Page 7 of The Russian Retribution

If I’m not careful, I’ll drive the clan into the ground, and someone else will take my place. Then all the good I’m trying to do will be overwritten by the next greedyPakhan. But I don’t want to hear it. Everywhere I turn, there’s something ready to tell me I’m wrong, and just once, it would be nice to hear someone understand what I’m trying to do.

“Our people deserve to be taken care of,” Viktor calls as I stride away, flexing my hands into fists. “They should come first!”

“Not if their hands are dirty,” I call back, heading toward where my car is parked.

“You’re painting a target on your back!” Viktor yells. “I’m trying to protect you!”

“I have Igor for that!” I stop near the sidewalk and jerk my head toward my bodyguard who stands near my car with his face buried in his phone. “You just focus on the people in there and answer when I call, got it?”

Viktor throws his hands in the air and turns his back on me.

Part of me knows he speaks sense, but I refuse to knowingly allow another person to suffer under my rule. I will take care of my people and all of the families who exist under my name, but not off the backs of torture.

As I head toward the car, my phone suddenly vibrates intensely in my pocket. My steps slow and I glance through the messages to see that Cormac Gifford, the Irish Captain, has sent an apology donation to pay for the nightclub his people destroyed during the search for his brother’s killer. It’s an unexpected olive branch, considering the last time we were face to face, he was accusing me of that very murder.

“Interesting,” I murmur. “Igor, I think we?—”

The words are torn out of my mouth and carried in the wind as my car suddenly erupts into a gigantic orange fireball. The explosion rips the vehicle to shreds and expands upward as the echoing explosion shatters windows all along the nearby buildings. Flames claw their way into the sky as the shockwave of air knocks me clean off my feet. I fly backward with a scream that cuts off when my back collides with something solid. It knocks all of the air out of my lungs. My head snaps back and cracks against something hard, sending white spots dancing in front of my eyes. I hit the ground and a wall of heat washes over me.

My ears ring, my head swims, and in the distance, I briefly hear several more explosions pop through the parking lot just as the billowing fire and smoke from my car sweeps over me. I try to move, but hot pain radiates down my spine.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t even move.

And then hands grab at me, dragging me across the tarmac so that my clothes ride up my body and the rough ground grazes against my skin. The smoke makes my eyes stream, and I gasp weakly, fighting against the hold in an attempt to get up onto my feet.

“Get her!” barks one distant voice.

“Quick, quick!”

“Hurry the fuck up, she’s trying to get up.”

“Stop her then!”

Something powerful slams into the side of my head, and the last thing I glimpse as my world goes black is a sleek silver car door being wrenched open.

3

ERIK

“No, no, listen—listen!” I snort, unable to contain my laughter. “All I’m saying is that if you can get that drunk on just a couple of shots, then you should not be coming out drinking with us, okay? I need real people. People with substance, you understand?”

“You’re a dick,” replies Ryan, and his voice crackles slightly down the phone. “Honestly, I want to see you take those shots after two days of not eating, okay? Because then you’ll be the one falling headfirst into that fucking toilet and I’ll be filming it.”

“Not gonna happen.” I sigh gleefully. “One, I never skip a meal. And two, I have far too much responsibility to be playing silly drinking games with you.”

“Oh, really?” Ryan mocks. “Because being that bitch’s security adviser is such a tough gig.”

“It is,” I reply easily. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to map out secure routes and vet twenty-seven different men all because the ice princess decides she wants a frappe at three in the morning?”

Ryan laughs, and I chuckle along, but it’s a little forced.

I haven’t been in this position long. Sure, security adviser to the Remizova Godmother sounds fancy when you say it out loud, but I don’t see her as often as people assume I do. I mostly follow her at a distance as she moves from place to place and ensure that everyone on her rather small security team is up to date on their weapons training and medical history and aren’t going to slit her throat in her sleep.

That team currently consists of Igor.

Her requirements, not mine.

In my four months in this position, I’ve spoken to Anastasia maybe five times in total. Anything else I have to say goes into the weekly reports, which makes getting close to her pretty tricky.

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