Page 2 of Then We Shatter

Hating Vasili Barkov is the one emotion I won’t shut down, for reasons I don’t dare acknowledge in his presence. He can never know how deep my grief goes.

As I reach his side, he sits back, amusement rather than alarm dancing in his eyes. He lets me take the bottle from him to fill a single champagne flute. I over pour and froth bubbles over the side of the crystal glass, dripping onto the table where he rests his hand, fingers splayed and within reach of his serrated steak knife.

“And there she is,” Vasili says, eyes glinting. “The tiger’s still in there. Untamed.”

“Untamable,” I correct as I turn the stem of the glass between my fingers and thumb. Once separated from the flute, it could easily pierce my uncle’s jugular.

With his head tipped back to observe me and his neck exposed, I have the perfect opportunity to take back control of my life. It’s been a long time coming.

I was two years old when I was ripped from my dead mother’s arms. My father, Vasili’s older brother, had been the pakhan back then and he had four children. Of the three he shared with my mother, I was the only one to survive when he was overthrown by my uncle and my older, half-brother, Ilya. I was only allowed to live because I was a girl, and they considered me an asset rather than a liability, a prize to be used and abused.

As assets go, my value saw an unexpected rise earlier this year when heir-apparent, Ilya was killed trying to expand the Barkov empire into the United States. Vasili has no children of his own, an option taken from him when my father castrated his competitive sibling early in his rein. That makes me the Barkovs’ only surviving heir. Lucky me.

Unfortunately, killing the old man and claiming the throne isn’t as easy as it may seem. Even if I could stab Vasili’s throat before one of his guards tasered me, his men wouldn’t automatically switch allegiance. There are plenty of Bratva brigadiers who see themselves as his successor, and I’m not about to fight to the death for an empire I have no interest in taking over.

All I’ve ever wanted is my freedom. Is that too much to ask?

“Your engagement has been announced,” Vasili tells me. “And if you’re a good girl, I’ll give you back your diamond ring. Call it a wedding gift to you and your fiancé.”

I take a sip of champagne. It’s like swallowing shards of glass as the bubbles burst at the back of my throat. That cursed rock is going to outlast us all.

I stare at my hands, bare of every adornment including my trademark acrylics. I don’t miss the ring but I do miss my claws and what they could do to my uncle’s face. “Do I know him?”

Vasili’s eyes are cold. “Does it matter?” he asks. “The important thing is you get down the aisle before he runs off and marries someone else. Again.”

I raise an eyebrow, aware that I’m revealing my curiosity at the mention of marriage and my exes. My first engagement ended before I’d even met the asshole. My second had lasted less than a week. But the third, most recent engagement to Duke Moncrief had given me a three-month reprieve from my uncle’s scheming. Three months in which to discover that I still had a heart to give, and learn how easily it could shatter.

I set down the champagne flute in front of Vasili and stroll back to my seat. “Duke married Grace?” I ask with my back still turned.

“He did.”

“Good.” And I genuinely mean it. Duke was the lead in some else’s love story. Our engagement was nothing more than a ruse to fool my uncle into thinking I was following orders.

“You weren’t invited to the wedding,” Vasili continues. He waits until I slump back into my chair before he adds, almost as an afterthought, “And obviously, you missed a funeral too.”

My trembling legs are hidden beneath the table, but my eye twitch almost gives me away. I start braiding my hair as a distraction.

“You’re such a disappointment, Katarina,” my uncle scolds. “Of all the men you could have fucked…” He blows out a breath to punctuate his disgust. “Fortunately for you, I can be a reasonable man as long as you don’t push my patience again. You will marry Eric Peterson and you’ll do whatever he requires of you. Bed him. Bear his children. Maybe fucking smile once in a while.”

Ah, so it’s still the South African he wants me to marry. The billionaire businessman was my uncle’s back-up plan if my engagement to Duke fell through. Fifty-two-year-old, four-times married Eric likes them young, and I’ve recently had a birthday.

“I thought he would have lost interest in me now that I’m a fully-grown adult.”

“You’re old by his tastes, but your flaws are worth overlooking for what could be a lucrative deal for both parties,” he says. He means Eric and himself. I don’t factor into it. “The only deal breaker would be if he were to find out who corrupted you.”

“Corrupted?” I scoff as I pull the hairband from my wrist to tie the end of my braid. “I was never going to be his virgin bride, Uncle. Your men saw to that.”

My uncle has always viewed my sexuality as another weapon to wield on his behalf, and there were certain men he allowed near me. He considered it part of my training.

I smirk over at Vlad as if sharing a secret, and receive his glower in return. My uncle’s foot soldiers are not on the approved list of men allowed to fuck me, and they would pay for such indiscretions with their lives. Vlad’s complexion turns as grey as his personality and his grip on the Taser’s trigger tightens.

“Don’t play games, Katarina,” Vasili says, holding back a feigned yawn. “Vlad doesn’t have the balls to touch you without my permission. I’m talking about your misdemeanors while you were in the States.” He picks up the champagne flute I’d left and takes a sip. “But let’s consider that period of your life dead and buried. I appreciate your natural instinct will be to cut Eric’s throat the first chance you get, but I strongly advise against it.”

“Then you sleep with the fucking prick.”

“You will serve your new husband for as long as I have use for him. After which…” He pauses to refill his glass. “You can be the one to dispatch him if you wish. Call it a reward. Something for you to look forward to.”

“There are a few other deaths I’m looking forward to first.”