Hostile Husband (Mafia Lords of Sin #12)

Prologue Dimitri

The phone rings in the middle of Ivanoff’s territorial projection report, and I almost silence it. Almost. But the name on the screen stops my hand mid-reach.

Roman. My head of security doesn’t call during business meetings unless the world is ending.

“Da?” I answer in Russian, my native tongue slipping out as it always does when something’s wrong.

“Boss.” Roman's voice cracks, and in the eight years he’s worked for me, I’ve never once heard him break. “You need to come. Now. The warehouse district off—”

“What happened?” I’m already standing, and the three men across from me—minor players hoping to expand into the ports—exchange nervous glances.

“It’s Alexei.”

The world tilts.

“What about Alexei?” My voice comes out flat and controlled. Years of leading this organization have taught me to never show weakness.

“Boss, I’m sorry. You need to see for yourself.”

I end the call and the phone nearly cracks in my grip.

“We’re done here,” I tell the three idiots still sitting at my conference table. “Mikhail will see you out.”

I don't wait for their response as I'm already through the door, down the stairs, shouting for my driver. The words Roman didn’t say echo in my head, growing louder with each step.

It’s Alexei.

You need to come.

I’m sorry.

No.

I refuse to accept what those words mean. I refuse to let my mind go there. Alexei is fine. He has to be fine. He went to a meeting with the Ashfords—a peaceful negotiation about border territories. Simple. Safe. I wouldn’t have let him go otherwise.

My SUV tears through the streets. I don’t remember telling Anatoly where to drive, but he knows. Of course he knows. My men know everything before I do, and the fact that no one is calling me, no one is explaining, tells me everything I need to know.

Everything I’m not ready to know.

We screech to a stop outside the warehouse district, and I see them before I’m even out of the vehicle. Flashing lights. Police cruisers we have on payroll. My men—dozens of them—standing in a loose circle around something. Someone.

They see me approaching and move aside, parting like the Red Sea. No one meets my eyes.

Roman rushes forward, his face gray. “Boss, maybe you should—”

I walk past him and push through the last line of my men. And then I stop.

There’s a white sheet and it’s stained with something dark at the edges. It covers a body on the ground, and I know—I know—but I don’t want to look. If I don’t look, it’s not real and if I don’t lift that sheet, my baby brother is still alive.

“Boss.” Roman’s hand lands on my shoulder. “The Ashfords ambushed him. He never had a chance.”

My knees feel weak. I, Dimitri Volkov, who have faced down rival families and government officials and death itself, feel my knees weaken.

I kneel beside the sheet.

My hand trembles as I reach for the corner.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

Alexei was supposed to meet me for a late dinner tonight.

We were going to discuss his new responsibilities and how proud I was that he was finally taking initiative.

How he was becoming the man I always knew he could be.

I pull back the sheet.

Blue eyes stare at nothing. Alexei’s blue eyes—the same shade as our mother’s—dilated and empty. His face is pale, peaceful almost, if not for the two bullet wounds in his chest. Dark blood stains his white shirt, spreading out like wings.

My baby brother.

The world narrows to this moment. To his face. To the memory that slams into me with the force of a bullet.

“Will you teach me to shoot, Dima?” Seven-year-old Alexei looked up at me with those mischievous blue eyes. “Like Father taught you?”

I knelt beside him in our family’s shooting range, helped him hold the gun properly. “Like this, Malchik. And remember—”

Alexei lets loose a big sigh. “I know, I know. Never point it at something I don’t want to destroy.”

I ruffled his blond hair. “Smart boy. And Alexei?” I waited until he looked at me. “I’ll always protect you no matter what. That’s what big brothers do.”

He smiled. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

The memory shatters and I’m back in the present, kneeling in the dirt beside my brother’s corpse, and I can’t breathe or think. I can’t do anything but stare at the lie my promise has become.

I failed him.

“Nephew.”

The voice comes from behind me, gentle and sad. Uncle Konstantin. Thank God he’s here. He’s always here when things fall apart, ready to pick up the pieces.

I can’t turn around because that means I’m looking away from Alexei’s face.

“I’m so sorry, Nephew,” Konstantin says, his hand heavy on my shoulder. “So sorry.”

“Tell me.” My voice doesn’t sound like mine. It’s too rough and broken. “Tell me everything you know.”

“The Ashfords,” Konstantin starts heavily. “They requested the meeting—neutral territory, they said. Peace talks about the border disputes.” I hear him sigh. “It was a trap. Vincent Ashford’s brother deliberately pulled the trigger himself.”

Coldness slides through my veins, pushing out the grief. It doesn’t erase the pain—nothing could erase this—but it gives it shape. Direction. Purpose.

“They’re all going to die.” I carefully pull the sheet back over Alexei’s face, my hands steady now. “Every single Ashford. I’ll burn their entire family to the ground.”

“Dimitri.” Konstantin’s voice sharpens. “Think carefully what you’re saying. We’re outnumbered right now. The Ashfords have allies, territory, and a significant amount of resources. If you move too quickly, it could be catastrophic.”

“I don’t fucking care.” I stand, and the world snaps back into focus. My men watch me, waiting for orders. Waiting for their leader to lead. “Ready everyone. Call in every favor, every contact. I want—”

“You need to be smart about this,” Konstantin interrupts. “Strategic. Your father would have—”

“My father is dead,” I say harshly. “And now, so is my brother because I let him go to a meeting I should have attended myself.” I turn to Roman.

“I want full mobilization with everyone we have. I want intelligence on every goddamn Ashford family member, every property, and every business. I want to know where they sleep at night.”

“Boss—” Roman starts.

“Now.”

He nods and disappears into the crowd of men, already making calls.

I look down at the sheet one more time, at the outline of my brother beneath it. The baby I held when he was born. The boy I taught to shoot. The man I was so proud to see him becoming.

“I’ll make this right, Brother,” I whisper. The words feel empty and inadequate. “I swear on my life, I swear on our family name. They’ll pay. All of them. I’ll make them pay.”

The promise settles into my bones like an oath. Like destiny.

My men scatter to follow orders. Konstantin stays close, murmuring about caution and strategy, but I barely hear him. I’m already planning and seeing the moves I need to make.

The Ashfords think they’ve won something tonight. They think they’ve struck a fatal blow.

They’re wrong.

This is just the beginning.

Later, I sit alone in my study. The house is in full mourning with black cloths draped over mirrors. My staff move silently through the halls, the usual activity and noise reduced to respectful quiet.

I hold a photograph of Alexei and me, maybe fifteen years ago. We’re at our family's lake house. Alexei is thirteen in this photo and he’s laughing at something I said, his head thrown back, joy radiating from every part of him. I’m looking at him with pride mixed with exasperation mixed with love.

My baby brother. An answer to a prayer. The miracle child after my parents struggled so hard to have a second child.

Always so spoiled and carefree. I made sure he never had to shoulder the responsibilities I did.

I made sure he could have a life outside this organization, if he wanted it.

I made sure he could laugh like he does in this photo.

And tonight, someone took that away. Someone stole his future, his laughter, his life.

A single tear slides down my cheek before I can stop it. Just one. I won’t allow myself more than that. I can’t afford to break down, not when there’s so much to do.

“I failed you,” I tell the photograph and the boy who’s not here to listen. “I promised I’d always protect you, and I failed.”

The silence in the study is deafening.

I set the photo down carefully and reverently on my desk. Then I pull out a fresh sheet of paper and begin to write. Names. Locations. Resources. Plans.

The Ashfords will pay for what they’ve done.

Every. Single. One of them.

I’ll make sure of it.