Page 84 of Stolen By The Bratva King

Viktor and Roman say nothing, and I realize they won’t make me go along, but if I choose not to hurl myself into the fray, that choice will say something I can’t take back. Roman will know I cannot be trusted to be in charge, that I’m not a leader.

I can’t protect what matters by hiding in my penthouse and letting others fight on my behalf. A certain six-year-old boy, shaking and crying in a closet as his parents were murdered, could attest to that.

“This is my job,” I say firmly. “To stand up for my bratva and keep order. Youknowthis, Emery. Don’t ask me to be something I’m not.”

“What about all the things youare?” She tries to glare at me, but her lip quivers. “My husband, the man I love, everything that matters to me? You stole me and made me yours, Leon. You don’t get to drown in guilt and leave me to watch you sink!”

I pick up my jacket. “I’m sorry. But it’s how it’s gotta be. When all this Dante bullshit is behind us, I’ll get therapy or something, but I gotta end this.”

Emery doesn’t move; my tone leaves no doubt.

She hiccups, choking back an angry sob, but I can’t look at her. I turn to follow Roman and Viktor out the door, waiting for her to say the magic words that will make it okay for me to stay.

I’m lying to myself yet again. There’s nothing she or anyone could say.

I swore I would be the one to kill Dante Firenze, and even if it wasn’t personal, it’s my duty. I didn’t take an oath of service to the bratva to pussy out at a crucial moment.

Imustprotect my wife, and this is how I do it, not her way.

“I love you,” she says quietly.

Look at her, you asshole. Look your wife in the eyes when you say it back.

She doesn’t just need to hear it; she’s gottafeelit. Hurt yourself to comfort her.

No.One look at her heartsore face will bring me to my knees, and I can’t afford for that to happen.

The door is open. Roman and Viktor’s boots echo down the hallway, and I pause, my hand on the door handle.

“I love you too,val’kiriya.”

My hand grips the door handle. I could turn back, but I don’t.

I step through, closing it behind me. My feet move fast, putting distance between us before the weight in my chest anchors me to the floor.

At the door to the building, a guard named Felix is waiting. He gives me a sloppy Spetsnaz salute.

“I’ll keep her here, Boss. You go do your thing, and don’t get fucking killed, okay?”

I nod, and Felix’s grin fades for a second as his eyes meet mine, sharp enough to cut through the bullshit. He doesn’t say anything else, just nods; jokes aside, he knows what’s at stake.

I climb into the passenger seat of Viktor’s sedan. Roman is at the wheel, and the engine is already running.

“I can’t believe I’m riding bitch in my own car,” Viktor says from the back.

“You drive like an old woman,” Roman replies, revving the engine. “And put your damn seatbelt on.”

“I’m so ready to kill Dante Firenze,” I say. “Drive, Roman. The last thing that piece of shit will see is my laughing face.”

44

Dante

My men are dropping like flies.

I’ve lost another one now; Anton’s brother Michael hasn’t called in since I sent him to pay Leon and Emery a visit.

There are only a couple of options—the bastard could be dead, having snitched on me or not, circumstances depending. He may also have switched sides, been arrested, or bailed on me for some reason, but none of these possibilities are good for me.

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