Vadim
They filed into my office one by one. Tau wasn’t Bratva but his input was valuable and the shared intelligence would help him understand why I needed him close for now.
It would have been simpler had he accepted my offer into the brotherhood.
I respected his refusal. That was the thing about men like Tau—you didn’t keep them by pulling rank.
You kept them by making it worth their while.
Konstantin poured the drinks while the others settled. Men moved forward to take their drink from him.
“How is the home project coming along, brat?” He dropped into his chair with the ease of a man who found everything mildly entertaining. “Any news?”
I ignored him and took the slim laptop from Valentin.
Those figures were for my eyes only. I worked through them quickly, using the trackpad to map the impact Tolam had made on our operations—the routes disrupted, the revenue lost, the arithmetic of what it cost when an enemy got close enough to do damage before being removed.
A loss was weakness. Weakness invited further testing.
I closed the laptop.
Konstantin held out his phone as he handed me my glass. I glanced at the image on the screen and grimaced.
They hadn’t just killed him. They’d taken his head.
“Whose man was he?”
“One of Mikhail’s,” Ruslan answered before Konstantin could.
“They cleared most of the warehouse out,” Konstantin added.
I returned his phone to him.
“Retaliation for what we did to his men,” I said. “This insurgency cannot continue. Not in Chernograd and not on our routes.”
We had spent too many years building the perfect ecosystem for our trade. Every route, every contact, every paid official—years of infrastructure that Tolam was now testing for weaknesses.
“Ruslan, Valentin—I want plans and financials for our defence on my desk. I want the captains hunting them. Their families. Their associates. Pets if necessary. There is no mercy.” I looked around the room. “Understood?”
Nods. Murmured agreements. Ruslan and Valentin were already conferring quietly before I had finished speaking.
We concluded the meeting after several more points. Tau remained silent throughout, even as Konstantin made his best efforts to provoke him—small things, the way Konstantin did everything, with just enough plausible deniability to be infuriating.
“You know he’s just going to shoot you one day,” Ruslan said, watching their exchange with the weary attention of a man who had been observing this for too long.
“Please.” Tau’s accent filtered through, the consonants sharpening slightly. “He is a colleague. His death would be far more intimate than that.”
“I’m honoured,” Konstantin said, and yawned with great theatrical effort.
Chairs moved. Belongings gathered.
“Tau. Konstantin. Stay back,” I said as the others dispersed.
I almost smiled watching them clock each other.
“You two should either fuck or fight it out,” I said, as their heads turned toward me simultaneously. “The tension is killing me.”
“Poor choice of words, brat,” Konstantin said, crossing his legs. “What’s up?”
Tau’s eyes lingered on Konstantin a moment longer before returning to me.
“Two men were parked outside Papa’s house. Konstantin—I want you stationed there.” I turned to Tau. “I want you working with my team on the home front. Personal security.”
“The boy?” Tau said.
“What boy?” Konstantin sat up.
“He’ll be watched. By someone less skilled,” I said, which answered both questions without answering either of them fully.
Tau grunted and nodded. His braided hair was tied high and moved with him as he shifted his weight.
“Move Papa to a safe house,” Konstantin said, the displeasure evident.
“He won’t budge. You know what he’s like.”
We might hold a grudge against the old man but he was still our blood. That counted for something, even if neither of us would say so.
“Besides, you know his men. You know the property,” I added. “It makes sense.”
With everything decided I waved my hand and they stood to leave.
I stared at the paperwork waiting on my desk.
“What boy were you talking about?” my brother asked Tau on their way out.
“You’ll never know,” Tau said quietly.
Lethal and loyal. The combination that kept him engaged with the Bratva.
The door closed.
Bogdan, Tikhon, Radovan and Spartak were already briefed on the upcoming changes.
Iskra wouldn’t be happy about the extended lockdown.
She would find a way to make that known—through Radovan’s reports, through text messages about blood pressure and heirs, through some new variety of insubordination I hadn’t yet anticipated.
But if she carried my child, that child was part of me.
And I intended to keep it safe.
Whatever the cost.
??
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When I emerged from the office Bogdan was in the hall.
“Where is she?” I asked, rolling my head to stretch my neck.
His eyes flicked down the corridor.
“In the kitchen, Pakhan,” he said, eyes snapping back to face the wall.
She could be cooking up something nasty.
“Did you clear out everything I asked you to?”
“Yes, Pakhan. Only the weed killer remains—it’s outside and locked.” He paused. “Should we be concerned?”
“It depends on how angry I make her,” I said, rubbing my jaw. “Best not to tempt fate.”
He followed me to the kitchen but held back with Spartak at the doorway.
The smell reached me first. Sweet cinnamon and oven heat rolling out into the hallway—something being made that had no connection to fertility schedules or breeding missions. Something domestic and warm and entirely her own.
She stood at the sink with her back to me, washing something.
Arms bare. An emerald green top, snug enough to show the line of her shoulders.
Black trousers that fitted smoothly around her ass before flaring out on the way down.
The dark clothes made her hair look brighter than usual—the blonde catching the kitchen light.
Olya clocked me in the doorway and made herself scarce with the practised efficiency of a woman who had learned exactly when not to be present.
Iskra set a glass bowl to the side as I closed in.
Then I pounced.
She screamed. Something connected with my temple—solid, heavy, the dull thud of it making me blink without loosening my grip.
A glass measuring jug. It dropped into the sink.
“What is wrong with you?” she shouted, twisting in my arms. “I could have had a knife.”
A knife fight with my wife.
Naked.
Yeah.
This was exactly what I needed after that meeting.
“Wait—I have a cake in the oven,” she said, trying to free her wrist. “Vadim—”
“Olya will take care of it,” I said, and dragged her out of the kitchen.
Bogdan and Spartak exchanged a look. They followed at a respectful distance up the stairs.
My head still throbbed.
My dick ached harder.
“If my cake burns—”
“I’ll be quick,” I lied, and kicked the door shut behind us.
She turned to glare at me, rubbing her wrist.
“Grubiy,” she muttered.
I was a brute. But Iskra was proving to be something quite unexpected—and the distinction between the two things was becoming harder to locate with each passing week.
“You’re not much better,” I said, tracing the bruise budding at the side of my head.
Her eyes followed my hand. Head tilted. Assessing the damage with the focused attention of someone taking inventory.
Then she smiled.
“Da. That was a good hit.”
I recognised that smile. The particular light behind it. Blue eyes bright and slightly unhinged.
Malicious intent.
I unzipped my trousers.