Page 73 of Claimed Bratva Virgin

“You almost sang, Rocky.”

I flexed my fingers inside the tight leather gloves, the blade in my hand catching the low, artificial light. It gleamed with the promise of pain, and I knew it wasn’t a question ofifI’d use it.

It waswhen.

Rocky’s muffled whimpering grated on my nerves, though I hadn’t even touched him yet.

“You disappointed me, Rocky. I gave you opportunities, much more than you deserved. And this? You run your mouth to the fucking cops?”

He could barely crack his swollen eye open. He shook his head. “No, Boss. I swear, I didn’t—”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, kid.”

The blade slashed through the air, its tip biting into the wooden armrest beside his hand. His entire body jolted as though I’d gutted him already. I leaned in close, close enough to feel the warmth of his shallow, terrified breaths. “Do you know what happens to traitors in my world? Do you?”

He stammered incoherently, the words slipping away in a rush of saliva and terror. I grabbed his jaw, forcing him to lookat me. His pupils were blown wide. Good. He needed to fear me. Fear was control.

“The cops might’ve been willing to cut you a deal, but me?” I hissed, dragging the blade lightly across his cheek. The skin didn’t break—not yet—but he flinched violently. “There are no deals here. No second chances.”

He sobbed now, a pathetic sound that echoed in the room. “I didn’t tell them anything! I swear on my mother’s grave, Boss. Please! I have a wife and daughter.”

“Your mother’s grave and your family mean nothing to me.” I smiled. “What matters is my business. And you’ve put that in jeopardy.”

I dragged the blade lower, pressing just enough to let a thin line of blood bead at his throat. His breathing hitched, and the look in his eyes reflected the reality of his predicament settling in.

“You’ll talk tonight, Rocky,” I whispered against his chin. “The truth. Every detail. And when I’m done with you, you’ll pray the cops had you instead of me.”

I stepped back, rolling my shoulders. The blade gleamed in my hand, mirroring my hunger for the blood of betrayal, and I raised it to his mouth, ready to start with his fucking tongue, when the door busted open.

Tikhon, ignoring the glare I gave him, marched straight up to me to whisper low in my ears.

“Congratulations, Rafa. You’ve got yourself a baby girl.”

****

My tires burned against the asphalt, and the streets blurred. My chest burned. My heartbeat pounded against my ribs. I didn’t know what I was feeling, but the rush left me high, like I was floating on the fucking clouds. The only problem was that a wave of foreign emotions was crashing down on me hard, all at the same time, and I had no clue how to deal with them.

Reaching for my phone, I dialed my brother. He was the best person to call for a situation like this. The phone didn’t even ring before he picked up like he was just waiting for my call.

“Look who’s become a man. Who would have thought?”

In the background, I heard my niece shrieking, and hearing Timur laugh actually calmed me down. “Fuck you, too. How did you know?”

“How didIknow?”

Yeah, shit. For a moment there, I’d forgotten who I was speaking to. Word traveled fast around our parts, and there was no doubt he’d gotten the news before I did. I raked my fingers through my hair, blowing out a breath.

“It’s a code red. I don’t know—I can’t handle this. I don’t know what to fucking do.”

“First….” He paused to say something in Russian, which made my niece shriek more. “Calm down. You’ve got this. You can handle it.” He said the last part with more emphasis, and we both knew he referred to the trauma we’d both suffered at the hands of our father. “You’re better than him.”

When he said that, I caught the sight of the gloves on my hand and the dots of crimson on my shirt and let out a dry chuckle. “I was ready to slice out a man’s tongue, for fuck’s sake. He swore on his mother’s goddamn grave. He has a fucking family. Timur, I didn’t give a fuck about any of those. What I wanted was the satisfaction of seeing that tongue out of his mouth. I wanted to teach him a lesson. You know this. I’m sick in the head. I can’t…I can’t be a fucking father.”

He was quiet for a minute before he spoke again. “Get your shit together, Rafa.” It was an order. “You’re going to walk into that room, look your wife and daughter in the face, and realize you’re not the person you think you are. If I could do it, so can you.”

“Timur—”

“I’m with Serena. See you in a few minutes.”

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