Page 27 of Imperfect Desires

“Yes,” Viktor says darkly. “Someone obviously thinks we have become weak.”

“Or trying to weaken the bratva,” I say quietly.

Viktor’s eyes sharpen as he nods in agreement. “We will put plans in place to leave right away,” I say, already pulling out my phone.

The mood in the jet is gray and quiet.

Viktor sits across from me, his face a cold mask as the soft hum of the engines vibrates beneath us. Zasha stretches out in the seat next to him, his eyes closed, but I know he’s not sleeping.

I’m not sleeping either. My head is full. Thoughts crashing over each other too fast to make sense of them.

Igor is dead.

And I care more than I should. He wasn’t my father, but I respected him. The way he built his organization, the way he loved his children- that is something my father could never do. But it isn’t Igor’s face I’m seeing behind my closed eyes.

It’s Alina’s.

Her broken voice over the phone. The sound of her crying. The way her voice cracked when she said, Papa’s dead.

I feel the tension winding through my body, tightening across my chest. I remind myself it’s not about her. It’s about Viktor. About the Bratva. About ensuring that whoever did this suffers.

But I know I’m fucking lying to myself.

It’s her. It’s always her.

The cold air cuts through my jacket as we step off the jet onto the dark tarmac. The black SUV waiting for us is already running, exhaust curling into the frigid air.

Nikolai steps out of the car, his face drawn and cold. He’s wearing a dark wool coat over his suit, and his expression is more chilling than the weather.

“Pakhan,”he says, his voice rough. He nods toward Viktor.

Viktor clasps Nikolai’s shoulder. “What happened?”

“All we know for now is that it was an ambush meant to finish him off specifically. Our members in the force department are working diligently to clone the CCTV footage for us.”

“So, we have nothing to work with after twelve hours?” Viktor asks with controlled rage.

“I am sure we will have a lead in a few hours,” Nikolai answers.

Russia is about to understand that their new Pakhan hates sluggishness.

Viktor nods once. “And how are my sisters?”

“Safe. But shaken.”

My chest hurts hearing this.

“Take us to the house,” Viktor says.

The Makarov estate is precisely how I expect it.

Dark, cold and imposing.

The massive iron gates slide open as Nikolai pulls the SUV up the long driveway. The front of the mansion looms above us in the dim light. As we step out of the car, I roll my shoulders beneath my jacket, trying to shake off the tension wound tight beneath my skin. Viktor strides toward the entrance without hesitation. Zasha follows.

I hesitate.

I take a deep breath before stepping into the building. Members of the organization present are surprised to see Viktor alive, but at this moment, my eyes are on only one person.

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