expedite that process very quickly.”

Kravinsky rears his head back. “Are you mad? We’ve wiped meaner shits off our asses than you, boy. You may have the title of pakhan, but make no mistake—” He juts his finger towards the corner of the room, where my grandmother sits like a statue—“she is the one who put you there. It’s out of respect for the Madame that we’re even here.” He bows his head towards Katya, showing deference despite the fact he clearly doesn’t think she should be in the room to begin with. “She orchestrated the coup to overthrow that upstart Leonov. Now all you have to do is not ruin everything we’ve built?—”

The blade slices through the air so fast that I miss it, only catching the wet gurgle in the man’s throat, then the sudden burst of crimson as Liam withdraws the blade from the other man’s flesh. Kravinsky clutches his neck, eyes wide, as he chokes on his own blood. He falls to the ground, thumping against the desk on his way down.

Liam wipes the blade on his shirtsleeve. “Come here, zhena.”

I jump at my name, not expecting to hear it. My ears ring as I tear my gaze away from Kravinsky’s body and force my legs to move.

I just watched a man die.

It’s my first time experiencing death—yet another first that Liam has taken from me—but I know it won’t be my last.

I intend for Liam to have that honor very soon.

He leans back in his seat, scooting out far enough to pat his thigh and beckon me onto it. Carefully, I do as I’m instructed, perching on his knee. He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me back against his chest, pecking a warm kiss against my cheek. “Good girl.”

My stomach twists as the praise gnaws at me. I’ve imagined myself sitting in Andrei’s lap as he leads our kingdom—or better yet, as we make decisions together—but sitting in Liam’s makes me feel less like an equal and more like the dog he expects me to be.

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