Page 115 of Unforgiving Saint (Starukhin Bratva)

I dress slowly while Nikolai goes outside to speak to my father. When I come out, they’re deep in conversation, and the tightness in Dad’s expression has relaxed into a half-hearted grin. Maybe there’s hope?

Nikolai presses a kiss to my cheek and whispers, “I love you.”

I squeeze his hand as I get into the truck. Looking back at the inn, he waves as the truck pulls out onto the road. I stare at the scenery as we drive along and think about Paige Barinov. From what I’ve learned, she figured it out and didn’t give up. I won’t either.

54

NIKOLAI

We agreedto meet on neutral territory, and the Poconos was mentioned briefly, but the Barinov Estate was chosen instead.

The drive through the woods reminds me too much of driving to Sorokin’s castle, but I’m relieved when two large gates open, revealing a red brick mansion. Yes, the sprawling structure is formidable, but the house is trimmed in holiday lights, and the remnants of a snowman guard the front door.

The mansion has a lightness to it, which brings hope. Bright light floods the hall, bouquets decorate every table I pass, and the white marble floors are cleaned to a high gloss. Views of the gardens covered in snow are visible from the window, and a few children play outside, bundled up against the cold.

I’m led by a guard to the furthest wing of the house, where I find a set of double doors. I feel hopeful until I’m shown into the dining room. My heart sinks as if it were tied to a boulder and thrown into the ocean. Contrary to my expectation of a bright and open space, the room is filled with mahogany furniture, gold-trimmed paneling, and carved high-back chairs. The wallsare adorned with portraits of ancestors, all of them powerful figures in the Barinov Bratva. As the chandelier flickers above, it casts shadowy light on the long, massive table positioned below it.

At the far end of the table sit the top pakhans of the East Coast. The same men that attended my coronation only a few months ago—Dmitry Chuikov, Andrei Barinov, Anatoli Popov, Radomil Sorokin, and a few faces I don’t immediately recognize.

This time I remain standing while they sit down in their massive chairs. I stare past them toward the only wall with windows, acutely aware that I’m being judged.

Eden and Zakhar enter the room, and I try not to look over though I sense her near me. Zakhar wisely stands between us, blocking any temptation I might have to touch her. Eden refuses the chair allowed her and lifts her chin when a wide-eyed Sorokin notices her heavy belly.

He probably thought this would automatically go his way, but he’ll have to fight, and I don’t intend to give up. Our child may be an advantage, but I’m no fool. Many pakhans have children out of wedlock, and their mistresses live far away.

“Gentlemen and lady, we will begin.” Sorokin stands at the head of the table and starts the hearing. “Nikolai Gennadyevich Starukhin and Zakhar Sergeyevich Budanov, you’ve broken your oaths by allowing Nikolai and Eden contact.” Sorokin glances around the table, and he weighs his words. “Nikolai Starukhin, your actions of late have been questionable despite eliminating three traitors. The means you took went against your own Bratva, and we believe?—”

Popov, sitting to the left of him, clears his throat. He doesn’t look at Sorokin, but Andrei Barinov glances over.

Sorokin starts again. “I believe that the woman beside you is responsible. Eden Zakharovna is a member of the Lanzzare Mafia, and you made a deal through her with them to put down a rebellion within your Bratva.”

His argument sounds justified when said aloud in front of these men. My gaze drifts toward Andrei Barinov, who sits next to a somber Dmitry Chuikov. Both men scrutinize us like pieces in a high-stakes chess game.

“Zakhar Sergeyevich, you took an oath to kill Nikolai Gennadyevich if he came near your daughter Eden. Instead, you gave them your blessing to marry.”

“Nikolai Gennadyevich is my pakhan,” replies Zakhar. “My oath and loyalty lie with him first.”

A murmur rises. Sorokin is not the only one good with words. He bangs a gold gavel against the table to quiet the room. He eyes Barinov and Chuikov, who ignore the pounding to exchange a few words.

“Your defiance is admirable,” Sorokin speaks loudly, “but it won’t save you from the consequences of your actions. We have rules for a reason, and you broke the oath you swore to me.”

“Love isn’t a crime,” Eden answers in a firm voice. “Bratva is based on family. And family should be cherished and defended. What happens when you’ve killed yourselves off? Who will be the Bratva then? Is that all you want from power? Death?”

Sorokin coldly looks at Zakhar. “Keep her quiet. She is not Bratva.”

“And yet you made her take an oath when you demanded that we be kept apart,” I reply smoothly. “Eden Budanov is carrying my baby, a future member of my Bratva, and possibly a pakhan.”

Sorokin leans hard on the edge of the table, gripping it as his eyes narrow. “Twisting words won’t hide your actions, Starukhin. You had the Lanzzare kill your own men.”

“I had them kill traitors,” I reply hotly. “Pakhans have hired mercenaries in the past, as you well know.”

Sorokin hisses, his patience waning. “You are here to answer for your crimes, not make accusations. This matter will be discussed among us pakhans.”

“Am I not a pakhan?” I demand. “I did what was necessary to protect my Bratva and my family. I did what I said I would do and prevented a catastrophe. My actions were taken to spare those who honor what we are from those who only cared about power and greed. The Starukhin have come out stronger than before.”

Sorokin shoots me a nasty glare then speaks to Popov beside him in low whispers. Soon we are ignored while being openly talked about. My anger rises at the unfairness of our treatment, and I suspect the punishment will be harsher than the supposed crime.

Andrei Barinov raises his hand and silences the brewing commotion. “Nikolai Gennadyevich, I have one question for you.” He waits until there is complete silence, and his dark gaze never leaves mine. “Did you do what you did for love?”

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