Page 135 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

“Ares fucking Zervas.” A growl rumbles in my throat when I catch that familiar dark hair and pompous posture striding toward the hotel entrance, seven linebackers trailing behind him.

For just a moment, I consider sitting back. Let the Greek walk into a possible trap. Let him bleed for those months he kept Sandrine from me while I tore the world apart trying to find her.

I should, but I don’t. Damn it.

“Come on.” I signal Drago to follow me out of the car.

My enforcer keeps pace with me as we walk. He signals the men we brought to follow behind us. On the sidewalk, we are a show of force, and people step aside as we enter the building.

“God of War,” I call out to Ares.

He stops and turns around at the sound of my voice. His eyes narrow, taking me in. And all of my men.

“Pakhan. It’s about time,” he grouses, speaking low. “We lost contact with Elodie and Scava hasn’t returned my calls.”

“He can’t ignore both of us,” I say about the Borgia Don who’s been slowly killing off other dons, as I’ve been.

Why would he risk stealing a woman with ties to two mafia houses in the middle of that murder campaign? And I don’t want a fight with the Cosa Nostra. But I stand shoulder to shoulder with Ares Zervas. Not as allies, but not quite enemies anymore. Something in between.

Family. Christ.

As we crowd the elevator bank, Ares points to a giant guard and the one next to him. “Wrath and Pride, you’re with me. The rest of you stay down here.”

“Drago, we can handle this, just us.” I nod to my enforcer, who signals my men to wait with the rest of the Greek king’s guard.

With all of us crowded in the elevator, I’m concerned about the weight limit. But that moves down to concern number two when the door slides open and Nico Scava stands in the middle of the lavish foyer holding a fucking machine gun, the barrel pointing right at us.

“Looking for me?” Scava says wryly, his love of pointing weapons matching my own.

Drago reacts instantly, as do I. Weapons drawn, the metallic click of several safeties disengage in a sinister chorus. Ares’s two guards push The God of War aside and draw their Glocks. This scene teeters on the edge of an irreversible massacre.

I step forward before it can tip that way.

“We’re here for our wives’ cousin, Scava,” I say, my steady voice cutting through the tension. “She belongs to us. You know how this works.”

“I’m fine.” A delicate voice comes from deeper in the room.

She sounds almost bored.

Elodie strides out from a shadowed corridor. I recognize her from Arizona. Her posture is relaxed in a way that doesn’t quite match this tense, armed situation. She doesn’t look hurt, and she doesn’t look afraid.

“Brunette, get your things,” I say, ignoring what can be a coerced lie. “You’re coming with us.”

“Who are you?” she snaps at me.

Fuck, I had a mask on in Scottsdale.

“This is the man Lourdes told you about,” Ares answers for me. “Sandrine’s husband.”

“The guy who put a gun to her head?” Elodie snaps.

Scava snickers.

“I told you to get out of the car,” I say, as if that justifies what I did. “You didn’t listen.”

“Ares,” she says, ignoring me and sounding miffed at our intrusion on whatever the hell is going on here. “I told you on the phone last week, I’m fine.”

What’s with these strong women?