Page 33 of Bratva King's Secret Twins

“Is that what I am?” I press, feeling a sick thrill as his eyes narrow. “A reminder of her betrayal?”

Boris sneers. “You are a reminder of the only regret I have ever had. I should have killed you when I had the fucking chance.”

“Aw, could’ve, would’ve, should’ve. Those things will haunt you,” I say, laughing, stepping closer to him, the knife glinting in the dim light. “You know what really pisses you off,” I sing, gliding the knife across his shoulder blade. “You aren’t certain that you have an heir. You don’t know if any of your childrenare actually yours, but her bastards get to carry on your legacy. That's pathetic.”

“You see, you are a weak king, Nikolai, still searching for his mother’s tit,” Boris growls. “You were never fit to be king because you have a bleeding heart. I should have gutted the organ when I had a chance.”

I toss the scalpel into the air, catch it, and dig it into the thigh of Boris as he rings out in frustration. “I won’t make this easy on you, but since you are so convinced that you and I are similar, let me tell you the cardinal difference between us.” I yank the scalpel out of his leg and watch the blood gush from the wound. “When I get a woman, she will be treated like a queen. That way, I know my heir is fucking mine.”

Boris laughs, leaning over from the pain, but grits through his teeth. “And that weakness will get you killed.”

“Maybe,” I say, leaning in close so he can see the fire in my eyes. “But I’d rather be dead with a son who will avenge me than wish me dead.”

Boris laughs, a harsh, grating sound. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“You’re right about that. This is so much more fun.” I lift the tip of the scalpel to his lips and smile. “Now say cheese.”

As usual,Boris didn’t crack. When I exited the prison beneath our building, I was greeted with my mother’s left rib cage. I guess he was right; I am a bleeding heart because the idea of holding the part of my mother that once housed her heart almost made me fall to my knees. But I can’t breakuntil I have her entire body in my hands. Only then will I allow myself the solace of crying over her death.

After changing my blood-soaked button-down into a white cotton T-shirt in my office, I decided to walk home and clear my mind. I still have to tell my siblings the truth—that we may all be bastards, and I don’t know who our true father is. I just know Boris isn’t. Or I could take that to my grave and let them believe I am not their blood brother. But what would that mean for the crown of the Mafia? That would mean it rightfully belongs to Nadia or Aleksandr, and I have stolen it from underneath their noses. They will never forgive me for stealing the kingdom for myself. But I can never let this go. I was made to be king, no matter the blood in my veins. I was made to rule over New York.

I walk down the dimly lit streets, my body still slick with sweat, the ghost of Boris’s laughter echoing in my mind. The night is thick with the scent of rain and dirt, the city’s neon lights casting eerie reflections on the wet pavement. I feel myself spiral as I always do after being covered in blood. The excitement courses through my veins, and in this state, I believe I could take down a bear and defeat an army. My God complex runs at an all-time high as I look up into a diner, ready to make the world bend to me. That’s when I see her.

In the window of a small diner, illuminated by the soft, warm glow of the interior lights, I see her curly black hair and tanned skin as she reaches for a salt shaker. She sits with another girl, laughing, her delicate features framed by her dark hair, her expression serene as she sips her coffee. My heart squeezes in my chest, and I swear the world stops. This must be what it feels like when a sinner is given the option of heaven. I am seeing an angel for the first time. My heart pounds,and before I know it, I am running towards her, desperate to steal this little slice of heaven all for myself.

“Kotik!” I call out.

The woman turns around, her hair bouncing in the air, and my heart plummets. The girl isn’t Gwen. In fact, her hair is brown, not black, and her lips are painted an awful shade of red that isn’t glossed the way Gwen likes to gloss her lips. Her eyes aren’t that intoxicating honeyed brown; the woman’s eyes are a cool blue.

I stare at her. The disappointment hits me like a physical blow, and I feel as if I’ve been yanked from heaven and thrown back into the depths of hell where I belong. The woman’s eyes widen in surprise and confusion, and I mumble an apology, stumbling back onto the street, unwilling to look at the imposter any longer.

When I hit the streets, my city is colder, its lights harsh and unforgiving. This walk is no longer a comfort for my mind and is now a vehicle to torment me further. I lean against a lamppost, struggling to catch my breath. Seeing that woman makes me think that the sickening smell of vanilla invades my nostrils, and I want to hunt for my darling kitty all over again. I want to drag her back into my arms, and tie her to my bed, and never let her leave me again.

The beast within me roars, demanding release, but I clench my fists and hold it back. I have to be stronger than this. I have to be the king I was meant to be, and no woman who is slowly drifting into a figment of my imagination can bring me to my knees. I cannot allow myself to be a lovesick king, no matter how much I want her.

16

GWEN

As a little girl, I dreamed about New York as a place of glamor and excitement. But after my first night in the city, being curled up on the dirty floor of the subway train, with the stench of urine filling my nostrils, I couldn't believe I wasted so many birthday candles on this place. My first night in the city, and I was already living like a homeless person.

I always dreamed of living in a god-awful small apartment with roaches and a naked neighbor who did things like yoga with all their lights on. I would make friends in a coffee shop and not flinch whenever a dark figure came into my eyeline, thinking it could be Mason. I would have wine nights and basically relive an affordable version ofFriendsorLiving Single,but not this.

With nothing to my name but the trusty suitcase, duffel bag combo, and a photo of Mia and Gio in my pocket in case I lost my phone, this was my New York experience, and I loathed it. It had taken me twenty long hours to convince the owner of a rundown hotel on 42nd Street and Twelfth Avenue that I wasn't a prostitute, drug dealer, or drug addict, just a girl indesperate need of a shower. After numerous threats and the mention of 'Big Joe' - whoever that was - the lady finally believed me and let me stay for only fifteen dollars a night. As I settled into my dingy room and lay in bed, I considered my next steps. Still, I could only think about my children, who were currently in California with Kelsey and David on an indefinite vacation.

My fingers tap restlessly on my phone screen until I find Kelsey's name. My makeshift living space - a cluttered and dimly lit room adorned with cheap furniture - serves as the backdrop for our video call, but I desperately hope she won't notice. Kelsey answers on the second ring, her golden hair illuminated by the warm summer sun. My heart swells at the sight of her face on the screen. Attempting to keep my emotions in check, I smile before speaking, but Kels can see through it with her big, concerned eyes.

"Gwen, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." I beam as if a ball of salt is not forming in my throat.

"No, I can see it in your face. Don't lie to me. Besties don't lie to each other," she scolds, her eyes narrowed as she tries to look over my face.

"Kels," I whisper. "Nothing is right. I am in New York. You are raising my children, and we are all on the run from a horny, obsessed, probably murderous Mason."

Kelsey sighs, lying out on her bed. "I know, but you are doing what needs to be done to protect your family, right?"

"Yes, but I-" My voice catches in my throat, and tears threaten to pour. "I don't know what to do next, Kels. I mean, I am living in a hotel that I am pretty sure is a front for a drug ring,and the owner already threatened me with the presence of Big Joe."

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