Page 70 of The Bratva's Forbidden Pregnancy

My heart broke into a million pieces when he told me that Joshua was the mole his organization had been walking with and that my right-hand man—my friend—had played a major role in the death of my father.

He was still talking when I pulled out my gun and shot him five times in the chest. Paul flinched at my reaction, shutting his eyes. The revelation hit him just as hard.

I got out of my chair, rubbing my chin as I fumed, struggling to understand why Joshua would betray me the way that he had.

“Leave us,” Paul said to Simon, who nodded and dragged the body out of the office. “What’re you going to do?” Paul asked me.

“What I’d do to any enemy who killed my father,” I replied, turning to face him. “He’s an enemy now. So, I’ll treat him as such.”

Later that day, Simon revealed that the assassin I’d killed had given up Joshua's location. He handed me the address, and I stared at it in my hand, wondering what I’d do when I saw him.

“I’ll get the men,” he said to me.

“No,” I objected. “I'll handle this alone.”

He nodded.

“I’m coming with you,” Paul said, looking at me.

I said nothing and walked toward my car; he followed up behind me, and we got inside; then, I drove away.

In no time, we arrived at the location, and I kicked the door open to find Joshua stripped from the waist up as he fooled around with some naked whores in bed. The women yelped at our intrusion and hopped off the bed, covering their nakedness.

“Get out,” Paul said to them.

Without any resistance, they picked up their littered clothes and rushed to the door.

“Listen, Vlad, I’m sorry about your father. I was going to come around later—”

“Cut the crap, Josh,” Paul interrupted him. “We know.”

His countenance changed immediately, and he slowly got out of bed, showing no remorse whatsoever. “It took you this long to find out, ehh?” He smirked.

“Why?” I asked him, seething.

“Why?” He scoffed. “Did you really ask me why?”

There he was, the traitor who had gotten my father killed.

“All my life, I've lived in your shadow, putting up with your bullshit, taking orders from you!” His voice rose. “I got fed up with being your errand boy, Vlad.”

“So, you had my father killed because you’re jealous?” I balled a fist in both hands.

“I am better than you, Vlad—I deserve to live your life and not the other way around,” he said arrogantly. “My only regret is that they couldn't kill you, as well.” He frowned.

With that, it was sealed; he was my enemy—the friend I’d used to know was long gone.

I rushed at him, and the two of us started to exchange blows. He claimed he was better than me, but I was angrier, and I used that rage to my advantage.

He was a formidable foe, and his punches hurt, but I was stronger, faster. First, I trapped his arm in mine and snapped it from the elbow joint like it was a twig. He screamed. With a quick movement, I seized his head and slammed his skull into the nearest wall.

I went on and on, bashing his head against the concrete; even as his eyes were popping out, his nose bleeding, I didn’t stop. The memory of my father laying lifeless in my arms fueled my rage.

The wall was painted red, and his blood splashed with each dent, staining my suit, some of it sprinkling on my face. Yet, I wouldn’t stop.

Paul had always been weak at heart, and though he was behind me, I knew he wasn’t looking.

It wasn’t until his skull had cracked open that I stopped, panting as I stepped away from his now limp body.

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