Page 1 of Immaculate Corruption (Romanoff Bratva)

1

Dima

It’s been two weeks.

Two weeks since Arya’s lies came to light.

Two weeks since a dying man tore my world apart with his last few words.

I’ve dreamed every night about the last moment I saw her. The way her eyes looked, wide and fearful, as she stared down the barrel of my gun.

Run,I told her.This is my final mercy.

And she ran. She took my son and fled like her life depended on it—because it did.

So now, that backstabbing Albanian bitch, that liar, that traitor… she’s out there somewhere. When the time is right, I’m going to find her and make her pay for everything she’s done.

But now is not that time. Now is the time to take care of the other traitors who think they can snatch away what’s mine.

Zotov Stepanov’s days are numbered.

I pull out my phone and call Ilyasov. The phone rings and rings. I’m about to hang up when he finally answers.

“Do you have good news for me, little brother?”

“Your man is dead.” No need for pleasantries.

“Where’s my proof?”

“How about your brother’s word?”

Ilyasov chuckles like I’ve made a funny joke. “What good is that to me?”

“Do you think I’d lie to you?” I growl.

Ilyasov tuts as if he’s pretending to think. “It wouldn’t be the first time, would it,sobrat?”

I snort. “Says the man who claims he holds no grudges.”

“Not a grudge. Just a long memory, that’s all. You’ve always been quick to forget about the past. Me? Oh, I remember things. I remembereverything.”

I grit my teeth. Ilyasov can deny it all he wants, but we both know that what happened ten years ago still burns in his blood like poison. He’s defined by how much he hates the outcome of that night.

By what he did to me.

By what I did to him.

By what we both did to a man who deserved so much worse.

“I’m talking about the present. Not the past.”

“One thing bleeds right into the other, Dima. You can’t separate them.”

“Enough with the fortune cookie bullshit, Ilyasov,” I snap. “I killed the man you wanted dead. I held up my end of the bargain. Now, it’s your turn to hold up yours.”

Ilyasov ignores my prodding. “Tell me more. Did he put up a fight?”

“What does it matter? I put my boot through his skull. He’s a fucking bloodstain now. The body is gone and his house is burned to a crisp.”

---