Page 23 of Immaculate Corruption (Romanoff Bratva)

I think about that man in the podcast. About mercy. About forgiveness.

And then my hands fall limp in my lap. “No,” I rasp. “I’m not.”

Love is weapon.

Love is a fucking weapon.

And Arya has it pointed right at the center of my chest right now. I’m helpless against it.

“But it’s not just me you have to fear,” I add. “There are men out there who will do anything to hurt me. Even if it means hurting you. Not just Jorik—there are others.”

“How will killing this Giorgio whatever help with that?” she demands. “How does killing someone stop violence? How does murder keep Lukas and me safe?”

“Once I have my Bratva back, I can protect you both. I just have to annihilate this threat, and then I can—”

“What about the next threat, though?” Arya presses. “Or the one after that? What about the next traitor, the next jealous rival? You can’t protect us from everything, Dima.”

“If you run across the fucking planet, I can’t protect you at all!” My voice lashes out in the car, booming like thunder.

Arya flinches. But she doesn’t back away.

Instead, to my utter surprise…

She reaches out and touches me.

It’s the first true touch we’ve had since I found her again—assuming me pinning her against a brick wall doesn’t count. Her fingers are soft and delicate on the underside of my forearm. My cock is straining against my zipper at this alone.

“Dima, please listen to me.”

“I’m listening.”

“What I’m asking you is, can this world—yourworld—be any other way than what it is? Think before you answer.”

I open my mouth to offer the obvious retort: this world is whatever the fuck I make it. Once I have my Bratva back, once Zotov is dead, things will be made right.

But I know even before I say it that it’s a lie.

The Bratva underworld has been soaked in blood for as long as I’ve known it. Either my blood or my enemies’. That’s the only way it can be. That’s the only way it’s ever been.

“That’s what I thought,” she whispers. “And if you’re killed, then what? Who takes over for you? Who keeps us safe?”

“My son,” I say without hesitation.

It’s the way every don ever has answered that question. And as soon as I do, I know what Arya is going to say next.

“But I don’t want this life for him, Dima. And I don’t think you do, either.” She grips my elbow and then slides her hand down to my hand, her fingers intertwining with mine. “It’s not safe. Even if you can protect us now, you and I won’t always be there for him. Who will protect him when he’s grown, when he’s the one in charge? What will happen if he gets killed before that day even comes? Maybe he’d be out on a mission for you and he’d get ambushed. He could be attacked for no reason other than that he is the heir. Is that what you want for him?”

No.The answer is there at the forefront of my mind, but I don’t say it.

“I can protect you both,” I insist. “I can. I will.”

Arya leans forward and presses her lips to my cheek. It’s an apology. A sympathy kiss. An attempt to make me understand what I’m refusing to grasp. That the future I’m working for right now isn’t possible.

She kisses a line down my jaw and down my neck. She tils my head so she can suck my earlobe into her mouth.

She’s trying to distract me from the hurt. Maybe she’s trying to distract herself, too. I don’t know which it is, but right now, I don’t fucking care.

I’ve craved this for too goddamn long to say no.

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