Page 42 of Dirty Damage

He shakes his head. “It’s about time you snatched power from that old ball sack. It’s also time you settled down.”

“I’m not getting married because Iwanta wife. It’s tactical.”

“Sure it is.” His knowing tone sets my teeth on edge. “Either way, it’ll be good for you. You’ve been alone too long.”

I shift away from the railing, steeling myself. “I like being alone.”

“Youthinkyou like being alone. You’ve resigned yourself to it as punishment for…” He throws me a quick, nervous glance. “For what happened when you were eighteen.”

I have half a mind to throw the observant motherfucker overboard.

“If I wanted psychoanalysis, I’d see a shrink,” I growl, though there’s no real heat behind it.

The ocean breeze tugs at my shirt, reminding me of other winds, other days. Days I’d rather forget.

“Who needs a shrink when you’ve got me?” Artem grins weakly, still clutching his handkerchief like a lifeline. “Besides, someone needs to call you on your bullshit.”

“All I need from you is muscle and loyalty.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender, though the effect is somewhat ruined by his greenish pallor. “At this rate, you won’t get either. You’ve sentenced me to death by yacht.”

Chuckling, I offer him my hand.

He takes it reluctantly and I pull him to his feet. “Come on. If we’re going to take on Boris, we need to be prepared.”

Artem follows me below deck, where my closestvoryare lounging on the butter-soft leather, their hardened expressions dancing in the polished surfaces.

Only a few hours ago, Sutton stood where I am right now.

She puckered her full lips against the rim of a glass, making me wonder what it would look like wrapped around me instead.

She unknowingly tested whether I had the patience to wait until she’d signed the damn contract.

But I do.

Because she will.

Which means it’s time to put the rest of the plan into motion.

My men turn as I enter, quiet and reverent. “What I’m about to say stays in this room.”

Artem lets out a small groan as the yacht shifts and then begins handing out shots. We usually save the good stuff forafter bloodshed, but this kind of announcement deserves some fanfare.

I let the tension build for a moment, feeling the weight of their expectations.

The crystal catches the light streaming through the windows, throwing prisms across serious faces.

“Boris’s time is over.” The words land like stones in still water, ripples of reaction spreading through my audience. “I’m taking back what’s mine. My father’s empire. The Bratva. All of it.”

“Fucking finally!” Efrem raises his glass, teeth flashing in his dark beard.

Mikhail leans forward, eyes gleaming. “How we gonna do it, boss?”

I smile, slow and predatory. “With a baby. And a wedding.”

“A wedding?” Vol’s jaw drops like I’ve just suggested we all give up crime and join a fucking monastery. “You’re getting married?”

“That’s what’s tripping you up?” Dustin snorts. “Not the part where he mentioned knocking someone up?” He turns to me, brows raised. “You’re going to be a father?”

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