Page 50 of Bound to the Bratva
A few moments later the clacking of heels against the floor grow louder and louder. Her cold eyes meet mine and I smile. “Be a dear and get me a butcher knife from the kitchen.”
Her eyes go wide, “W-what would we need that for?”
Oh, I’m not giving it away just yet. “You’ll see.”
Tatiana’s face turns a pallid shade of white, the color draining from her cheeks as she begins to realize just who she’s dealing with. She casts a sideways glance at her bruised husband, his nose still gushing crimson onto the handkerchief he holds tightly against his face.
“Please, Maxim,” Nikolai pleads, his voice shaky and unsure, “there’s no need for this.”
I turn my gaze back to him, a predator looking upon its prey with unbridled satisfaction. “That’s the thing, there is a need for it because you won’t learn unless I teach you a lesson.”
His eyes flicker with fear before he glances over at his wife.
“Go get me that knife, Tatiana,” I remind her again.
Tatiana comes back in record time and brings me a large, sharp butcher knife. I chuckle and toss the blade back between both of my hands, feeling the slickness of the handle. “So, which one of you will it be?”
Nikolai gulps, “Sorry?”
I suck in a breath and look between the two of them. “Which one of you is going to give me a hand? You struck my wife, but you enticed him. I don’t get it, man, how you could let a woman like that rile you up.”
“Maxim, I am sorry for what I did. It was a horrible decision made in a moment of weakness, but I’m not going to get my hand cut off because of a stupid mistake.”
Cocking both of my brows I remind him who’s in charge. “Unfortunately, you don’t get the option of deciding, Nikolai.”
I don’t waste another moment. I grab him by the collar and throw him down on the ground, pressing his arm down with all of my might. He howls in pain, a sound that echoes through the grand foyer. His wife, Tatiana, stands frozen in place, her hand covering her gasp of horror.
“Just a moment of weakness you said,” I mutter, placing the cold blade against his wrist.
“No Maxim—” he pleads, his voice choked with fear and regret. “Please.”
“Quiet,” I hiss. “You should have thought about that when you raised your hand to my wife.”
His pleas turn into sobs, cries that echo around me and fill the silence. It’s music to my ears.
“Maxim…” Tatiana finally finds her voice again. Her face is pale as a ghost, her eyes wide with terror. “This was my fault, I told him she was being disrespectful!”
She steps toward us, her body trembling. There’s a brave glint in her eyes despite the fear that seizes her. She offers out her hand to me. “Cut mine off instead.”
I grab her by the wrist and bring the blade to her skin, then meet her eyes. “You may mentally hurt my wife, but I’ll have a different punishment for you one day.”
I pull the blade back and slam it down over Nikolai’s wrist. He screams out in pain and it echoes through his vast house, blood oozing and squirting from his wound. I do it again until his hand is completely severed and he’s bleeding on the floor.
His men rush up to him with towels and promises to take him to the hospital, while I toss the knife on the floor and leave with a smug smirk on my face.
The nerve of that man, daring to strike his own daughter, my wife. My clenched fists ache to unleash more violence, to make his wife pay too, but I can do that another time. I’m sure it hurt her enough to see her husband screaming like a little girl.
The drive back to our condo is a blur, my mind consumed by thoughts of Aria’s trembling form, the anguish in her eyes when she recounted what her father did to her. I should have been there, should have shielded her from his childish temper. It’s my one failure as her husband, her protector.
When I finally reach our door, I waste no time striding inside, my gaze immediately seeking out Aria. She’s still in the kitchen, the wine glass now empty beside her. Her eyes lift to meet mine, rimmed with unshed tears, and my heart clenches.
“Maxim,” she breathes, the single word laced with a relief that twists in my gut.
In two long strides, I’m at her side, gathering her into my arms. She goes willingly, molding herself against me as a shuddering sigh escapes her lips. I press a fierce kiss to the crown of her head, one hand cradling the back of her neck.
“I’ve got you, lyubov moya,” I murmur, the endearment tumbling from my lips without thought. “You’re safe now.”
Her slender fingers grip the lapels of my suit as she nods, her face buried against my chest. I can feel the tension slowly bleeding from her, replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. Gently, I guide her toward the living room, lowering us both onto the plush sofa. Aria curls into my side, seeking the comfort of my embrace, and I tighten my hold, silently vowing to shield her from any further harm.
