Page 5 of Til Death Do Us Part (Kornilov Bratva Duet 2)

Viktor

The bar is dim. The windows were long ago blotted out with signs and black smears of paint, giving it the appearance of eternal night. Right now, I’m grateful for the gloom. It makes the scene in front of me easier to digest.

I feel a tacky squelch under my boot. Petr grabs my arm and pulls me to a stop.

“Careful.” He points to the right of where I was walking, and I see the source of the mess on the floor.

The body is wedged between the barstool and the wood paneling of the bar like it slumped down there and didn’t move again. Not surprising, considering the person’s head is sitting in a bowl of peanuts on the bar. At least, I think it’s the same head. There are several other dead bodies missing heads of their own.

Fedor sounded normal on the phone. Normal for him, anyway.

I was in my office when he called. Going home to the apartment I used to share with Molly and Theo was depressing, and I couldn’t go back to Molly’s. No matter how badly I wanted to talk with her and figure out what we were going to do about the baby, she didn’t want me there. So, I stayed at the office even later than usual. Maybe I should’ve thanked Fedor, after all. Because of him, there was plenty to keep me busy.

He took half of my men, and the men who stayed behind barely trusted me. I had lost Molly and Theo, and now, because of the brother who should have been my right-hand man, I was looking at losing my control of the Bratva, too. Everything was going to shit.

When Fedor called, I naively thought it could be to make amends. No matter how many times Fedor fucked me over, I wanted to think of him as my little brother. As the boy I’d cared for and protected our entire lives. I didn’t want to see him as the monster he’d become.

“Working late?” he asked.

I didn’t want to think about how he knew. About whether I was being watched or followed or what it could mean for Molly. If Fedor knew she was pregnant, he’d go after her in a heartbeat. I couldn’t let that happen. For sanity’s sake, I convinced myself it was just a lucky guess.

“What do you want, Fedor?”

He let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Well, I was going to see if you wanted to get a drink with me, but I can guess what your answer will be. You don’t sound very happy to hear from me.”

“Maybe that’s because you betrayed me and took my men,” I growled.

Fedor sighed. “They came with me willingly, brother.”

“You’ve always had a hard time distinguishing between the two,” I said, grinding my teeth at the thought of Fedor touching Molly. Hurting her.

This time, Fedor genuinely laughed. The sound was so sharp it surprised me. “See, brother? You need to come down to the bar. The patrons here would laugh their heads off at that joke.”

Something in the tone of his voice alerted me to a scheme. He wasn’t calling for a chat. He sounded too proud of himself. As soon as I hung up the phone, I called down to the bar where our men liked to hang out. When no one answered, I called Petr, and we went to investigate.

“What the fuck?” Petr mumbles, pressing his forearm to his nose to keep out the coppery smell of the blood. “What kind of monster could do this?”

“Who do you think?” I know the answer, but it doesn’t seem real. I keep expecting it all to be fake. To realize the bodies are props and the blood is corn syrup. Because imagining my baby brother could be capable of bloodshed and carnage like this is beyond me.

There is no doubt Fedor did this, however. I told Molly we were in a war. Maybe she’d finally understand what I mean if she saw this.

I dismiss the idea the moment it pops into my head. I don’t want her or anyone else to see this. It’s horrific and a sure sign of how far gone my brother is. Besides, in her condition …

I haven’t seen her since last night, but I had a doctor sent over early in the morning to confirm everything. I’ll probably get an earful about that later for not running it past her first, but that argument would be a welcome reprieve from what I’m seeing now.

“But there are civilians here,” Petr says. “By my count, he only killed two of our guys.”

By my count, too. My guess is Fedor didn’t want to kill too many potential soldiers. That’s what my men are right now—potential recruits for Fedor’s growing army. As he continues his random trail of terror, he is scaring once loyal men into fighting with him. They are so afraid for their lives that they are pledging loyalty to someone as obviously out of his mind as Fedor.

“The Italians can’t agree with this.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, trying to think. Trying to be logical. Rage and frustration and a hopeless sadness sink inside of me, and I try to rise above it. I can’t let my emotions get in the way of my judgment. That’s what Fedor wants. “They’ve always abided by the unspoken rule of leaving civilians alone. Doing otherwise is dangerous. It risks police interference and jail time.”

“I think the game is changing,” Petr says, his voice muffled by the sleeve of his shirt. “We’ve always drawn lines in the sand, but Fedor doesn’t have those lines. His army is growing, and he is willing to do things we aren’t. If he keeps it up, we won’t be able to play anymore.”

“This isn’t a fucking game.”

Petr stiffens at my sudden snap but doesn’t retreat. There is nowhere to retreat. We are standing in the only bit of unbloodied floor in the entire bar.

“Are you suggesting we do … this?” I gesture around the bar as though there is any way he could have missed the carnage. “Because if this is what it takes to keep up, I don’t want to play.”

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