Page 151 of Cashmere Cruelty

Well, I’m about to goddamn remind them.

I slam my glass down. The cheer at the table dies. Silence fills the space where laughter reigned not five seconds ago.

“Is something the matter,pakhan?” Ivan asks quietly.

I draw myself up in my seat. “While we’re here celebrating, our most important project still lies unfinished. Or does anybody here have more good news to share?”

Thevoryexchange glances. “Moy pakhan…the acquisition is proceeding,” Gora blurts out. “It’s nearly in the bag.”

“‘Nearly’ isn’t good enough.”

“It’s just…” Ipatiy’s voice cuts in. “It’d be easier for all of us if we knew what we were doing. In D.C., I mean.”

“You don’t need to know what you’re doing,” I snarl. “You need to do it. Or have I not made myself clear enough?”

“Matvey.”

I turn. Ivan’s gaze is a piercing shade of blue—almost white. Icy, like the rivers back home. If there’s one of us who hasn’t forgotten what we came here for, that should be him.

But lately, Ivan’s been leading the resistance. He’s been pushing back against me more than anybody else. And yet, it still manages to surprise me when he asks, cold and factual, “Do we need to prepare for war?”

War.That’s a word you don’t throw out lightly at a Bratva table. These men, who had just been celebrating their success—with that one word, they’re done boasting about what they’ve gained. Now, all they can think about is how quickly they could lose it all.

I rise. Grisha and Yuri follow suit. I catch Yuri’s worried gaze, the same he’d been wearing at the Hedoneros inauguration, but I don’t let it shake me. Right now, I can’t afford to be shaken.

So I stare Ivan dead in the eye and I tell him the truth. “Always be ready for war.”

Then I do what I’ve been wanting to do ever since I got here.

I grab my jacket and fucking leave.

46

MATVEY

When I get back to the penthouse, I’m in a foul mood.

My men. My fucking men, and this is what they’ve become: a bunch of spoiled millionaires.

And Yuri’s concerned I’m not treating them well enough? Clearly, it’s the opposite. I’ve been treating them too goddamn well. Lulled them into a false sense of security by creating an empire too powerful to take down.

Blyat’.We’ve been on top for so long, they’ve forgotten what it was like to claw our way there. They’ve forgotten what it was like to work for it.

And now, they’ve gone too goddamn soft.

On the elevator ride up, I rub my temples and sigh. I want nothing more than to switch off my brain and sink into April’s voice, the easy chatter of her words over dinner. I want to sink into far more than that, but I have to remind myself of all the reasons I can’t. Unlike my men, I still have a goddamn grip on reality.

Though I start to doubt that the second I walk into the penthouse.

My first impulse is to reach for my gun, because only a break-in could justify this mess. Right?

Wrong.For starters, there’s no blood. The furniture’s intact, the couches ungutted. Last time, it looked like someone had taken out a hit on everything in the apartment.

Now, it looks like a bomb’s gone off at a Gucci factory.

As I look closer, my suspicions are confirmed: everything at the scene screams “April.”

There are fabrics scattered everywhere, a million different varieties I couldn’t identify with a gun to my head. Needles and pins are strewn across the carpet, the perfect trap if someone did get the idea to try and break in again—barefoot, that is. I clock about a dozen OSHA violations just while making it from the door to the balcony.

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