Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Igor
The office still smelled of sex—warm and tangled, the scent hanging heavy in the air. Afternoon light slanted through the blinds, laying golden bars across the carpet. The studio felt languid and dangerous.
Elena leaned back in the chair, cheeks still flushed from the afterglow. The light rimmed her in soft gold, as if she'd stepped out of a painting.
Her eyes softened when I said, "I wanted to learn how to take care of you both." A flicker of hope lit those blue eyes. Maybe—maybe she was finally going to forgive me. No. I couldn't think that. I hadn't earned forgiveness.
"Elena." My throat tightened. "I have to tell you something about that engagement five years ago."
Her smile froze. She wanted to shut it down, to refuse—but I had to say it. She had to know the truth.
"You don't have to—" She tried to stand, but her legs were weak. The aftershocks of sex hadn't left her, and a dark, filthy satisfaction swelled in me. My mark was still there, my scent on her skin.
"I do." I crouched before her, hands on her knees. "You need to know the truth, Elena. Not an excuse—what actually happened."
She bit her lip—God, that damned habit that always made me want to kiss her—and finally nodded.
"That engagement was arranged by my father," I began, looking straight at her. "From the start, I was told I would marry Ivanov's daughter. It was a political match to consolidate the families."
"I knew." Her voice was low. "I checked that tattoo, Igor. I knew you were Bratva. I knew what that meant."
My chest tightened. So she'd known all along. She knew what I was, and she still loved me.
"Before I met you, I never questioned it," I said, each word like it had to be wrung from a wound. "To me, it was a duty. I would marry Natasha, give her the respect expected, and move on. But after I saw you at the Winter Palace, everything changed."
I remembered that night in brutal detail—the attack at the hotel, people panicking. I'd been there on business; I'd seen a blonde girl in the crowd, terrified and small like a rabbit. My hand went before I thought, pulling her out of danger.
"You brought me to your apartment." The memory softened me. "I looked at you and realized I'd never really lived."
Her throat worked; doubt flashed across her face.
"I told myself it would be just one night," I said, a bitter laugh escaping. "Satisfy curiosity, then go back to my life. But the next morning, watching you sleep with sunlight on your face, I knew it was over for me."
"But you still went through with the engagement. You hid it from me!" She swallowed tears and accused me.
"No!" I shot to my feet, trying to explain. "I thought about canceling. I really did. For three months before Christmas, I wrestled with how to get out of it."
"But you didn't," she said, standing now, anger and hurt mingling in her eyes.
"You stood me up the night before our half?anniversary and gave me earrings I couldn't even wear.
You broke your promise, so I threw away the dinner I made.
On Christmas, you were gone all day—if I hadn't gone to that party and seen everything, I'd still be a fool for you. "
Her words landed like a punch. She was right.
"Because my father threatened me. Because I put the family above my own life!" I roared, the words echoing in the studio. "He told me if I broke it off, the Ivanovs would join our enemies—Salvatore—and crush us."
She stared, blue eyes wide.
"So I caved. I acted like a coward." My voice carried nothing but self?loathing. "I went to that engagement banquet, I put on the ring, I swore in front of everyone to marry a woman I didn't love, like a weak man."
I dropped my eyes. If I saw contempt in hers, I would have broken.
"Then I spent three months planning. I reached out to everyone who resented my father and used them." I met her face again. "Three months after that Christmas, in front of everyone, I tore up the engagement."
I paused, inhaled. "And I took power from my father."
"You—what?" Her eyes widened.
"I forced him to step down," I said it coldly. "I gave him two choices: a dignified retirement, or death."
She gasped; I went on. "He chose retirement. I became the Don. The first thing I did after I took over was send people to find you."
"But you didn't find me," she whispered.
"I found leads. I knew someone had taken you to Italy. I traced him to ties with the Italian Mafia, but beyond that—" My teeth clenched. "That was Cosa Nostra territory. I'd just taken power. I couldn't send men into Italy without it being seen as a provocation. It would start a war."
"So you gave up?" Her voice broke.
"No." I grabbed her shoulder, fingers digging in hard enough they might leave marks. "I never gave up. But, Elena, if I'd started a war to find you, how many men would have died? Their wives, their children—"
I let go, not wanting to hurt her. "I couldn't be that selfish. So I chose another route. I spent five years building power, making the Bratva strong enough that no one dared touch us."
"Five years." She repeated, tears tracking down. "Five years, Igor."
