Page 71 of Immaculate Corruption (Romanoff Bratva)

“With Ilyasov,” Gennady clarifies. “It will end things with Ilyasov. But whoever takes over the Romanoff Bratva, they are going to have to watch their back against the Albanians, the Italians, and God only knows who else. They’ll be out for revenge.”

“We’re all out for revenge.” I look around and shrug. “Tell them to join the party.”

I know Dima wants to take out his brother on his own. If the Romanoff Trials are what they sound like, he will be the one fighting.

But I’m not going down without a fight, either. Ilyasov took my son from me. That isn’t something I’ll forgive or forget anytime soon.

I told Dima I didn’t want to be part of this life. That I wanted to be normal. But maybe it’s time for me to face the truth: I’m not normal.

The Arya George I am today was formed in combat. In blood and sweat and tears. And I will do whatever is necessary to make sure Dima is ready and able to reclaim what is his. To rain down vengeance on every single person who tried to hurt our family.

“It’s going to be a rocky road, but I’m more than ready to fight or die trying.” Dima looks around. “How about the two of you?”

Gennady stands up and clasps Dima’s hand. “With you to the end, brother. Always.”

I meet Dima’s blue gray eyes. I love him. I know that without a doubt now. Maybe one day I’ll even be brave enough to say it to his face.

For now, I just touch his shoulder. “I’m with you, Dima. Ilyasov fucked with the wrong mom.”

24

Dima

A Few Hours Later

This is not how I imagined this going.

No Bratva. No backup.

Just me, my right-hand man, and the mother of my child.

We bound Arya’s bullet wound with some ripped sheets from the hotel linen closet. She insisted she’d be fine. “It’s nothing but a graze,” she snaps. “Not all of us have to go kicking in clinic doors to find a doctor when we get a little scratch.” She gives me a sassy glance.

“I thought you weren’t a doctor?” I rumble.

She rolls her eyes and gives me the middle finger.

It’s a strange, funny callback to the night I crash-landed in her world. But perhaps strangest of all is what we’re doing now: hunting down my own brother.

I know I should have seen this coming. Should have trusted my gut where Ilyasov was concerned. And I did—right up until it mattered the most. At the crucial moment, I faltered. Believed in loyalty.

My son is missing as a result.

We’re standing outside of a nondescript house. Sure enough, the rental car Ilya gave me had a tracker in it. We ditched the car and the tracker, but before we did, Gennady was able to work some of his magic and figure out where the tracker was being tracked from. The answer: right here.

“Fuck, this is a good door,” Gennady hisses as he jimmies his lock pick in the handle.

Arya has been pacing on the top step, her hands tangled together nervously the way they have been so often the last few weeks. Finally, she growls, jumps off the porch, and grabs a rock from the landscaped garden next to the railing.

“Arya, what are you—”

Before I can finish, she pulls her arm back and lets the rock fly. Straight through the window.

The sound of glass shattering makes Gennady and me both wince, but the night remains calm and quiet. There’s no alarm sounding inside. No footsteps. No movement.

“There,” Arya says, walking through a bush to the window. She starts to break out the rest of the glass with her elbow. “I found a way in.”

Gennady looks at me. I look at him. We both shrug and then follow after her.

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