Page 38 of Cashmere Cruelty

“And she’s not your anything,” Petra retorts, her tone suddenly sharp. “So what’s she doing here?”

I grit my teeth. “I don’t have to justify myself to you.”

“Tough shit,” she hisses, taking a step forward. Despite her doll size, she’s managed to get herself all up in my face, and I don’t like that one bit. “Because I own your army, Matvey.Me.So yes, actually, you do owe me some sort of?—”

“Let’s get one thing straight here,” I snarl, too far gone for games. “Youdon’t own shit; yourfatherdoes.”

“Listen—”

“No, you listen.” I force her to take a step back, pressing her up against Tweedledee or Tweedledum, I don’t fucking care which. “I can get my alliance anywhere.There isn’t a single Bratva in New York who’d turn down the Groza name, and you know it.”

“And what would that cost you?” she spits, a snake reeling back to bite. “Nopakhanworth their salt is going to give up their title to you.”

“Maybe not,” I concede. “But none of them is ever gonna make youvor, either.”

I watch her swallow that hard truth.Good.Let her remember where she stands.

“Is this your word’s worth?” she murmurs with venom. “A bastard child and a common whore?”

“My word,” I growl, “is my bond. So I’ll honor my end of the deal.”

She exhales. “Good?—”

“—unless you give me a reason not to.”

I can see her lip quivering. Her face is a mask of fury, barely contained. Petra Solovyova was always too small for the storm raging inside her. I can respect that. Hell, I can even admire that.

But I won’t tolerate her slights toward me or mine. And make no mistake: April Flowers isminenow.

So is the child growing inside her.

“What’s that look like, then?” Petra asks in a bitter whisper.

There it is: surrender.

“Disrespecting my child, for one.”

“And the mother, too?”

“And the mother, too.” I raise my arm just enough to let my jacket lift over my gun. “And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you whatharmingeither of them would mean, do I?”

For a long moment, Petra’s silent. She takes the hit with her usual grace—blinking away her frustrated tears like they werenever there. Recomposing herself, her mask, one cracked piece at a time.

And then, finally, there she is again. Cold and smooth as ice. “Well, then,” she says with a forced smile, “sleep easy. I won’t get in the way of my own dreams.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that.”

“Mm,” Petra hums, walking up to fix my tie. A peace offering—or a hidden knife. “Give your little flower my regards. After all, we’re going to be family soon. As long as she behaves, I won’t touch a petal on her pretty little head.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Then there won’t be a stem left to find.”

I’m about to yank her wrist right off when she lets go herself, chuckling amiably. “Relax, Matvey. I’m just pulling your leg. I agreed, remember? No disrespect. No harm.” She starts to walk around me, dragging her manicured nails lightly along my sleeve as she passes. “Just a little condition of my own. After all, we’re partners. Right?”

“I don’t enjoy being threatened, Petra.”

“‘Threatened’? What threat?” she asks innocently, blinking up at me from afar. “For goodness’s sake, you’re Matvey Groza. Surely you can keep your house in order…?”

---