Page 163 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

Sandrine folds her arms. “Good, because the next time I’m in a room with her, I’m going to publicly shame her.”

“I’m getting hard just picturing it, dorogaya.” I press one last kiss to her forehead before I let her go. “Now, go rest. Let Nadia take Violet to school, then you pick her up. Take her to her friend’s house with your new guards.”

“Thank you,” she says, hugging me.

My wife walks away, her steps slow but steady. She’s got this. When she disappears down the hall, I let the softness drain from me completely.

“Pakhan,” Drago says from behind me, his voice low and measured. “Our men have detained Tamara’s guard. We are ready.”

A slow smile pulls at my mouth. “And Eduardo?”

Interest sparks in his eyes. “En route. The warden says hello.”

“Send him a case of what he likes to drink.” I glance once more at Adrian’s dead body, then back at Drago. “And have the cleaners here immediately. This is my home. Where my daughter plays.”

“It will be done, Pakhan.” He’s already reaching for his radio, issuing my orders as men move in to handle the mess I made.

I don’t stay to watch.

* * *

The townhouse door barely has time to open before everything gets chaotic, really fast.

Tamara sees us and tries to slam it shut, panic flashing across her face, but Drago is faster. His one boot hits the door, forcing it open as he steps inside. His presence fills the space like a storm rolling in.

“This is the pakhan,” he barks to her. “You will give him your attention.”

Dressed in a satin robe and nothing else, she stumbles back, fear in her gaze. “Where’s my father?”

“Dead,” I tell her.

My blunt reply makes her double over and hold her stomach. She collapses onto the carpet with a broken sound tearing from her throat. Tears spill down her face, her hands shaking as she tries to process it.

I crouch in front of her, reaching out to grip her hair, not harshly at first, just enough to force her to look at me.

“I’m not going to kill you,” I say, my tone almost conversational. “Even though you’ve made it your mission to hurt my wife.”

Relief floods her expression so quickly it’s almost pathetic. “Thank you,” she gasps.

I grip her hair harder. “Thank you, what?”

“Thank you… Pakhan.”

I release her and straighten slowly. “I have something much worse for you than death.”

Her eyes widen, confusion cutting through the fear. “What?”

“You should stop drinking,” I say mildly. “You confess all your secrets when you’re drunk.”

Her face drains of color. “What do you mean?”

“Let him in,” I tell Drago.

The air shifts when a man steps inside, his presence coiled with violence in a way that even my men respect with caution.

Tamara’s gaze snaps to him. A primal, terrified wail breaks from her throat. She scrambles backward, shaking her head. “No… No!”

“There you are, wife,” the man says, his voice lethal.