Page 141 of For a Price

I walk out calmly as she faces her sink again and finishes drying her hands.

Withoutthe employee name tag that was clipped to the front of her uniform. I wait until I’m out in the hall before clipping it to the front of my t-shirt. If anyone asks, I’ll claim I’m off shift and on my way home.

It’s a flimsy excuse, but it’ll have to do for the time being.

My hand ghosts over my hip to make sure I’m still carrying the handgun, and then I cross from one hall to another. I’m coming up on the elevator at the end with plans to ride it up to the second floor and disappear even further on the hotel grounds.

I’ll move inch by inch through the property until I find where the pakhan is. I’ll take the shot the second I’m able to. His men will immediately shoot me in retaliation. I’ll be killed on the spot.

But it won’t matter… because he will be dead first.

I’m operating on adrenaline and nerve as I stop in front of the elevator and press the up arrow. It dings as it arrives and the doors roll apart. I move to step on and then stumble back at the man I find inside.

The sovietnik, Roman’s father, is waiting for me, gold cane and all.

His wizened face lines with amusement. “Hello, Katerina. I’ve heard so much about you.”

CHAPTER 41

Roman

“You’re surrounded, Zver,”the pakhan says calmly. “Lay down your weapons.”

The crew I have with me tightens on all sides. We’ve pulled together into a compact formation, our weapons pointed in every direction.

We’re surrounded, but we’re making it clear this is no surrender. We’re sure as hell going to be putting up a fight.

“This shows how little you understand me,” I reply. “Being outnumbered has never discouraged me before. It says more than you realize, pakhan, that you believe the only way to defeat me is with an army.”

His jaw tics, though the rest of his exterior remains icy and composed. “You have created this war in your head with your paranoia. You have been disobedient and reckless. But I have never had an issue punishing a badly behaved child before. You will be just another.”

“What you call paranoia, I call a secret plot to sabotage and destroy me. Are you pretending that has not been going on? Or are you just saving face for the uptight society you’re trying to become a part of?” I ask, gesturing toward the rest of theballroom with my free hand. My other hand clutches the handle of the assault rifle slung over my shoulder, trigger finger ready at any second. “Be honest, pakhan. These people have no clue about the man they’re about to elect as the new head of their society. They don’t know about the bratva.”

Murmurs break out around the room.

The dozens of guests in their finest threads start whispering to each other from behind their masks. Many of them seem scandalized by what’s happening. They weren’t expecting two different sets of armed men to crash their extravagant party.

But, unfortunately for them, they’re now stuck in the middle of a mob war. They’ll be lucky if they make it out alive tonight.

The pakhan rises from his chair behind the table. “You’re too late, Zver. This is already my club. The Midnight Society is mine. And I have already won this war you believe you’re fighting as well. Do you not realize how truly alone you are?”

His aloof expression shifts for a gloating one, where the corner of his lips spread into a slight smirk. His face gleams with triumph as someone else walks onto stage from the side entrance. An older man with a frail and thin build, his gold cane seemingly a lifeline for every slow step he takes…

“Moy otets?*,” I mutter under my breath. My grin vanishes and fury clenches onto my face.

It’s not a surprise that my father is aligned with the pakhan.

It’s what I’ve assumed from the moment I began suspecting something was off in our organization. Not only was Leonid a piece of shit, but my father was for protecting him. He was after me too, willing to do whatever necessary to make sure I failed.

He and the pakhan must’ve been planning this for months.

My glare is dark and deadly watching the two men on stage.

The pakhan appears well put-together and commanding while my father, the sovietnik, hobbles, old and frail.

That’s how the pakhan wants it—he wants his second-in-command to be no true threat. How could I ever consider the two being at odds?

My father, while once a formidable man, is so far past his prime, he’s pitiful. Only his mind remains sharp, but he’s clearly been neutered if he’s choosing the pakhan over his own reign. Over his own fucking son, the real heir to this family.

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