Chapter 40
ANDREY
The restaurant sits in neutral territory, a place where blood doesn't spill no matter how heated the conversation gets.
It's an unspoken rule among the families, one of the few agreements that holds across every faction.
The building is old brick and dark wood, expensive but understated, the kind of place where deals are made over vodka and rare steaks.
I arrive early with my most trusted men flanking me.
The private dining room is already filling when we enter.
Pakhans from every major family in the city are here, their own security spread throughout the restaurant.
The air is thick with tension and expensive cologne.
These men don't trust each other, but they respect the rules of this place enough to show up.
I take my seat at the head of the long table, my back to the wall so I can see every face in the room.
The conversations die down as the last few arrivals settle into their chairs.
I let the silence stretch, let them wait.
Power isn't just about who speaks first. It's about who controls the room before a single word is said.
Finally, I lean forward, my hands flat on the table. "Thank you for coming."
A few nods, but most just stare, waiting to see what this is about.
"I called this meeting to make something very clear." My voice is calm, controlled. "My wife, Mariya Pushkin Melnikov, is off limits. To everyone."
Murmurs ripple through the room. I see skepticism on several faces, outright hostility on others. One of the older Pakhans, a thick-shouldered man who runs the docks, leans back in his chair.
"Your wife is Yegor Pushkin's daughter," he says, his accent thick. "That makes her everyone's business."
"She's my wife," I correct, my tone hardening. "That makes her my business. And mine alone."
Another Pakhan speaks up, younger but no less dangerous. "Pushkin betrayed the Bratva. He testified against our operations, destroyed families, and sent good men to prison. His daughter carries that blood."
"Mariya hasn't seen her father since before he testified and sent her to America," I say flatly. "She was eighteen years old when he abandoned her. She has no contact with him, no knowledge of where he is, and no loyalty to the man who destroyed her childhood."
"You expect us to believe that?" The man's voice drips with doubt. "A daughter doesn't forget her father."
"Believe what you want." I meet his gaze without flinching. "But if anyone touches her, if anyone threatens her, if anyone so much as looks at her the wrong way, I will consider it a declaration of war against my family."
The room erupts. Voices rise in argument, some agreeing, others protesting. I let them talk, let them get it out of their systems. But I'm watching faces, cataloging who seems most resistant, who might be stupid enough to test me.
When the noise finally dies down, I speak again. "I understand your concerns. I know what Pushkin did. But Mariya is innocent. She's paid for her father's sins her entire life, and I won't allow her to keep paying."
"Pretty words," another Pakhan mutters. "But words don't change blood."
I'd prepared for this, knew that some of them wouldn't be convinced by logic or appeals to fairness. These men respect one thing above all else. Strength. And sometimes, strength requires a demonstration.
I gesture to one of my captains, who moves to the door and opens it. Two of my guards drag a man into the room. He's young, maybe thirty, with dark hair and wild eyes. His hands are bound behind his back, and there's a fresh bruise on his jaw.
The room goes silent.
"This is Pavel Sokolov," I say, standing. "He became Pakhan of the Sokolov family six months ago after his father died. Last week, he made inquiries about my wife. Asked questions about her schedule, her movements, and where she goes when she's not with me."
Pavel's eyes widen. "I was just curious! I didn't mean anything by it!"
"Curiosity," I say quietly, pulling my weapon from its holster, "has consequences."
I don't give him time to beg. I raise the gun and fire once, the shot echoing through the room. Pavel's head snaps back, blood spraying across the expensive carpet as his body crumples to the floor.
No one moves. No one speaks. This was supposed to be a blood-free zone. It was supposed to be safe. But I don't give a damn. I need to make a point, and I think doing that here and now does that perfectly.
I holster my weapon and look around the table, meeting each man's gaze in turn. "That's what happens to anyone who threatens what's mine. I don't care if you're a Pakhan or a foot soldier. I don't care if you've been in this life for fifty years or five. Touch my wife, and you die."
The message is clear. Brutal, but clear.
