Page 61 of His Hold

“Fall back!” Pavel’s voice cuts through the madness. “We need to regroup.”

“Fuck that,” I bark. “We’re ending this now.”

I work my way around, staying low in the brush. Ivan provides covering fire as I circle behind Roman’s position. His bodyguard spots me too late, and I put two bullets in his chest before he can raise his weapon.

Roman spins, his pistol aimed at my face. I already have mine leveled at his head.

He’s tall, lean, with a jagged scar slicing down his left cheek. His hair’s dark and slicked back, and he’s got Dmitri’s sharp jaw, but his eyes burn with something wilder and hungrier. I can’t believe this is the outcast who scraped his way up from nothing after his father ditched him.

I study him, this guy I’ve only heard whispers about until now. Roman’s a ghost in the Bratva world, Dmitri’s bastard kid, born to some mistress he never claimed. Raised on scraps while Dmitri built his empire, Roman got nothing but a name and a grudge. Word is, Dmitri cut him loose when he was a teenager, called him a liability.

Roman stands at the edge of the carnage, his eyes cold, his mouth twisted with something like amusement. Like he’s enjoying this. The bastard’s covered in blood, but none of it’s his own. Everything about him screams ambition, and something else—desperation.

“Nikolai Ramensky,” he says, not lowering his gun. “Finally, we meet.”

I keep my breathing steady. “Drop it.”

“Why would I do that?” He tilts his head. “Your boys are dropping like flies. Mine too, I admit. Good shooting.”

“We can both walk away from this, or neither of us will.”

A bullet whizzes past, splintering bark inches from my head. We both duck instinctively.

“Your man Pavel has terrible aim,” Roman says, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead.

“Wasn’t aiming for you.”

Roman’s last bodyguard slumps to the ground behind him. He glances back, then at me.

“You’re better than I expected,” he admits, lowering his weapon slightly.

I keep mine steady. “Kirill wants you dead.”

Roman’s lips curl. “I’m sure he does.”

“But I’m not here to kill you.”

This catches him off guard. He studies my face, looking for deception. “No?”

“Not if we can talk business.”

He laughs. “What could you possibly offer me?”

I lower my gun just enough to show good faith. “Something you want more than my blood.”

“And what’s that?”

“Legitimacy. Power. Things your father never gave you.”

His eyes narrow at the mention of Dmitri. I’ve hit a nerve.

“You don’t care about avenging Dmitri, do you?” I say, reading him. “It’s a front for your men. You want legitimacy. Power. Kirill’s territory would make you the real deal, show everyone you’ve outdone the old man who threw you away.”

“You’re sharp. But it’s deeper than that. Kirill screwed me. When Dmitri walked out, Kirill made sure I stayed down. Fed me lies about a place in the Bratva, then laughed when I came begging. He turned my father against me, poisoned him with bullshit about loyalty. I couldn’t give a shit. But my men expect it. The clan expects it. Dmitri’s son, bastard or not must avenge his father, even if he was a worthless father. Roman’s expression hardens. “Kirill made sure I was pushed aside. Made sure Dmitri never acknowledged me as his rightful heir. For years, I watched from the outside while Kirill took everything that should have been mine.”

“And killing Alina? That was business, too?”

His mouth forms a cold smile. “That was the first step. Break Kirill before taking what’s mine. The territory, the connections, everything. I need to be more than just Dmitri’s estranged son. I need to be better than he ever was.”

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