Her words stung. We held each other's gaze, pain and regret suspended between us. I could see her torn—my explanations on one side, her hurt on the other.
"Three nights after I took power, Natasha found me. She tried to seduce me," I said. "I felt nothing for her. When seduction failed, she pulled out a drug—something to make a person go limp."
Shock changed her face.
I looked at my hand. "I felt my muscles weaken, but I used the last of my strength to choke her."
"Why are you telling me this?" Her voice trembled.
"Because you needed the truth. You needed to know I hadn't betrayed you after you left. I never felt anything for another woman. This body was yours, Elena. From the first time we were together, it belonged to you."
She closed her eyes; tears fell. I brushed them away with my thumb. Her skin was warm and soft.
"But that didn't change anything." She opened her eyes, voice cold as ice. "You still chose your family, Igor. At that engagement banquet, on that snowy night, you chose power over me."
"Yes." I didn't try to soften it. She deserved honesty. "I made that choice, and I'll regret it for the rest of my life. But Elena, I wouldn't make it again."
"How can you promise that?" she demanded. "What if next time the family threatens you to abandon me?"
"Then I'd kill them first," I said it flat, each word intended to land. "I'm the Don now. I make the decisions. No one can force me."
"You're not invincible, Igor." Her voice shook. "What if the choice is between me and power again?"
"I'd pick you. Every time." My hand trembled as I cupped her face. "Power, money, territory—they're tools. You are my life. Without you, they mean nothing."
"You don't understand." She shook her head. "It's easy to say. But when the moment comes—"
"Listen." I held her face, felt its heat. "Five years ago, I was a bastard, a coward. I put family above you because I thought I could have both. I was wrong. I paid dearly—I lost you for five years."
I pulled her into my arms and held her. She tried to pull away, but I wouldn't loosen. Never again.
"Sorry," I murmured into her hair, again and again. The word felt useless, but it was all I had.
She buried her face in my chest and sobbed. Her tears soaked my shirt; each drop felt like acid on my heart. I didn't know how long I held her—minutes, an eternity. I just stood there and let her cry.
When she finally calmed, my shirt front was soaked.
"I don't know what to do." She spoke honestly. "I want to believe you, Igor. God knows I do. But I'm scared."
"I know." I kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheek. "I know, baby. I'll prove it. No matter how long it takes."
My phone buzzed then—not a normal ringtone, but the emergency alert tone. My body went tight; adrenaline snapped through my veins.
"What is it?" Elena asked.
I grabbed the phone and read the message. Rage hit me like a wave. A New York warehouse had been hit—three men dead, five million dollars' worth of arms destroyed.
"Salvatore." I ground the name out. Anger flared. "That Italian bastard finally moved."
My mind flicked into combat mode—losses to tally, counterattacks to plan, deployments to map—
"You're leaving?" Elena's voice stopped me.
I looked at her and saw fear and disappointment. Goddamn it—I'd just promised not to leave—but if I stayed, more would die. Salvatore would see weakness and hit harder.
"Yes. I have things to handle." My voice was dry. "Listen, baby, I swear I don't want to leave you now, but this is about men's lives."
"Go." She surprised me with steadiness. "You're the Don. Do what you must."
Time was short. I stared at her for a few seconds, leaned down, and kissed her.
"I'll be back," I whispered on her lips. "Wait for me, Elena."
She nodded.
I let go and walked out.
The plane touched down at a private airstrip outside New York before dark.
Artyom waited on the tarmac, a new cut on his face, his left arm in a bandage.
"What happened?" I asked as I climbed into the car.
"Worse than the alert." He handed me a tablet. "Not just the warehouse—they blew up two Brooklyn casinos. Seven dead, thirteen wounded."
I swiped through the photos. Blood, fire, bodies. My men lying cold on the ground.
"What do we do?" Artyom asked. "The guys are waiting for your orders."
"Where are Salvatore's main hubs in New York?" I asked.
"Bronx casino. A pier in Staten Island." He pointed at the map. "His biggest spot is an estate in New Jersey—his arms cache and command center."
"Defense?"
"Tight." He said. "About fifty armed men, twenty?four?hour patrols. Open ground all around. Hard to sneak in."
I studied the map, mind racing. A full frontal assault would cost too many lives and probably draw the police down on us. Hit the edges and he'd think we were weak.
