Page 68 of His Hold

Instead of answering, I pull him down for another kiss. The bandaged cut throbs faintly, a reminder of how thoroughly he’s worked his way into every part of my life. Into my heart.

I should be terrified. His world is violence and power games, everything I tried to protect myself from. But watching him with Irina, seeing the care beneath his dangerous exterior... I am done fighting this.

I choose him. All of him.

Chapter 20

Nikolai

Long days never bothered me before. Pain was nothing more than a fact of life. You endure. You adapt. You survive.

But now, the hours feel endless.

The stack of papers on my desk threatens to topple. Three hours of calls with our contacts in law enforcement, smoothing ruffled feathers after Roman and Kirill’s convenient “disappearance.” Brass needs reassurance. Fellow Bratva captains demand explanations.

Politics. Always fucking politics. Everyone’s still bristling about what went down—men pissed off about their investments gone sideways, others demanding answers I don’t have. And it’s a bad look for the Bratva, like wolves chewing at their own tails.

The police are sniffing around, desperate for any reason to dig their claws in deeper.

“The Petrov family wants answers,” Pavel reports, dropping another file on my desk. “They had arrangements with Kirill. Profitable ones.”

“Tell them that their arrangements transfer to me now. Double their previous cut.”

“That is generous.”

“Not generous. Strategic. When power shifts this dramatically, we need stability.”

“And Roman’s territory?”

“Split it between the Kuznetsov and Belov crews. Keep everyone happy.” I rifle through the documents. “Set up meetings with both families tomorrow. Personal appearances matter right now.”

He nods, understanding the delicate balance. When power shifts in our world, the aftermath requires careful handling. One wrong move sparks a war. We have seen it before. Entire families were wiped out because someone moved too fast, grabbed too much.

“What about the police investigation?”

“Being handled. Our friends at the precinct received substantial donations to their retirement funds.”

“And the bodies?”

“Never existed.” I close the file with finality. “Officially, Roman and Kirill took an extended vacation. Very extended.”

I juggle it all, tying up loose ends like a butcher trying to patch torn flesh. Meetings bleed into one another, the weight of it pressing against my skull.

My phone buzzes with texts I ignore until the screen finally flashes her name. Katya. I lean back in the leather chair, rubbing the edge of my thumb along my jawline. I need her. And not just in the obvious way. She’s the only thing that cuts through the noise.

“Irina’s been sending me baby photos. She says she’s coming for you next.”

The threat makes me smile. I check the time. Nearly noon. She should be at work.

“Need a secretary,” I text back. “Hotel Continental. Room 1542. One hour.”

Her response comes quickly: “What kind of secretary?”

“Professional. Efficient. Willing to take thorough dictation.”

“I might know someone suitable.”

“Good. Tell her to wear something... appropriate.”

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