Page 68 of Brutal Union
I toss the bucket of soapy water over his head in one smooth, uncaring motion. The cold hits him like a slap, and I hope—really fucking hope—a mouthful of it slides down his throat. Fitting, since he’s been choking on lies for decades. He coughs, sputters, but still—he smiles. That smug little curl of his cracked lips. Boris Petrov doesn’t fear death. He’s waiting for it. Daring me to make it hurt. I drop the bucket. Let the hollow clang of it on the concrete ring out like a bell. A countdown. A warning. A promise.
“You only die by her hand,”I snarl. “That’s the only ending you get.” I wind up kicking his shins, to give him a lasting pain before I return.
“Sho! Blades!”Bhon’s voice echoes down from above.
I look down at Boris, his eye half-closed, his breath thin.
“You’ve always been a lucky bastard, Gifu.”
17
NADIA
“You want to straighten your back,”I say, pressing my fingers firmly into the small of Mia’s spine.
She stiffens under my touch, trying to obey, but ends up contorting like a confused flamingo. Her shoulders jerk up, her hips tilt forward awkwardly, and she juts her chest out like she’s trying to impress a firing squad. It’s almost impressive how wrong she can make it look.
Her tongue pokes out from the corner of her mouth, curling up toward her nose, and her right eye clamps shut like she’s taking aim through a sniper scope. She looks like a child pretending to be a soldier. Because she is.
I sigh through my nose, biting back a smirk.
“And stop puffing out your chest,” I snort, slipping two fingers beneath her ribs and tickling her sides just enough to make her squirm.
She squeals, trying not to laugh, trying even harder not to lose her balance.
“You’re not about to blow into a trumpet,” I murmur, stepping back, letting her find her posture again. “You’re throwing a weapon, not performing in a parade.”
She exhales, resetting her stance. Her tongue wiggles as her chest settles and her back says rigid from her hips rocking back and forth. I hold her hips in my hands and angle my body to be solid behind her to keep her position as rigid as possible.
Normally, I wouldn’t be teaching a twelve-year-old how to wield a weapon. That should tell you everything about the state of the world.
But here I am—in the middle of a forest clearing behind the estate—watching Mia squint at a wooden target while gripping a sharpened ninja star with hands that are still too small to hold most guns.
The threats against the Bratva have tripled in the last year alone. The Yakuza and the Polish used to be uneasy allies, balanced on fragile treaties and backroom deals. But those ties snapped after we refused to give up Sho, and things escalated even faster when I made it clear I wouldn’t fold just because a woman was running the Bratva. Aleksandr killed a member of the fucking Irish mob two years ago which ruined our relationship with the Irish, despite the member being a fucking rat. I had to kill a few handsy, disrespectful members of the Polish mafia, and when Hiragi Daichi—the enforcer of the Yakuza—came to intimidate me, I sent his head back to Takeda. Any friendliness between us ended there, and they’ve been trying to kill us ever since. The only ally we have are the Italians and they have no true reason to go to war with most of the big players in New York just because I refuses to step down as queen of the Bratva.
Now Gwen and Nikolai’s children: Gio, Mia, and Toni are all in danger. Aleksandr has moved Lily to an island off the coast of Costa Rica and refuses to let anyone know their exact coordinates, and I don’t blame him. She is seven months pregnant, and if anything happened to her I doubt he would forgive himself. I know for a fact he would not forgive me.
All of this because I wanted a man I knew I couldn’t have. All of this because for the first time in my life I put myself ahead of the family. Because of me, we live in a world where every phone call could be a declaration of war, and every child in my family is a liability if they can’t defend themselves. All of this shit and I didn’t even get the fucking guy. There is noBonnieandClyde.Mister and Misses Smith fucking nothing.
When it all first went down, I tried. I really fucking tried. For six months—with the walls caving in and every person gunning for my head or my title asVor v Zakone—I threw all of that aside for him. I hunted him down. I wanted him to know that I did want him. That everything we shared, this feeling in my chest—part explosion, part terror—meant something. That it did equate to love.
I loved Sho Matsumoto.
I had a love so consuming, I almost sentenced my entire family to death.
And he disappeared.
Didn’t even let me explain. Didn’t even fight for me. He just vanished into thin air.
I don’t like this. I never wanted this for us. I never wanted this for my family. I never wanted to be the one who stole her innocence the way Boris stole ours. Isn’t that the whole point oftaking down a tyrant? So the next generation has a better, fuller life? So they don’t live in fear of the world the way you did? But I can’t hold onto this guilt, because I want her alive more than I want her innocent.
“There,” I nod. “Now you look dangerous.”
Mia flashes me a grin, one dimple deepening on her cheek. I hate how much it reminds me of her mother. Of innocence. Of everything that’s always one bullet away from being ruined.
I glance at the star in her hand, then at the target nailed to the tree.
“Release,” I whisper, guiding her arm gently through the motion.
