Page 31 of Dance of Defiance
“Oh, Iplan on it.”
7
ROMAN
The problemwith power and wealth is that it’s never enough.
That sounds awful, but as someone who’s been born and rigorously raised to be a king of both… It’s the ugly truth.
Those with moneyalwayswant more. Power is even worse. They're like drugs—two proverbial dragons that addicts are forever chasing.
Wanting.
Consuming.
Needing, until everything else falls by the wayside.
My father—unsurprisingly—is a prime example of this. Our family isludicrouslywealthy. Not rich. Not well-off. I meanwealthy, in the royal sense of the word. Evie and I could quit everything today—never work, lift a finger, or even invest—and our great-grandchildren would be able to do the same.
The same goes for power. Paval Nikitin helms one of the most far-reaching, entrenched Bratva empires in the world. Otherhugely powerful Bratva familiesbowto the Nikitin name. We even sit at the Iron Table, one of the two presiding bodies in the Bratva world. It's kind of like being a country on the United Nations security council.
And yet, even with all that power and grotesque wealth, is my father satisfied?
Nope.
And his drive for “more” isn’t ambition, either.
It’s fucking greed. It’s a sickness.
Which is how we arrived at tonight.
Around me, the crowd of allies, sycophants, and hangers-on smile, drink and glad-hand my father. They’re congratulating me, too, with clinked glasses, heavy claps on the back, and firm embraces.
I’m barely aware of any of it.
Partly, it’s because I’ve been drinking like it’s my sole mission in life for the last several hours. I mean, obviously I have. It’s the only possible way I’m going to get through this shitshow. The other reason is that this fucking “event” is making this whole damn marriage thingmuchmore real, and I’m suddenly realizing exactly how unprepared for it I am.
But there’s also a third reason for my dazed, automaton dance through the crowd of well-wishers, one that’s got me on edge even more than the prospect of an arranged marriage I have no interest in.
You have a sickness inside you.
A corruption.
A darkness that I keep firmly locked up behind walls and bars.
Or, should I say,kept. Past tense.
Because a few nights ago, in the woods, with strong, veined hands pinning me down and a deep, masculine voice growling in my ear and sending electricity zapping down my spine, I failed to keep that corruption at bay.
Horribly. Spectacularly.
And it’s been fucking haunting me ever since, day and night.
I want to hate myself for the way I gave in. The way all my strength and power and control just fuckingvanishedwhen that voice growled into my ear.
And thenbitit.
You smell fucking delicious.
