Chapter 34 Petyr
PETYR
I hit the weights harder than I should.
The iron clangs loud enough to echo throughout the whole basement gym. Sweat stings my eyes; my muscles burn. I savor it all. The sensation rushes through me, drowning out everything else.
That’s exactly what I want: a distraction. If I keep my body busy enough, my head will have no choice but to stop replaying that conversation with Sima.
Since it hasn’t worked yet, I need to train harder.
But keeping my mind occupied proves more difficult than I’d anticipated.
I remember the hesitation in her voice. The fearful way she stumbled over her own words, as if afraid I’d punish her for what she was about to tell me.
“I’m not pregnant. This month, I mean.”
I don’t care that she’s not pregnant yet. Whatever she might’ve thought, I’m not upset, or even disappointed. Not entirely, anyway.
The idea of Sima pregnant with my child… It makes something dark and hot stir inside me. But I’m also well aware that you can’t force these things. Either they happen, or they don’t.
The timing isn’t great, though. The Danilos are circling like vultures, testing the edges of my territory a little more with each passing day.
And with my own men making noise about whether I’m strong enough to lead—courtesy of fucking Mikhael—an heir to secure my position would have been good.
It would have put a stop to the chatter, showing that I’m capable of upholding my father’s will.
Legacy. Stability. Permanence. Those are the things my Bratva craves right now, and they still aren’t convinced that I can provide them.
I rack the barbell and move to the heavy bag. My fists slam into the leather. Each punch lands with the same rhythm Otets drilled into me when I was barely tall enough to reach it.
“Again.”
“Harder.”
“You’re not here to look pretty. You’re here to fucking win.”
His voice, deep and sharp, still cuts through the years like it’s right in my ear. Back then, I hated the bruises, the way my knuckles bled after each ruthless training session.
Now, I welcome it. Pain and endurance go hand in hand, and I’m not going far without either one of them.
Otets never trained me to be comfortable. He trained me to be relentless. To do what needs to be done.
And that’s exactly what I’m planning to do.
The sooner I get Sima pregnant, the sooner this thing between us ends, the sooner I can use her properly. That’s how it’s supposed to work. Clean, simple, transactional. She’s a powerful bargaining chip. Dangling her in front of Nikolai could end this guerrilla war in seconds.
But the more we go on, the less simple it feels. All of it.
I don’t just want her—I crave her. When I’m at work, when I’m handling Bratva business, when I’m washing off the sweat of the day. My skin crawls with the addiction of her. It’s new, and not something I’ve trained for.
I think about the way her hair falls into her face when she’s beneath me. The little gasps she makes when I push into her just right. How gorgeous she looks flushed and breathless, like I’ve taken her apart piece by piece and put her back together just for me.
I’ve been enjoying every second of trying to get her pregnant far too much, and I know it. This was supposed to be duty. A means to an end.
But I’m greedy for her in ways that have nothing to do with heirs.
I throw a combination into the bag, hard enough to make the chain rattle. My father’s voice keeps pounding in my head.
“Duty comes first. Duty to your family, duty to your Bratva. To your pakhan.”
Too bad I’m the pakhan now. No one can tell me what to do or what my duty is. It should be liberating, but it’s not. The crown weighs heavy. There are responsibilities that come with it, which makes it my job to keep my eye on the ball every second of every day. No one else to do it for me now.
No one but me.
“Don’t indulge in distractions.” The memory of my father’s words burns a hole in me. “They’ll get you killed faster than your enemies.”
I used to believe him completely, at least on this. Now, I’m not so sure. I can’t seem to stop myself with Sima, no matter how many times I recite his teachings. Even when I remind myself that letting her in is a mistake, my hands still reach for her.
She asks questions and I end up sharing. Much, much more than I ever planned. Keep giving her pieces of me.
But she lied—again. About her family. Always, always about her family.
“One brother, one sister.” She didn’t even fucking blink when she said it. I know it’s not the truth, and it pisses me off that I can’t call her out on it.
Maybe it’s hypocritical of me to be angry. God knows I’m the biggest liar out of the two of us. But every lie she tells is an itch under my skin, one I can’t seem to scratch out of me.
Because, in my world, secrets are a death sentence.
I drop to the mat for push-ups. Each rep is punctuated by the litany of my problems.
The Danilos inching in.
Mikhael circling like a shark.
The missing shipment.
And now, a wife who keeps parts of herself locked away like I’m the enemy.
You are, the darker part of me reminds me. The part that sounds too much like my father. You are her enemy. And she’s yours.