"We move tonight." I made the decision. "Target the Bronx casino. Artyom, you lead twenty men in a frontal push to draw attention. Two teams of ten will flank from the rear. I'll take snipers to the building across the street to clear their sentries."
"Don, that's reckless." Artyom frowned. "You should command from the back."
"I want Salvatore to know I'm avenging the dead," I said.
"Understood." He nodded, worry still in his eyes.
For the next few hours, we prepped weapons, ran routes, and drilled the plan. I checked my Glock 17, loaded mags, grabbed a spare, and the small knife in my boot.
We moved into the Bronx.
The casino sat on a busy block, lights blazing—one of Salvatore's cash cows.
I lay on the rooftop across the street and watched through the scope. Two guards at the door, three patrolling the roof. My finger rested on the trigger; my breathing steady.
"All teams, in position," I said into the comms.
"Team One ready," Artyom replied.
"Team Two ready."
"Go." The word came, and I gave the order.
I squeezed the trigger. The first rooftop guard dropped without a sound. Quick adjustments—second shot, third—and the roof was clear.
"Front cleared," I said. "Artyom, go."
Through the scope, I watched Artyom and his men kick the door. Almost at the same moment, an explosive detonated at the frame.
Then the casino erupted.
"Contact!" Artyom barked. "At least fifteen inside the main hall!"
"Team Two, hit the rear," I ordered, sweeping for new targets.
An Italian rushed to a window to take a shot. One bullet into his skull shattered the glass, splattering the pane.
"Two snipers!" someone shouted over the comm.
I scanned and picked up muzzle flashes in the windows of the opposite building. They'd set an ambush.
"Take cover!" I yelled, then swung the scope.
Two sniper rounds zipped past my shoulder, searing close. I found my target and hit it; the other shooter slumped.
"Don, you're hit!" the other rooftop sniper cried when he saw the blood on my shoulder.
"Just a graze," I gritted. "Keep picking targets."
Gunfire inside the casino escalated. Men charged; men fell.
"How's it going, Artyom?" I asked.
"Stiff resistance!" he shouted through the noise. "They've got a machine?gun nest on the second floor—we can't get up!"
"I'm coming." I stood. "Snipers, cover me."
I stowed the rifle, drew the Glock, and ran down. Adrenaline sharpened every sense. Inside the casino, it was chaos—overturned tables used for cover, shell casings and blood everywhere. I saw Artyom behind a column, firing up to the second level.
"Don! You shouldn't be down here!" He saw me, and his eyes widened.
"Shut up and keep shooting." I scanned the second floor. The machine?gunner had us pinned, but he had a blind spot—about three seconds if you hit the right stairwell from the right side.
"Artyom, cover me," I said. "Three seconds is all I need."
"Boss, that's suicide!"
"Now!" I snarled.
Artyom and the others poured fire like a storm. I sprinted for the stairs—one step, two, three. The gunner spotted me and swung the weapon. His finger squeezed; a tracer ripped past my back.
I hit the floor, rolled, came up, and fired. One round slammed into the gunner's chest, the next into his head. He slumped. The gun clattered to the floor.
"Second floor clear!" I roared. "Everybody up!"
My men surged up the stairs and continued clearing rooms. Doors burst open, shots cracked, and I heard someone begging in Italian.
"Found the vault!" Artyom said over the comms. "Ledgers—every transaction recorded."
"Take it," I ordered. "Any prisoners?"
"One—in the office. Looks like a manager."
I walked into the office and found a suited Italian kneeling, hands bound behind him. Fear flared in his eyes when he saw me.
"You know who I am?" I crouched and shoved my Glock under his chin.
"Vorontsov," he said in accented English. "Don of the Bratva."
"Good," I said. "So you know what happens if you don't cooperate."
He nodded frantically.
"Where's Salvatore now?"
"I-I don't know! He never tells us where he is!"
I shoved the barrel into his mouth. "Think harder."
"Wait! Wait!" he babbled. "I know something! He's planning a big move. Needs a lot of manpower!"
"What move?" I pressed.
"I don't know the details! Just that he's contacting people!"
"You have nothing else that'll save you?" I pushed the gun harder.
"Please, spare me! I really don't—"
I didn't wait. I pulled the trigger. He dropped, eyes wide and terrified.
"He didn't know more," I said coldly. "Grab everything you can. Burn this place when you leave. Pull out."
We left with the ledgers and whatever we could carry, then set the casino alight behind us.