Page 158 of I'm sorry, Princess
Before I can answer, Lev slouches back in his chair with a grin. “Long story short, he wants to kill the Attorney General just to eat some pussy.”
Alisa hisses, snapping her glare at him, but his smirk doesn’t fade. My jaw tightens. I pin him with a stare so sharp it could slit his throat. Idiot.
All eyes swing back to me. Alisa mutters under her breath, “For fuck’s sake.”
“I want to interrogate Thomas Beaumont and John Archibald,” I say, enunciating every syllable like a verdict. The room stills. Even Lev shuts up for a moment.
“Thanks to Lucy, Andres’ creation, I found out Beaumont and Archibald are tied to my father’s death.” Confusion flickers across their faces, so I press on. “Turns out they knew each other better than anyone thought. Too well. And I believe they had a hand in killing him.”
Kirill’s eyes darken, but he stays silent. He listens. Always calculating.
“And when I went to Florence,” I continue, my chest tightening, “my mother confirmed it. She told me my father didn’t die of a heart attack. She warned me to stay away from Beaumont and Archibald. Which makes them guilty enough in my book.”
Andres shoots me a look. He hadn’t heard that part. I don’t care. He knows now.
“They’re protected. Layers of security around them twenty-four-seven. I could send my own men, but this has to be done clean. Smooth. No loose ends. And if something goes wrong, I want the kind of firepower behind me that makes sure none of them walk out alive.”
The silence hangs heavy until Alisa breaks it, her voice sharp with disbelief. “You can’t be serious.” She looks at her father, incredulous. “They’re the Attorney General and the Chief of the fucking FBI! This isn’t a street war, Papa, this is suicide!”
Kirill’s gaze softens as it settles on her. But his words are ice. “And we are Bratva.”
The weight of it silences even her.
“I’m in!” Lev shouts, almost bouncing in his seat, his grin manic. Andres doesn’t speak, he doesn’t need to. He was in long before this meeting, when we bled and plotted for hours behind closed doors. Ice gives a single, deliberate nod. A vow.
Alisa shakes her head, disgust rolling off her in waves, but her disapproval doesn’t matter. She’s not part of this play. She’s still too young to understand what it means to have blood debts that cross oceans.
Kirill scans the table, his voice low, final. “When do you want this done?”
My pulse spikes, but my voice stays calm. Controlled. “As soon as possible.”
The truth? I want it now. I want them in my basement tonight, their screams echoing off the walls until they confess everything. But this has to be planned. It has to be perfect.
Kirill nods once. “Anything else you want to add?”
I shake my head. The others do the same.
“Good. Then let’s get it over with,” he says, pushing back from the table. His decision is law. The room begins to shift, chairs scraping against the floor.
But of course, Lev can’t shut his mouth.
“Wait!” He slams his palms against the table. “What about the girl?”
My glare could burn him alive. Kirill’s eyes sharpen, flicking to me.
“She has nothing to do with this,” I growl, my voice low, dangerous. God help him if he says another word about her.
Lev blinks, then smirks. “Aren’t we going to kill him?”
Kirill arches a brow. “Kill who?”
“Archibald’s son,” Lev says, like it’s obvious. “He’s marrying Lorenzo’s girl.”
Every head turns to me.
Alisa explodes. “You have got to be kidding me.” She storms closer, fury radiating off her. “Tell me we’re not doing all of this because you can’t keep your dick out of Beaumont’s princess!”
“Language,” Lev mutters with a grin. “You’re still a baby. And yeah, we’re absolutely going to war for pussy. Isn’t that how all wars start?” He winks at her, unfazed by her rage.
