Stolen By The Bratva King (NYC Russian Royals #2)

Chapter 24

24

Dante

“ B oss, you gonna tell us what the fuck just happened?” Anton asks from the front seat.

I press my fingers against my temple, my jaw clenched so tightly it feels like my teeth might shatter.

Anton’s brother Fabrizio is driving, and my pulse thunders in my ears as the car negotiates Midtown’s deadlocked streets.

“What happened,” I say through gritted teeth, “is that someone made a big mistake. That’s all you need to know.”

I see his reflection in the mirror, his brow furrowed as though he wants to press for more. Instead, he glances at the man beside him—Franco, who looks just as baffled.

“So, the wedding is off?” Franco finally asks. “You shot out of that church looking like you accidentally fucked your mother. What about Alec Bright and his little princess? I thought?—”

“We’re letting the dust settle, Franco,” I snap, cutting him off. “That means all of it.”

Neither man presses further. They know better than to question me when I’m like this, but they’re not the ones I’m angry with.

I’m angry at myself.

I should’ve realized something was wrong when Tommasso and Julio didn’t answer their phones. Five days. Five fucking days of silence, and I brushed it off.

I was occupied with booze, girls, and business dinners and didn’t want to trouble myself with the concerns I’d left behind in New York. When I finally called Emery to check in, she said she was okay, knowing better than to burden me with her needs. Emery always said what she thought I wanted to hear; obedient, like I trained her to be.

And Alec—spineless, pathetic Alec—assured me there was nothing to see on the home front. Business as usual.

I should’ve known better.

The car weaves through traffic as I replay the day’s events. Anger consumes me, clawing at my insides as I remember the burning humiliation, the pieces falling into place too late.

The wedding should have been my triumph, the moment Emery became mine in front of everyone who doubted me.

It was the first step toward taking my rightful place in this city and reclaiming everything stolen from my family.

Instead, it turned into a spectacle. A goddamn farce.

Leon fucking Vasiliev.

I never concerned myself with the bratva; my organized crime interests lay with the mafia, not the goddamn Russians, so I never asked any questions. How could I have been so stupid as to not find out the name of the bratva king?

I’d heard the rumors, but I knew better than anyone that kings fall. They fall all the time.

Still, there’s no getting away from it. I messed up bad.

That fucker attacked me at the hospital, then got his hands on my investments and destroyed them right under my damn nose. It all came together at the church today, and my humiliation was absolute.

The bratva pakhan. The shadow that looms over New York’s underworld. The man no one dares cross.

And like an idiot, I barreled into his city and drew a giant red X on my back.

I clench my fists, staring out the window as Manhattan blurs past. What does Leon know? That’s the question eating at me now.

Does he know about my operations in the docks and across the rivers?

And most of all, does he know who I am?

Anton interrupts my train of thought. “What about our real business, boss? You’ve always got that.”

By “real business,” he means the human trafficking. It’s a lucrative little sideline, made more so by the absence of other flesh-for-sale enterprises working out of barges. It seems obvious to keep the premises moving and avoid detection, but no one else thought of it.

“Anton, it’s because of you and Franco that we lost so many men the other night,” I say.

“We tried to save Billy,” Franco says. “When we were cleaning up after the raid, we saw he was still breathing, but his breath gave out before we could get him to the ER.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I ask. “Why didn’t you just drown him?”

Franco sounds appalled. “He was one of us, boss. He wouldn’t have snitched on anyone.”

“Bullshit. I’m glad he’s dead. Now, did you find out who got the drop on us?”

The two men go quiet, and the penny drops. “You pair of fucking idiots. It was Leon, wasn’t it? And was it also him who took the kid to the hospital?”

Franco clears his throat. “Something like that, yeah. Only figured it out when I saw him today.”

They don’t even look ashamed. Useless fucks. But good help isn’t just hard to find in this line of work—it’s nonexistent, especially for an outsider.

After a long pause, I exhale through my nose. “Take the boat upriver. New Jersey side.”

Franco frowns. “That’ll tank our profits, Dante.”

“How much do you think your cut will be if you’re a corpse? Take it upriver and lie low for a while. That’s an order.”

Fabrizio is wisely silent, but he whistles softly under his breath. There’s a beat of silence before Franco speaks up again.

“And what about the kid? The one Leon grabbed?”

I grind my teeth. That fucking kid. The one who set this whole thing spiraling out of control.

“I’ll have him taken care of,” I say.

“In the literal sense, or...”

“Shut the fuck up, Franco. I will deal with it, and what you don’t know won’t keep you up at night.”

My father’s voice sounds in my mind, cold and mocking.

A real man doesn’t let anyone take what’s his, Dante. You’re not a real man until you’ve proven yourself.

I clench my fists, the memories bubbling up despite every effort I’ve made to bury them. My Papa’s sneer, his gaze full of disdain, like I was a disappointment from the day I was born.

He was right about one thing—respect has to be earned. And I’ve spent my life earning it, clawing out of his shadow. I will not let some bratva fuck take it all away.

Leon made me look like a fool. And for what? The girl ?

Oh, please.

Ungrateful little bitch . I gave her everything. I put her on my arm, cleaned up her mess of a life, and molded her into a woman worthy of a man like me. Or I was working on it, at least.

And this is how she repays me?

Emery was always weak and easily swayed. Leon probably sees her the same way I do: a pawn. A route to Alec Bright’s fortune, that’s all.

He can’t possibly want her for real. Why would he? A man like him could have any woman he wanted.

No, he’s using her, just like I was.

It’s unfair. After everything I’ve done—everything I’ve survived—Leon Vasiliev, of all people, waltzed in and took everything I’d worked for.

Fate is laughing at me.

Let him believe he’s won. Let him think I’m just her pathetic ex-fiancé.

Leon may not have realized who I am today, but by the time I’m through, my name will be seared in pain through every fiber of his being.