Page 6 of Til Death Do Us Part (Kornilov Bratva Duet 2)

“Of course not,” Petr says. “I’m just passing on what I’ve heard.”

I sigh. If Petr is passing on information, it means there is talk. Fedor’s level of crazy is making me look weak. My men are terrified of my baby brother, and I’m not sure how to reassure them.

I clap a hand on Petr’s shoulder and squeeze. Then, with our silent apology out of the way, we leave so the bar can be scrubbed and cleaned and the bodies disposed of.

* * *

I’mjittery after four cups of coffee and two hours of sleep, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins assures me I won’t get tired. Not until after this is done.

Petr put out feelers and heard word back early this morning that Fedor is holing up in an Italian warehouse on the edge of the city. He knows if he shows his face in any of his old haunts or any of the Kornilov turf, he’ll have to face me. So, I’m going to go face him.

My men need to know I’m not afraid of a fight. They need to see that I’m willing to go to war for them, that I will do what I can to neutralize any threats against our family and our business. Even if that threat is my own flesh and blood.

“I think you should stay behind,” Petr says again, adjusting his bulletproof vest and checking his gun for the third time. “It doesn’t make sense for you to lead the charge. If you are killed, how long will the Bratva last? What chance do any of us have?”

Petr is the obvious next choice for leader of the Bratva, though clearly, he doesn’t have much faith in his own abilities. Honestly, with Fedor becoming a rival, I have to agree with him. Under normal circumstances, Petr is good with people and knows how to make hard choices, but no one is prepared to counter my brother’s level of crazy like I am. I’ve been talking Fedor back from moral ledges his entire life. This ledge is a little more precarious than the others, but I have hope I can do it again.

“If I’m seen hiding behind my men, how long will it last then?”

Petr doesn’t answer, and I know it’s because he agrees with me. Everyone is afraid, and I have to be willing to stand up and show them I’m not if I want to save what I’ve built.

The warehouse sits at the back of a large, empty plot of land. We are not discreet as SUV after SUV rolls down the road towards the warehouse. I have about twenty men in total with weapons, ready to take down anyone who comes into our path. I would never allow my men to take out civilians and innocents, but anyone involved in the attack we saw at the bar last night is not innocent. They deserve to pay for what they did.

The plan is to jump out the moment the cars stop and lay waste to the warehouse. Bust our windows, shoot through walls, and storm inside and take it if the opportunity presents itself. I don’t want to lose any men—I don’t have many left to lose—but I want to make Fedor understand that I will not roll over and let him treat the city like his own hellish playground. I want him to know I can kill, and I will if pushed.

As soon as the SUV screeches to a stop, Petr and I share a look before throwing open our doors and jumping from the car. I take cover behind the armored car door and am ready to fire when the metal double doors of the warehouse open and a woman comes walking out.

A pregnant woman.

The animal part of my brain sees the long brown hair and the obviously pregnant stomach and thinks of Molly.

She is carrying my child and now Fedor has her. He has captured her and is going to kill her in front of me.

I’m so overcome with terror and rage and blind panic that it takes me several seconds to realize Molly isn’t showing yet, and Fedor doesn’t know she is pregnant. This woman can’t be Molly.

I lift a hand for my men to hold, and on cue, Fedor comes walking out of the warehouse with his gun raised, pointed directly at the pregnant woman’s head.

We are far enough away that I can’t make out the woman’s face, but I can tell by the shaking in her shoulders that she is sobbing. Her arms are raised in surrender, and my plans of revenge fall around me like ash.

To take out Fedor, I’d have to kill a pregnant woman. He knows I never would. He is counting on it.

Petr’s words from the bar ring in my head: 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. I can’t play anymore. Part of me wishes I could rationalize this woman’s life as a necessary cost of ending my brother. After all, killing her and her unborn child would be far less than the death toll Fedor could rack up if left unchecked. In a utilitarian sense, killing her is the right thing to do.

Still, I can’t stop myself from lowering my gun.

I can’t.

I won’t.

I signal for my men to stand down and then rise to my feet. Petr hisses through the car to ask what the fuck I’m doing, but I can barely hear him over the blood pounding in my ears. I walk out from behind the car door and start moving towards the warehouse. I only vaguely recognize someone is standing next to me, and I turn and realize it is Petr. His eyes are wide, scanning the warehouse windows, looking for snipers or anyone who would shoot at us, but I can’t be worried about that right now.

This needs to end. Now.

As we approach, I can see Fedor is smiling. He is grinning, actually. His face is split wide with obvious joy at what is happening, in stark contrast to the sobbing woman in front of him.

Her eyes are red and puffy, snot is dripping from her nose, and her entire body is trembling.

“Did you really think you could just show up and kill me so easily?” Fedor asks, peeking out from behind the pregnant woman but keeping most of his body shielded behind hers. “I thought you’d be smarter than that, brother.”

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