Page 42 of Crown of Hate

“And Akim.” A wicked smile plays on his lips. “If there’s one thing I don’t forgive, Alya, it’s betrayal.”

A knot forms in my throat. The sheer, thundering rage in his voice is impossible to ignore. Whatever happened tonight must’ve cut deep. Could I ever wound him the same way? How would he react if I did?

“You betrayed my father.” It’s more of an accusation than a statement.

Emotion flickers in his eyes. “Is that what you believe?”

It is, but I bite my tongue. I don’t have to rub it in his face. Not yet. “Convince me otherwise.”

“Your father and I were never allies. I didn’t betray him; he never deserved to be Pakhan. So, he got exactly what was coming to him. I’m glad he’s gone.”

His words twist in my gut like a knife. The pride, the utter lack of remorse when he talks about taking my father’s life—it makes my blood boil. Anger bubbles up, just like it did the day I found out my father was dead and who killed him.

I must’ve been a fool to have forgotten that this man is—and always will be—nothing more than a monster. My enemy.

Fuck.

He hasn’t seen true betrayal yet. I’ll show him what it really looks like.

I’ll make him trust me, rely on me, and then I’ll rip his black heart into a million pieces.

“Only a mad man would think to betray someone like you, Mikhail.”

And it’s true. But I am no man, and my madness is only just beginning to take root.

13

MIKHAIL

The first rays of sunlight pierce through the drapes, assaulting my eyes. I squint, fighting against the unwelcome intrusion of morning. My head throbs with a stark reminder of last night’s indulgences.

Slowly, the room swims into focus, bathed in a golden glow that does nothing to soothe my racing thoughts. Beside me, Alya is peacefully asleep—a vision of beauty carved from porcelain and flame. Her red hair spills across the pillow. Even in slumber, she emanates a raw sensuality that makes my throat tighten.

Her lips are slightly parted, so plump and inviting, practically begging me to kiss them. For a moment I consider it, to lose myself in her warmth again and forget the grim reality that defines my world.

Suddenly, the serenity is shattered by the persistent buzzing of my phone on the nightstand. I reach for it, careful not to disturb the slumbering beauty beside me.

My fingers fumble, still clumsy with sleep. But finally, I manage to snatch up the phone.

“What?” I mutter, my voice still thick with sleep.

“It’s me, chief,” Semyon’s urgent tone cuts through the fog in my brain. “I got something you need to see. Now.”

Blinking away the remnants of sleep, I squint at the screen. 5:07 AM. Fuck me.

I usually don’t sleep in, but after drowning myself in alcohol last night and losing control with Alya, my body had other plans. The memory of her gasps, her moans, the way she met my darkness head-on, the miraculous way I just barely managed to hold back from the worst of my urges, it all floods back. Christ, that woman. I warned her I was in a dangerous mood, but still she challenged me. The fire in her eyes… it awakened something primal in me. And for a few hours, she made me forget all my worries.

But unfortunately, the world doesn’t stop turning just because I’ve found a moment of peace. Reality always comes crashing back.

“What is it?” I demand, struggling to keep my voice low. The last thing I want to do is wake up Alya now and drag her into the ugliness of my life. Not after what we shared. She deserves a few more moments of peace.

“We caught someone snooping around your wing this morning,” he answers. “You won’t believe who it is.”

My heart rate spikes. Sleep evaporates in an instant. “Who’s the bastard?”

“Nikolai Varkov.”

The name jolts me. Nikolai Varkov—one of my most trusted bodyguards. If he was snooping around, then there’s a good chance he’s the rat who tipped off the Italians on my new shipment.

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