Page 85 of Cashmere Ruin

But he didn’t come to you—he didthis. And now, there’s no turning back.

“No,” he growls to my final mercy.

“Then at least give me a reason.”

He scoffs. “You promised us change and you didn’t bring it. You promised us war, but where is it? You ignored all my warnings, and now, you have the guts to demand reasons? To offer me mercy?”

Warnings?“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. Or did that whore fry your brain as well as your cock?”

The room falls silent. No one dares speak another word, the whispers dead. And something else, too, is dead beyond saving: my desire to give Ivan grace.

Criticizing me? Questioning my leadership? As if there isn’t avorevery quarter who does that. It’s the oldest power play in the world, but it can be handled. A disgruntled employee can always be put back in their place. I won’t kill someone for speaking their mind to my face, no matter how out of line.

But the second you touch my family, you’re done.

I clench my jaw. “Aspakhanof the Groza Bratva, I accept your challenge.”

Ivan doesn’t seem surprised. “Good. We’ll set a time and a place?—”

“No. We’ll do it here and now.”

Everyone’s stares are on me. Ivan’s thrown, but it only takes him a second to recover. A second for his eyes to ice over again. “Fine. First blood.”

“No.”

A frown. “No?”

I walk to my weapons cabinet and pluck out a box. The smooth, lacquered black surface returns the reflection of a man barely holding back. A beast, howling against the constraints of its human-shaped cage.

I slam the box on the table and unlatch it. “Only one kind of duel is worth the name.”

Thevorycrane their necks like a bunch of nosy swans. Across from me, Ivan is silent, eyes trailing along the edges of my weapons of choice.

Daggers.

“To the death, then?”

It’s a message:If you’re going to stab me in the back, you’d best finish the job.I don’t give a shit about first blood and old laws: you want me gone, you make it happen. You want me sentenced, you swing the sword. You want to spit on my family’s honor?—

You deal with the fucking consequences.

Myconsequences.

“To the death,” I confirm.

No one dares speak another word.

As the headquarters of the Groza Bratva, our offices aren’t simply offices. And the top floor, the one reserved for thevoryand thepakhan?—

It is not, in fact, the top floor.

There’s a code to the elevator. If certain buttons are punched in just right, it will take you to the ghost floor of the building. Thetruefinal floor, just under the rooftop.

And on that floor, there is a ring.

Most of the time, it’s a training space. Thevoryaren’t all exactly combat-oriented, but their men have to be. That’s where they spar, bleed, and practice.

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