Page 130 of The Devil's Thorn
Nikolai nods once. “Understood.”
He doesn’t ask why. Doesn’t askwhatRafael plans to do with Viktor. Because he already knows. Rafael Romanov doesn’t just retaliate. Hemakes statements.
Still, the silence between all of us hangs thick. Charged. More than just blood and strategy swimming in it.
“You should get that cleaned,” Rafael finally says to me, eyes flicking down to the streak of dried blood on my wrist.
I glance down. The stain doesn’t bother me. The way his voice softened when he said it does.
“I’m fine,” I reply. “It’s not mine anyway.”
His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. Not quite anything. Just him, cataloging every inch of me again. Like I’m an unsolved riddle and he’s getting closer to cracking it.
But I won’t let him. Not yet.
The room stays quiet, the kind of silence that means everyone is thinking—plotting, calculating. The blood on my skin has begun to dry. My jaw still aches from how tight I’ve been clenching it.
But it’s Rafael I watch.
The way his fingers wrap around the edge of the bar. The way he processes information with frightening calm. I can feel something shifting in him, slowly, like a lion circling the perimeter of its cage—deciding whether it wants to test the lock or wait for the door to swing open.
“You said he’s wounded?” he asks Nikolai, voice smooth but laced with steel.
Nikolai nods. “Gut wound. Deep, but he was walking. His men dragged him out.”
“He won’t stay quiet long,” Rafael murmurs, glancing toward me. “He’ll retaliate.”
“He’ll go for her,” Nikolai says bluntly, confirming what I already knew. “He’ll want to finish what that sniper couldn’t.”
A quiet pulse of satisfaction moves through me. Good. Let him come.
But Rafael’s jaw tics, and his gaze settles back on Nikolai. “Security?”
Nikolai doesn’t hesitate. “Reinforced. All entrances secured. Everyone inside has been cleared. But that doesn’t change what comes next.”
“No,” Rafael agrees, turning slightly. “It doesn’t.”
I meet his eyes then. And for the first time since all of this started, I see something flicker beneath the ice—something quiet, something dangerous. Not fear. But fury.
Because someone tried to take something from him.
And it wasn’t just the business. Or the Bratva’s authority. It was me. Which makes this messier.
“Viktor won’t wait,” Rafael says, his voice low. “He’ll regroup. Regain power. And then he’ll do what he does best—send others to do his dirty work.”
“Should we go after him now?” Nikolai asks, voice calm but itching for blood.
Rafael shakes his head once. “No. Not yet. Let him believe he slipped away. Let him think tonight was survival. I want his arrogance to keep him blind. Just long enough.”
There’s a beat. Then he glances at me again, his eyes flicking down once, then back up. “You should change. Get cleaned up,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “You’ll hear from me soon. When I’ve decided how we move forward.”
The dismissal is direct. Measured. Like the Pakhan he is.
But it’s not cold. It’s calculated.
He doesn’t want Viktor’s name spoken in front of me again—not until he has a plan. Not until he has the upper hand.
I lift my chin. “And what happens when he comes for me?”
