Page 79 of Den of Thieves

“Za zda-róvye!” Everyone lifted their glasses before shooting their shots of vodka.

Vladimir stepped back from the glass railing and pulled Karina to her feet. She wound her arms around his neck, and he pulled her tighter against his throbbing erection.

“Do you see what you do to me, moya lyubov’?”

Karina’s hands played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Are we going to have bathroom sex or limo sex?” she purred.

“How about strip club sex?”

She pulled back slightly. “Are you planning on putting on a show for me, Mr. Kovalyov?”

“Come to The Dancing Cat with me. I promised the guys an afterparty.”

Karina kissed him softly. “I’m exhausted, baby. Wake me up when you get home, okay? I bought some more crotchless panties.” She bit his earlobe, and he was seconds away from ditching the afterparty all together. Karina’s taste in lingerie was second to none.

If he was hard before, he was now giving the marble floors a run for their money.

“Fuck!” he hissed, watching Karina walk away.

He wished Dean, Daniil, or even David were here to take his mind off things with their tomfoolery. But their mother, his second cousin, had a stroke so they couldn’t attend the celebrations.

Dimitri was even more pussy whipped than usual, ever since he and Aksana ran off to get married. How they did it he had no idea, considering her doctors almost didn’t let her out of the hospital tonight.

“Nikolai, you coming?” Vladimir asked, headed for the stairs. The sooner he showed his face at the club, the sooner he could leave. His new sex swing arrived a few days ago, and he’s been aching to fuck Solynchnka senseless.

“Yeah, I’ll meet you there. Sydney says hi,” he said, not looking up from his phone.

Vladimir shook his head. Ten years ago, they were all bachelors, ridiculing the men that rushed home to their wives before the party truly got started.

Now he was a family man and the thought of getting shit faced for the sake of getting shit faced no longer appealed to him. Still, he pasted on a smile as he walked out the back door of the club.

“Ay, there he is!” Cheers rang out from the group as they parted for the king.

“Who’s ready to see some pussy?” he asked.

Vladimir expected to hear another roar of excitement. Instead, a burning pain erupted in his side as a man he knew for most of his life sank a knife deep into his flesh.

He turned, his hand choking the bastard—who had the decency to look shocked—when someone else stabbed him in the shoulder. Vladimir’s heart hammered in his chest when he realized all of them gripped silver blades and were ready to use them.

Vladimir was mighty and stronger than most but he knew there was no way he could take on all of them.

The crowd circled around him like vultures around dying prey. Some of them smiled as they reared their arms back and sliced the King’s flesh. Some had tears in their eyes as they wielded their blades with shaking fingers. They were cowards, all of them, because not one of them could land a killing blow.

He fought the first few assailants, but they stabbed him repeatedly in rapid fashion. And when he fell to his knees, they stabbed him still. In his back, stomach, and arms.

Blood poured from the gashes as he fell, barely able to support his weight with his hands. Someone leaned down and cut those, too.

The sharp sting of betrayal hurt more than the metal slicing through his skin. These were men he grew up with or, at one point, looked up to. They were his friends and some of his confidants throughout the war. Now it all made sense.

The divide within the Bratva was done with more calculation that he thought possible for a bunch of vodka loving brutes. He could almost admire their hatred, for if they don’t kill him now, he would hunt them down to the ends of the earth.

“I’m sorry, but it had to be done. Any last words?” A voice said behind him as Vladimir fell to the pavement. He roughly, yanked Vladimir’s head back and kneeled so they were face to face.

Vladimir looked his assailant in the eye. He was surprised to see the man so close to all of this be his downfall.

A man that Vladimir knew was cold and calculating within the Bratva, yet he trusted him anyway. Vladimir was partially to blame for not seeing it sooner. His greatest enemy was beside him from the very beginning.

“Eh tu, Brutus?” Vladimir spat, refusing to give the bastard the satisfaction of sensing his fear.

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