Page 16 of Vendetta Crown

Perhaps I've underestimated her.

Beneath her demure exterior, there might be steel I hadn't recognized.

"She told me that by rescuing you," Potyomkin continues, turning back to me, "I now have a favor that I might be able to extract from the Dragunov bratva in the future."

The calculation is so cold, so transactional, that I almost laugh.

Of course. Nothing in this world is free. Not safety, not kindness, not even basic human decency. Not from the men, nor from the women.

But suddenly a thought occurs to me. If everything in this world is negotiable, then I have cards to play too.

"A favor?" I ask, studying Potyomkin's impassive face. I straighten my spine despite the pain shooting through my body. "Vyacheslav..."

I pause deliberately, mimicking what he did to me last night, waiting for him to supply his patronymic.

His eyes narrow, but something like approval flickers in them. "Vyacheslav Petrovich," he says after a moment.

"Vyacheslav Petrovich," I continue, proud that my voice remains steady. "What favor would you ask of the Dragunov bratva?"

He leans back in his leather chair, fingers steepled. "I know Ruslan's marriage to you was meant to deny the Dragunov bratva to Semyon and the Triads." His voice is matter-of-fact, as if discussing a business transaction rather than my husband's life. "With Ruslan dead, this becomes much more complicated."

My heart clenches at his casual mention of Ruslan's death, but I force myself to focus.

"Your marriage has already thrown much of theVoriinto vehement disagreement," he continues. "And I would like to negotiate for greater influence should Gregor Belov be unable to hold the rest of theVoritogether."

It clicks instantly. "You want the Dragunov bratva's guns."

Vera's gaze flicks to me, surprise evident in her eyes before she lowers them again.

"But you're in Las Vegas," I point out, gesturing toward the window. "If you want guns, you can just go buy them yourself."

Potyomkin's lips curve into that cold smile again. "You see exactly what I want without me having to mention it. Very good." He nods approvingly. "The beauty of the Dragunov bratva's organization is that Ruslan's production company is what allows advanced weapons to be smuggled in."

He leans forward, his voice dropping slightly. "Without a next of kin, and to keep bratva and legitimate businesses separate, Ruslan's production company will go to his wife in the event of his death."

The implication is clear.

"Are you asking me to be the weapons smuggler of choice for theVori?" I ask slowly. "Or just for you?"

Potyomkin's smile widens slightly. "Just for me."

"And if I say no?"

Potyomkin shrugs. "Then I will simply find another."

I study his face, detecting the bluff immediately. If this were truly so simple, I wouldn't be sitting here.

"No you won't," I say calmly. "Because if you were going to, you would've done so already."

Potyomkin's lips curve into a thin smile. "You see things with remarkable clarity for someone who's been in our world for such a short time."

I match his gaze, refusing to look away despite every instinct telling me to shrink back. "I've had to learn quickly."

"Indeed." He drums his fingers against the polished desk. "So, Aurora Markovna. What are your terms?"

This is my chance, perhaps my only chance to carve out some form of safety in this brutal world.

"If Ruslan is truly dead, I want protection," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Your trusted men. Your best."

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