Page 94 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

I start unbuttoning my father’s soaked nightshirt. His skin looks paper-thin with purple veins and ugly bruises from blood thinners. He’s a shell of the monster who once ruled Chicago with an iron fist.

Then he grabs me, forcing me to meet his eyes. “She’s a mistake.”

“Keep your mouth shut,” I mutter through clenched teeth.

“Sandrine De la Vega…” He hisses her former name in a taunt, not acknowledging she has his name now. “You destroyed everything for that girl.”

My hand tightens on the blanket. “I destroyed nothing. Our brotherhood not only stands, but I am on my way to being the American Pakhan. Something you never had the guts to try or the grit to even want.”

“You should have married Tamara,” he rasps. “You should have put the child with that sister of hers and moved on.”

At the mention of Violet, something cold races up my spine. “I would never give away my daughter. Your heir. No matter who her mother is.”

“A mother who vanished. A woman who couldn’t stand you.” Papa leans back against the pillows, breathing unevenly. “Tamara would have stood beside you and been your queen. She’s not an embarrassment. She was trained for this life.”

Tamara.

Hearing her name makes me sick.

“She understood duty,” he continues bitterly. “Not like your little artist whore.”

Fury. Dark, rotten fury shifts in my chest. An anger unlike any I’ve known.

I pull a knife from my jacket and put it against his throat before I can stop myself. “You don’t speak about Sandrine again.”

Suddenly my father’s expression changes. Confusion flickers across his face.

“Where…” He looks around slowly. “Where the fuck am I?”

I breathe out. He’s deteriorating. This can’t happen again.

His eyes dart toward me, tears flowing over the red rims. No more authority. Just an old man trapped inside a failing body. “Kirill?”

My throat tightens unexpectedly. “I’m here. Go back to sleep.”

I can’t believe I used to love him. Now there’s nothing left to hate anymore.

The nurse comes in, frantic, carrying a syringe. “Mr. Volkov, I’m so sorry. He was napping. I was preparing the pakhan’s lunch.”

“It’s fine.” I hold her back from giving him a shot. “Go finish the lunch.”

“Yes, sir.” She bows and goes to leave, but I grip her arm.

“You call me Pakhan from now on,” I practically growl. “Do you hear me?”

She swallows nervously. “Yes, Pakhan.”

I look toward Drago standing near the doorway as she passes him. When she’s gone, he closes the door and strides toward me.

When he gets close, I wave the knife. Drago’s face hardens with the immediate understanding of what I must do. For the safety of the brotherhood. There are still guards who are loyal to him. There can never be any doubt of who is in charge here.

While my father lives, he could very well get word to the Vory. Call another vote. Choose another heir and next… I can’t even think it.

“He dies,” I growl to Drago. “Today.”

Drago nods and stands guard.

The knife sits in my hand with both comfort and terror. Until I’m somewhere else entirely.