Page 86 of Bratva King's Secret Twins

“You know me so well, Malyshka.” He leans forward on the wobbly, plastic table. “If you play your cards right, I might even take you as my next wife.”

I recoil in disgust, nearly dropping the glass. The thought of being tied to this man in any way is enough to make me want to vomit. “I’d rather die.”

Boris chuckles, as if amused by my defiance. “At this point, you might, so not a far fetched dream to aspire to.”

Just as he raises his glass to toast, his phone rings. He glances at the screen, and his eyes light up with twisted amusement. “Speaking of the devil,” he murmurs, before answering. “Nikolai, how nice of you to call.”

My heart leaps into my throat. Nik. He’s calling, and he has no idea what he’s walking into. I can feel the panic rising, but I force myself to stay calm, to think of a way to warn him without giving away too much.

Boris listens to whatever Nik is saying, his expression smug and condescending. “Yes, yes,” he says, waving his hand dismissively, as if Nik’s words are of no consequence. “I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”

Then, to my shock, he hands me the phone. “Here, talk to your boyfriend. He’s so eager to hear your voice.”

I grab the phone with trembling hands, desperate to hear Nik’s voice, even if it’s only for a moment. “Nik? Nik, are you there?”

“Gwen.” His voice is like a balm to my frayed nerves, and I can’t help the tears that spring to my eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Nik, but listen to me—” I take a deep breath, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. “You need to be careful. Don’t worry about me. They don’t care if Sho is dead-”

Before I can say anything more, Boris snatches the phone out of my hand, his face twisted in anger. “You are such a predictable stupid bitch,” he snarls, before slamming the phone down on the table.

The sound echoes in the room, and before I can react, his palm connects with my face, sending me crashing to the floor. The world goes black before I can even register the pain.

43

NIKOLAI

The rumble of the engine hums beneath us as the SUV cuts through the dark streets, headlights slicing through the night. I sit in the passenger seat, staring blankly out the window, my mind a chaotic mess of thoughts. The city blurs past, and all I can think about is Gwen. Her voice, the desperation in it, the warning she tried to give me before Boris cut her off. The fact that our children are sitting at home waiting for us.

Aleksandr is driving, his hands gripping the wheel with a controlled precision, eyes focused on the road ahead. He’s always been the calm one, the methodical one. But even now, I can see the tension in his jaw, the way his knuckles whiten slightly as he steers.

In the backseat, Sho Matsumoto sits silently, his gaze flicking between Aleksandr and me. He knows exactly what’s at stake, probably more than either of us. The Yakuza wants him, and we’ve promised to deliver him. But Gwen’s words echo in my head—they don’t care if Sho is dead—and that changes everything.

I turn to Aleksandr, my voice low, almost a whisper. “We need a new plan.”

Aleksandr’s eyes shift toward me for a split second before returning to the road. “You’re saying we abandon the deal with the Yakuza?”

“No,” I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of uncertainty. “But we can’t just hand Sho over. If they don’t care if he’s dead or alive, they’ll shoot us on sight.”

Aleksandr is silent for a moment, considering. His mind is always working, always calculating. “Sho, you didn’t tell me they wanted youdeador alive.”

Sho leans forward, his voice calm, almost eerily so. “If your son killed all your trusted guards in an attempt to eradicate the family line, wouldn’t you want me dead too?”

Sho’s black hair is cut into a mullet-like style, loose waves framing his face and trailing down the nape of his neck, where a collage of black tattoos reside. The lazy smile that plays on his lips is a permanent fixture, but it’s the kind of smile that never reaches his eyes. When he leans back in the truck, I follow his movements in the rearview mirror, getting flashes of him and Nadia from the headlights of passing cars.

Nadia sits across from Sho in the SUV and continues to sharpen her knife with an eyebrow lifted in interest. “All? You killed them all?”

“You always have to leave one alive to send a message.” Sho smirks back.

Nadia sucks her teeth. “The murder is enough of a message. Leaving one alive is foolish.”

I stare at Sho through the rearview mirror, watching as his eyebrow piercing catches the light when he shifts, a small but sharp piece of metal that adds to his rugged appearance. There’s always a look in his eyes—sometimes it’s deadly, sometimes it’s humorous, but it’s always calculating, always aware. Even now, as he gazes at Nadia with that flirtatious glint, his eyes are sharp, taking in every detail, every flicker of emotion on her face. My blood rings and I curve my fingers into the palm of my hand, because if he even thinks about touching Nadia, he won’t have to worry about the Yakuza killing him. I will kill him.

His broad shoulders are loose, and he leans back with a confident air, one arm draped casually over the back of the seat. “I’m not a ninja, Hime. I’m not in the business of being silently deadly.”

“If they don’t care if he’s dead, why don’t we kill him now?” Nadia leans towards him, her eyes narrowed on Sho’s casual yet smug smile.

“You want to kill me, Hime?” He raises his eyebrows in a teasing manner, and Alek clears his throat.

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