Page 75 of Mafia King's Bride

“Can I get some rest now, please?” I mutter, closing my eyes and sinking back into the pillow. “I just went through a life-or-death experience. I think I deserve a nap.”

Viktor chuckles softly, leaning down to kiss my forehead. “Fine, fine. I’ll be outside making some calls. And don’t worry, nothing’s getting past the two hulks your husband stationed outside the door.”

Despite myself, a small smile tugs at my lips as I watch him leave. When the door finally closes, I fluff my pillow, sinking into the blessed quiet.

The men in my life are ridiculous—stubborn, hot-headed, and prone to making rash decisions—but I wouldn’t trade them for the world.

TWENTY-EIGHT

DMITRI

One.

Two.

Three.

Boom.

Watching the warehouse go up in flames is satisfying. The kind of satisfaction that seeps deep into your bones. The crackling wood, the thick smoke curling up into the night sky—it all feels like a cleansing, a purge of anyone foolish enough to betray me. It’s the kind of catharsis only fire can provide, a reminder to the world that Dmitri Orlov doesn’t just make threats. I deliver.

“Is this the last one?” I ask, not tearing my eyes from the inferno as Leonid steps up beside me.

“Yes, boss,” he says. “I just got word from the others. Two of the sites had some resistance, but it was handled.”

Resistance. Pests. That’s what a once-powerfulpakhansyndicate and an Italian Mafia gang have been reduced to.

Handled.

Good. It’s the beginning of the end for anyone who thinks they can move against the Orlov family. If this doesn’t scare them, the fire will finish what my reputation started—reducingeverything they built to ash. And if that still doesn’t do the job? I’ll burn them out, piece by piece. Down to the last brick.

I hear footsteps approaching, nervous ones, a familiar shuffle of someone who’s spent too long lying to themselves and now finds themselves at the mercy of reality. I turn, catching Igor Pavlov making his way toward me. His face is tight, though he’s trying to keep it together. I enjoy seeing him squirm.

“Pavlov,” I greet him, my voice low, dangerous. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He stares at the flames, his expression a mixture of fear and curiosity, like a child watching a car crash but too scared to look away. “Bianchi?” he croaks.

“You sound concerned,” I say, smirking. “I thought you said he wasn’t one of us.”

His eyes dart to mine, the fear evident before he quickly masks it, but I’ve already seen enough. He’s rattled, and rightfully so.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” he tries, his voice shaking. “The Italians can’t be trusted. I heard rumors, but I didn’t have proof, so I didn’t?—”

“You didn’t tell me,” I finish for him, enjoying the way he flinches at the edge in my tone. “You thought it’d be fun to see me fall.”

He opens his mouth, no doubt to deny it, but I cut him off with a lazy wave of my hand. “I don’t need you to be my eyes and ears, Igor. I already know who my enemies are.”

I let the silence hang between us for a beat too long. My words are a warning, subtle but deadly, and I can tell it registers when he shifts his gaze, looking away.

“Well,” he mutters, gesturing weakly with his hands, “you’re Dmitri. You always know everything.”

I smile, a cold, calculated gesture that holds no warmth. He’s a coward—always has been. Useful, but a coward nonetheless.

As I walk back toward my car, I hear his footsteps trailing behind me, his pace quickening to match mine. “Did you come here to talk business? Because if it’s about the casino deal, it’s not ready yet.” I spare him a glance. “I gave you a month, but these things take time. Unless you want to take over?—”

“No, no!” he cuts in, his voice rising in a panic. “I trust you. I didn’t come for that. I...I heard what happened, and I wanted to show my support. We’re brothers in arms, after all.”

I stop, turning to face him fully, my expression deadly calm. “Thieves in arms,” I correct, the smile on my lips tight. “Thank you for the support, Igor. But I’ve got things under control.”

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