Page 51 of Reign of Four

“It is Bratva life,” Ezra grunts noncommittally, like this is just another day at the office. “They understand this is part of life.”

“And business.” Andrei straightens his cuffs as he gets ready to leave. We have a meeting with the team who captured Anton after he started raising hell and threatening more lives.

My stomach churns. I don’t want to see a reminder of Liam, and Anton looks strikingly similar to his older brother. But I can’t ignore him or let my men handle him for me—I’m part of this Bratva too, even the darkest parts I’m still coming to know.

This is one of those things I’m going to have to get used to.

Mikhail hands me the dress an armed guard delivered to our door. The tag bears Celia’s boutique’s logo, and the silk flows through my hands like water. It’s divine—likely expensive as hell—and definitely hand-picked for me. The deep burgundy pops against my skin, and my mind flashes back to the dinner table.

The poisoned wine staining the tablecloth.

The blood seeping from Liam’s body.

The Baranova blood running through my veins. Perhaps the Bratva is bathed in blood, both our own and that of our enemies. Maybe that’s where the power comes from—what the blood represents. Within these city walls, we have dominion over life itself. We decide who lives and who dies, who is remembered and who is forgotten.

It’s a heavy burden for one person to bear. It’s no wonder my father became ill and my mother tried to run.

Mikhail zips the back of my dress with a kiss on my shoulder. “You look beautiful, love.”

I spin to check the mirror and fix my hair and makeup. I’m not the picture of my mother—all golden and white and pristine. Instead, I am blood and darkness and shadow. The things this Bratva thrives on. The weapons I wield as its queen.

It takes twenty minutes for the four of us to get ready, then another thirty to load into the armored SUV and drive back into the city. I’m nervous about what comes next.

Am I ready to lead this Bratva into its future?

Andrei leans into my side and places a warm hand on my thigh, kissing my cheek. “Breathe, zhena. You were born for this.”

We arrive not at the Baranova estate, but at the orphanage. Our car rolls to a stop and my men clamber out of the vehicle double-time, restless for action. We never discussed what to do with Anton. My heart jumps to my throat. Will more blood be shed here, at a place of refuge for displaced children?

I steel my spine as Andrei takes my hand and leads me up the stone walkway. The dark curtains in the window rustle, tiny hands and tiny eyes peering out at us as we approach.

No, this is not a place for bloodshed and manipulation. I need to make sure there are no doubts about this property and these children being off-limits to power plays and violence.

Our children deserve better than that.

The foyer is empty. Francesca is nowhere to be found. I assume if she’s one of the seventy-five turncoats, she’s already dead. I have little love for the woman, but I know a change in staff will be hard on the kids. Unless, they’re used to a revolving door around here as people come and go, in and out of their lives just as quickly as they arrived.

Another grievance against my family for not doing better for these children. Against me for abandoning them five years ago.

I won’t make that mistake again.

Andrei takes all three of us out back, to a patchwork yard of brown grass and dirt. There are five armored guards, covered head to toe in matching gear, unrecognizable behind their helmets. Then, there’s Anton Dolohov.

I’m not used to seeing powerful men on their knees.

One of the guards has his hand on the back of his head, forcing his gaze to the ground. His hands are cuffed behind his back. Two guns are trained on him, while the others scan the perimeter.

It’s not a scene a child should witness.

I glance behind us and catch the curtains whooshing as children hide from sight. “Who’s watching the children?” I frown. If Francesca is missing or dead, did anyone think to assign someone to their care?

Ezra is a master of hiding his emotions, but I’m starting to recognize his tells. His jaw clenches just slightly.

That would be a no one.

The men may try to reign in their emotions, but I’m not a man, and I’m not about to pretend that this is okay. “Well then. We’ll need to make this brief.” I drop Andrei’s hand and approach Anton on my own. None of my men try to intervene, but Andrei pulls out a handgun from the holster at his hip. I expect him to aim it at Anton in case he tries anything, but instead, he offers it to me.

I stare at the gun for a beat too long.

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