One by one, the men nod their understanding. Some look angry, others wary, but they all agree. They have to. I just proved I'm willing to kill a Pakhan in front of witnesses to protect Mariya.
"Good." I sit back down, ignoring the body being dragged from the room. "Then we're done here."
The meeting breaks up quickly after that. The Pakhans file out with their guards, most avoiding eye contact.
"That went well," one of my captains says dryly once we're in the SUV.
"It went exactly as I expected." I lean back against the seat, my pulse finally slowing. "Some of them will respect the boundary. Others will test it eventually."
"And when they do?"
"We kill them." Simple. Final.
The drive back to the estate is quiet. I stare out the window, watching the city pass by, my mind already moving to the next problem. Killing Pavel sends a message, but it also creates enemies. His family will want revenge, even if they're too smart to act on it immediately.
But that's a problem for another day.
When we pull through the gates, I see Mariya waiting on the front steps. She's wearing jeans and one of my shirts, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. The sight of her eases something tight in my chest.
I dismiss the guards and walk to her, pulling her into my arms. She fits perfectly against me, her body warm and soft.
"How did it go?" she asks quietly.
"It's handled." I kiss the top of her head. "They know you're off limits."
She pulls back slightly, her dark eyes searching my face. "Did you have to hurt anyone?"
I consider lying, but Mariya deserves the truth. "I killed a Pakhan who was asking questions about you."
Her breath catches, but she doesn't pull away. "Will there be retaliation?"
"Maybe. But not against you." I cup her face in my hands. "I won't let anyone touch you, Mariya. No matter what it costs."
She rises on her toes and kisses me, soft and sweet. "I know."
I deepen the kiss, my hands sliding down to grip her ass and pull her flush against me. She gasps into my mouth, her fingers tangling in my hair. The need that's been simmering all day finally breaks free.
"Inside," I growl against her lips.
We barely make it to the bedroom. I kick the door shut behind us and pin her against it, my mouth claiming hers with bruising intensity. Her hands work at my shirt, fumbling with buttons until I tear it open myself, sending them scattering across the floor.
"Andrey," she breathes, her nails raking down my chest.
I lift her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her to the bed. She's already pulling at my belt, desperate and needy, and fuck if that doesn't make my cock throb.
I strip her quickly, tossing her clothes aside until she's naked beneath me. Her breasts are full and perfect, nipples already hard. I take one in my mouth, sucking hard enough to make her arch off the bed.
"Please," she moans, her hips rocking against me.
I slide my hand between her thighs and find her soaked. "So wet for me already."
"Always," she gasps.
I push two fingers inside her, curling them to hit that spot that makes her see stars. She cries out, her inner muscles clenching around me. I work her with steady strokes, my thumb circling her clit until she's trembling.
"Come for me," I command.
She shatters, her body convulsing as pleasure tears through her. I don't give her time to recover. I strip off the rest of my clothes and position myself between her thighs, my cock hard and aching.
When I push inside her, we both groan. She's tight and perfect, her body gripping me like she was made for this. I start to move, slow and deep, making her feel every inch.
"Harder," she begs, her nails digging into my shoulders.
I give her what she wants, driving into her with powerful thrusts that make the bed shake. Her breasts bounce with each movement, and I can't resist leaning down to capture a nipple between my teeth.
"Andrey!" She's close again, I can feel it in the way her body tightens around me.
I reach between us and rub her clit, pushing her over the edge. She comes with a scream, her muscles clenching so hard around my cock that I follow her, my release hitting like a freight train.
We collapse together, breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat. I roll to the side and pull her against my chest, my hand stroking through her hair.
"I love you," she whispers.
"I love you too." I kiss her forehead. "Always."
We lie there for several minutes, just holding each other. Then Mariya suddenly stiffens.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
She doesn't answer. Instead, she scrambles out of bed and runs to the bathroom. I hear her retching, the sound making my stomach drop.
I'm on my feet immediately, following her. She's on her knees in front of the toilet, her body shaking.