Page 67 of Brazen King

My best hope is to take advantage of the gift I’ve been given. And I aim to break down Natasha’s walls before she gets smart and realizes just how ineffectual my blackmail is. Because I could never actually follow through with exposing her identity.

I’m incapable of doing anything to hurt her anymore.

Thankfully, she hasn’t discovered that just yet.

“Perhaps someone should do the world a favor and take out the oldpakhan, put his girls out of their misery before they wind up dying virgins,” Lucian jokes, his eyes glinting.

I scoff, my mood turning sour at the poor humor. “Is this your attempt to rile me up into doing something stupid like shooting Boris?” I mock, bristling as I suddenly find doing business with this man far less appealing.

Lucian just shrugs.

And my plummeting mood hits the basement as I realize I might have hit closer to the mark than I would have thought. “If that’s your plan, you’re a rash idiot, and I don’t make deals with fools,” I state coldly.

Surprise flickers across the Italian’s refined features as I stand abruptly.

“Nor do I intend to do business with a man who has a death wish,” I growl. And there’s no doubt in my mind that going after Boris directly would be suicide.

But more than that, I can’t imagine killing the man who raised Natasha—even if he is a pain in the ass when it comes to letting me marry his daughter.

At one time, I might have had the fleeting thought that life would be simpler with Boris Sokolov out of the picture. But that was before I realized how much Natasha loves her father.

And just like I couldn’t hurt the Russians who came to smash up my pub, I could no sooner kill Boris than I could cut off my own hand.

“Are you sure you want to walk out those doors?” Lucian asks, his voice holding a hint of warning.

“Do you intend to stop me?” I growl, my shoulders tensing.

Beside me, Lance is immediately prepared to spring into action. And the Italian guards look very much on edge.

“Of course not,” their don says, his eyes curious but intent as they continue to watch me closely. “But you would be walking away from a partnership I guarantee you’ll want to accept. And when I find another way to get what I want, you’ll be kicking yourself for not taking the offer.”

“I sincerely doubt it,” I state.

Turning, I stalk toward the door, my senses on high alert. Lance steps into the hallway first, ensuring no one’s there to stop us. And as I follow him across the threshold, I pause.

When I look back over my shoulder, I find Lucian still watching me.

“Watch yourself, Icarus,” I warn. “You don’t want to try flying too close to the sun.”

Anger flashes in the don’s hazel eyes, and his men bristle visibly at the thinly veiled threat. But I’m not about to walk out of here without at least attempting to put the smug prick back in his place.

And as I leave, Lance walking protectively at my side, the atmosphere is exponentially more tense than when I entered.

30

NATASHA

Killian’s not in his room. I know before I even attempt the climb onto his balcony.

Because I spot him through the big picture window of his expansive ground-floor kitchen. The modern industrial-style room is illuminated in a warm golden light that almost seems to spotlight him as it makes his blond curls shine.

He’s sitting at the high-top counter between the cooking area and the nook. Shirtless, he has his beautifully intricate Celtic tattoos on full display. And he looks muscular and deadly, even as he nurses a shot of whiskey between his palms.

He appears troubled, his broad shoulders curled forward, his strong brow pressed into a deep V. And he glares down at his glass like it offended him personally.

I’m painfully curious what’s on his mind.

But that’s not why I came.

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