Page 8 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

I wave him away from the door. This time, he lets me pass. When he does, I practically leap into the hallway.

Outside the room, the reality of what I’ve just done sinks in more and more. It’s like coming out of a dream, reclaiming control of your mind and body, being forced to reckon with the decisions you made while you weren’t really you.

Except Iwasme. The woman who asked a stranger to make her comewasme.

Disgrace warms my cheeks.

“Not up for a round two, then?” the man taunts, calling down the hallway.

I ignore him and duck into the bathroom. Avoiding my reflection—nothing good can come of looking myself in the eye right now—I pee, splash water on my face, and fix my ruined ponytail.

After a few deep breaths, I march out of the bathroom, ready to send the man on his way before I call the cops.

Except, when I walk into the hallway, I can see the back door of the clinic is slightly ajar. The night breeze whispers through the crack.

He’s already gone.

Dima

NINE MONTHS LATER—A BRAVA SAFEHOUSE JUST OUTSIDE OF NEW YORK CITY

“Amutiny?” I shake my head and stand up, stretching my spine. “You gotta be kidding me. Are we fucking pirates?”

“Even pirates aren’t as ugly as you,” my lieutenant Gennady says wryly.

“Watch it,” I warn. “Or I’ll shove a peg leg so far up your ass you’ll get splinters in your tongue.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, chastened. “That’s a little grim, even for you, Dima Romanoff.”

Our smiles sort of linger for a moment before fading away. The truth is that this shit isn’t funny. Not by a long shot.

I’m the don of the Romanoff Bratva. A mutiny means someone is telling me they want that title for themselves.

I don’t like that.

And I plan to remedy the situation very fucking quickly.

“A mutiny,” I say again, mostly to myself. “Fucking hell. I’ll sort this out.”

Gennady rubs his chin. “And how do you plan to do that? All by yourself, Captain America?” He doesn’t go so far as to actually block the door, but he positions himself between me and it, trying to buy himself some time to keep talking me down.

I tap my hip where I keep my gun holstered. “I’ll manage. Get out of my way.”

He doesn’t budge. Gennady might be the only man alive who disregards my orders so regularly. He’s lucky he’s my best friend or else I’d make real on that peg leg threat.

“Gennady…”

“They have weapons, too, Dima,” he argues. “Zotov and the men who support him have claimed the main armory bunker. Right now, he’s more powerful than you are.”

I bristle at the suggestion, clenching my teeth. “That motherfucker is a scared little puppy. He doesn’t know what it takes to lead.”

“You’re not wrong. The dipshit wouldn’t be able to pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were printed on the heel,” Gennady agrees. “But heissmart enough to point the dangerous end of the gun at you and make it go bang. He’s not playing around, Dima. And he’ll kill you if you charge in there trying to demand their respect. We have to be smart about this.”

Anger curdles in my chest. “I don’t demand anything,” I retort harshly. “I earn it. No one in the Bratva has hungered for a goddamn thing under my command.Iprovide.Ilead. The smart thing to do would be to execute all these traitors for disloyalty. Make an example of them.”

He shakes his head. “We don’t have the firepower, Dima. They’ll kill you if you stick your head above ground.” He enunciates every word, trying to make the point clear.

I growl in wordless fury and spin around, kicking the leg of the coffee table. The entire thing tips over, spilling house plants, coasters, and bullets across the floor.

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