Page 42 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

“Papa, I’m ready to take my place as pakhan. I have my wife. There will be sons next.” I twitch as I say this.

His eyes narrow at me again. The other name he won’t say because he’s a cruel prick.

“Drago and I took control of New York and Boston. Other cities are next.”

He laughs weakly, bitter amusement scraping from his chest. “You’re not ready to be pakhan. You’re making the mistake of a young, stupid man. Starting with keeping a wife who doesn’t know you.”

“That’s my business with my wife.” I throw his ridiculous argument in his face.

“This brotherhood is my business!” He sits up completely, pounding his bedsheet.

For a second, I see it. The old Yuri. The man who ruled Chicago with blood and fear. I’m torn, wanting him back and wanting him dead. Maybe if I keep fueling his adrenaline, it will give him a heart attack.

He opens his mouth to yell at me more, but another wet coughing fit hits him hard enough to fold his body forward.

The nurse rushes back into the room. “Pakhan⁠—”

He shoves her away, still coughing into the sheet already stained pink.

I stare at the blood. At his trembling hands. At the monster who terrified me as a boy slowly drowning inside a decaying king.

“Good night, Papa.” For the first time in my life, I walk away from my father without waiting for permission.

Back on my side of Iron Keep, everything here is controlled. Even if the storm I’m facing is still clawing at the edges of my mind. Even if Sandrine’s scent still clings to my skin, to my clothes, so deep that I don’t think I can scrub it away now.

The chaos in my chest lifts, my duties as pakhan fading to the person who comes first in my life.

I reach the bedroom next to mine and pause. Just for a second, I let the noise in my head settle enough that I can step inside without bringing it with me.

I open the door, and warmth greets me immediately.

She looks up from where she’s sitting on the floor, surrounded by toys, her hair a wild halo of dark waves, her eyes—Sandrine’s warm amber eyes—lighting up the moment they find me.

“Daddy!”

Chapter 12

Kirill

Violet launches herself from the plush rug in a blur of tiny arms. I catch her. Her ring of laughter anchors me back to something resembling humanity.

My daughter deserves the best part of me. The kind man she made.

“There’s my princess,” I murmur, breathing in the scent of strawberry shampoo against her temple.

“You missed dinner,” she says, cupping my face in both hands and inspecting me with those sharp, knowing eyes that miss very little for a five-year-old. “Nadia said you were working.”

Her nanny is an older woman, married to a long-time guard who works for Drago.

“Not working exactly,” I admit, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

I linger a moment longer, grounding myself in the reality of her.

For five years, I looked in her eyes and saw the first female pakhan. When Sandrine disappeared, I vowed I would never marry again, never give my father that satisfaction. That meant I wouldn’t have more children.

It hits me how much that has changed. In a few hours. My wife is back. As I said to Papa, I can have a son. Or two. Or three.

But my wife hates me. I hate her, too. I hate what she did.