Page 50 of Scars He Gave Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 2)

Thank God, just then, Lucy, my father’s housekeeper, announces dinner and we adjourn to the dining room.

Apparently, judging by the number of forks beside my plate, we’re locked into at least four courses. No matter what I do, there’s no way to speed it along.

Katerina is across from me next to her father, not smiling, not doing much more than pushing the food around on her plate. I’m still racking my brain for what all this means and what I can even do about it. Katerina doesn’t want this shit anymore than I do. So what? Does that change anything? It’s a surprise, of course—she’s always struck me as a demure daddy’s girl, the kind of puppet daughter every Russian don dreams of—but I don’t know that her father gives a shit what she wants, what she cares about.

My father speaks up, interrupting my thoughts. “Leonid and I have changed the date for your wedding.” I glance at Katerina just in time to see her grimace before she wipes it away.

I turn to my father. “When?”

“Two weeks.”

Fuck. Now Katerina looks up, panic—could be terror—making her eyes darker, and a new batch of tears appears. I should say something, let them know I can’t do it.

But I don’t. Because why? Because I’m a fucking coward? Because my father is the don and I’m thederzhatel obschakaand I’m supposed to obey my don?

Katerina shoves her chair back with a murmured excuse and slips from the room. My father shoots a glare at Leonid. Shit.

“I’ll just go check on her,” I say. Maybe I’ll sneak out the back door while I’m at it.

I toss my napkin onto the table beside my plate and walk into the hallway. She’s leaning against the wall with her hands covering her face. For a second, I think she’s crying, but when she looks at me, laughing, I chuckle first then laugh with her.

“Holy fuck. Two weeks.” She laughs louder and covers her mouth. “Two weeks and then a lifetime of cheating on each other and pretending we don’t when we’re in public.”

I frown, start to object, but she cuts me off.

“Don’t pretend like it isn’t your plan. Like you don’t have some bottle blonde living in your place right now.” She shrugs. “It’s okay. I’m not exactly spending my nights alone. A girl’s got needs. Dreams.” She looks me up and down. “And you’re busy with the American.”

“And who are you busy with?” It doesn’t matter, not really, but I find myself asking anyways.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

As I cast around for the right thing to say, my phone vibrates and I pull it out to look at the screen. I immediately swipe to answer.

“What’s up, Alek?”

“There’s a problem.” He details the issue, and I sigh as if I’m not dying to run out, ready to give him my share of this week’s cut of money for getting me the fuck out of here.

“I’ll meet you in ten.” I hang up and shake the phone at Katerina. “I have to leave.”

“Of course you do.” She makes a clicking sound with her tongue, a tsk, tsk. “You know, when we’re married, you’re not getting by with this kind of thing.” Then she throws her head back and laughs.

I don’t have time to decipher her bizarre statements. I have to make my excuses and get the hell out of here.

* * *

It takes longer than the ten minutes I promised, but when I’m finally on the road, I make up a few minutes and arrive just as Alek is spouting orders.

“Tomas.” Yerkhov nods to me. He’s lower level. Collects the protection money for delivery. He’s the one who has come to Alek with the problem.

But I grab him by the throat and slam him into the side of my SUV over the hood.

“You let them take our money?” My father will expect me to handle the situation the way he would. To make sure that our men know this behavior is unacceptable. I squeeze his throat harder. “Tell me.”

“The liquor store and the pawnshop both said that they’re paying the Italians now.”

Chez, another low-level Bratva patrolman, nods from the side. “Same with the hardware store and the auto shop. They said vandals robbed and ransacked their places.” He blows out a breath. “The Italians have taken over.”

Fucking Italians were probably the vandals in the first place. “Fuck!” I shove Yerkhov away and he stumbles toward Aleksey who helps him stand. “We need to send a message. Tonight. Get the men.”

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