Page 23 of Toxic Temptation
As if I don’t have actual problems to contend with right now. On the other side of my office door, myvoryare waiting for me. Might as well be a room full of fucking hyenas.
Ihor has been whispering poison in the ears of my father’s old guard, trying to rip my foundation out from under me. Yana, Luka’s useless mother, is deadset on throwing her son into the line of fire like he’s a fucking pawn in a game of street hustler chess on the corner of Market and Powell.
I’m short on allies outside the room, too. The Keres turned a children’s hospital into a war zone. They won’t hesitate to do worse if I don’t give them what they want.
I stand up, straightening my suit jacket and rolling my shoulders back. Time to be thepakhanthese men need. If I don’t make the hard choices that will keep my nephew safe and my Bratva intact, no one will.
So I’ll do what I’ve always done. I’ll lead. I’ll conquer. I’ll subdue.
And I’ll set aside all thoughts of powder blue eyes and constellation birthmarks and the way a certain doctor’s voice gets husky when she’s trying not to be afraid.
Those things don’t matter anymore.
They can’t.
The garage is soundproof, which makes it perfect for the kind of conversation where people might end up screaming. Twentymen wait in the golden light, arranged in a loose semicircle between my cars.
Fifteen faces I trust.
Five I don’t.
Especially not Afanasy and Abram, Ihor’s lapdogs. They stand slightly apart from the others, arms crossed, already radiating defiance before I’ve said a word.
Good. This’ll go faster if they want a fight.
“I’m going to cut right to the chase,” I announce, my voice carrying easily across the space. “The Krayev Bratva is done with organ trafficking. Effective immediately.”
The murmur that ripples through the group is expected. Most of my men look relieved—they’ve known this was coming. But Afanasy’s face turns the color of old meat, and his gold tooth glints as he grinds his jaw.
“You must not have thought this through,pakhan.” His voice drips with contempt as he says my title with the tiniest hint of a laugh, like it’s some inside joke. “That’s our biggest revenue stream.Is cutting our own throats really wise?”
I let my gaze travel slowly around the room, making sure every man here understands exactly who’s in charge. “There’s an old saying about honor among thieves. I believe it applies here.”
“We’re not thieves!” Afanasy snarls, taking a step forward. “We provide a service. Those organs save lives.”
The laugh that escapes me is harsh enough to echo off the concrete walls. “Is that what you call cutting organs out of unconscious people and selling them to the highest bidder?”
“People who need them,” he argues, his voice rising. “People who would die without?—”
“For millions of dollars per organ.” I shake my head. “If you’re going to play the humanitarian card, Afanasy, maybe don’t charge more than most people make in a lifetime.”
His face flushes darker. I can see Abram trying to catch his arm, trying to pull him back from the ledge he’s dancing on.
But Afanasy shakes him off. Pride has always been his weakness.
And today, that ledge won’t be enough to keep him from tumbling into the darkness that waits below.
“What about the Keres?” he demands. “You think they’ll just accept this decision? We all know what happened at St. Raphael’s. They’re not the type to take ‘no’ for an answer.”
Something cold slides down my spine at the mention of that hospital. At the memory of Vesper pressed against me while bullets flew overhead. Or that poor, cowering, brave mother, willing to stand guard in front of her daughter’s door no matter who came knocking.
“The Keres are my problem to solve.”
“Yourproblem?” Afanasy snorts. “When they come for all of us? When they decide to make examples of our families? I’d say that sounds an awful lot likeourproblem, Kovan.”
I can feel the tension ratchet up another notch. Some of my younger men shift nervously.
But I just smile.
