Page 39 of Devotion

“Mat!” I call after him, catching sight of the shooter. Jet black leather from head to toe. And a black mask with a white symbol on the forehead, covering his face. Jet black eyes send a shiver down my spine right before he revs his motorcycle and burns out, peeling away as Matvey unloads his clip.

It’s of little use. In a moment, he is gone.

And I feel the body beneath me, the powerful arms around me. The scent of soap and a hint of cologne raising my pulse. It reminds me of pine trees, winter mornings.

“You alright?” Ciro asks softly.

I’m on his chest.

“I save you, asshole. I’m fine,” I snip, feeling his fingers tighten on my back, the other hand brushing my hair aside, caressing my cheek.

We lay there for a second longer, looking into each other’s eyes, our bodies pressed together, perfectly curved to one another. He’s warm. Hard.

And just before I shove myself off his chest, I brush his lips with mine, so fast, barely tasting his breath. He staggers to his feet, stunned, blinking.

And of course, I pretend nothing happened as Matvey rushes back to check on us.

“He got away. And my car is fucked.”

“It’s better you did not follow alone. The masked one…he was assassin. Professional.”

“I could take him.”

“Don’t be fool. We are alive. We will hunt the rest of them down and the hitman. As brotherhood. With plenty of backup,” I promise, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Call for ride, we need to see Pyotr and the other council members tonight.”

“Da,” he salutes automatically, digging for his phone. Glancing at Ciro, he smirks at the look still lingering on his face. “Hey, um what were you two doing down there?”

“Uh…” Ciro gives me a heated look.

“Nothing.”

“Didn’t look like nothing, you want me to let you finish?”

“I’ll finish you if you do not shut your fucking mouth, little brother.”

“Always with the ‘little brother’ when it suits you. Pretty sure Mama told me I came out first, so…”

“Mama said anything you wanted to hear because you were spoiled brat.” I turn, storming off toward the sound of cars speeding down the drive. And to avoid Ciro’s eyes I can feel searing into my back. He is too smug. And I also cannot handle the way he looks at me when Mat and I bicker. Like a forlorn puppy, probably missing his own brother.

I will not be sappy like someAmericanwoman.

Along with a driver for us, the cleaning crew pulls in to handle the mess.

“Clean up must be quick. Quiet. Do not let thepolitsiyaget wind of any of this,” I grumble to the first lieutenant out of the van.

“Da, Kapitan.” Immediately he conveys orders and a dozen men set to work.

More than the police, I am worried for optics on this disaster. It is unexpected. Makes us look like we had our guard down. We cannot be seen to be weak to other Bratva branches.

Ciro and Matvey catch up as I reach our ride.

“What do you think we’re dealing with, Shakal?”

“Hm. I’ve encountered guys like these before. Usually mercs for hire, like the Lyras.”

“You’ve met Greek assassins before?” Mat marvels. Fucking mafia fanboy.

“Yeah. Lucky to be alive. This is different, though. More organized, less specialized. These guys were part of a larger force. Grunts.”

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