Page 164 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

I don’t want to be interested in what he’s saying, but it’s hard not to be.

“Don’t listen to him,” Gennady says. “Get me out of here.”

There’s a hint of desperation in his voice. I know he’s right—we don’t have time for this. I nod and start leading him towards the door again.

“You want to know her real name? Aryana Georgeovich.”

At that, I pause. I feel Gennady stiffen next to me.

“You hate the Albanians, don’t you?” Jorik asks. “Dima Romanoff and his moral compass could never allow him to do business with thedirty Albanians. I guess that moral compass gets a little fuzzy when it comes tofuckingthem, though, huh?”

A chill moves down my back.What the fuck is happening here?

I move Gennady over to the couch, letting him prop himself up on the back of the sofa, and turn back to The Butcher. He’s still lying on the floor, blood pooling around him.

But his head is raised so he can see me. He’s smiling. Enjoying himself.

“Arya’s an Albanian?” I ask in a low, dangerous voice.

“Born and raised. She grew up in the mob. Her mother was their main drug supplier.”

“You’re lying.”

I hate the violent tremor in my voice, but I can’t help it. I’m angrier than I’ve ever been.

The first night we met, when I walked into the vet clinic, she asked if I was with the Albanians. She wasn’t surprised to see me there with a gun because she’d been around violence her whole life.

She wasn’t afraid of me because she’d known men just like me from the time she could walk and talk.

Born and raised, Jorik said.

“Does anyone get out of the mob life?” Jorik asks, the question rhetorical. He glances up at the portrait hanging above his mantle, his head bent at an awkward angle in order to do so. “You know, it could have been Aryana’s face up there. She and I were engaged to be married, after all.”

The wind wheezes out of my lungs, but I do my best not to show it.

Jorik wants a show. I’m not going to give him the fucking satisfaction.

“I can see how you were blinded by her lies. The girl is a good fuck.” He groans at a sudden rush of pain, thinking back on memories, and then releases a slew of watery coughs. “She’s wild in bed. Unfortunately, she’s wild out of bed, too. You can’t trust her for shit. Isn’t loyalty big with you Romanoffs?”

Knowing Jorik touched Arya makes me want to end him instantly. But he isn’t worth the bullet. His voice is getting faint, anyway. He’ll be dead in a minute or less.

“She tried to ruin me,” Jorik continues quietly. “She destroyed half of my product. I spent a year making good on debts. So I figured it was time for Arya to make good on hers.”

“What does that mean?”

Jorik smiles. “Finally interested, are you?”

I don’t answer.

He coughs again. Realizing he doesn’t have much time, he keeps talking. “She was supposed to marry me. Have my babies. Good Albanian boys. Instead, she nearly destroyed my reputation and got me killed. I figured it was only fair that she be auctioned off to be some sick bastard’s sex slave—it was all she was good for anyway—and that I get the kid. I’ve always liked kids.”

I recoil like he’s shot me. The thought of Arya touching him… moaning for him… I’m shaking from head to toe with rage.

“You see, we Albanians always pay back our debts,” Jorik says. “Which is why I will die in peace knowing you will get what’s coming to you, Dima Romanoff. My family will come for you, seeking revenge for me, and you’ll die a more gruesome death than—”

I don’t even realize I’m walking towards Jorik until I’m standing over him.

He’s still a waste of a bullet, so I pick up my boot and bring it down hard on his face. His skull crunches beneath my foot.

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