Page 25 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

“No,” I snarl, “you can’t.”

Her bottom lip trembles for a moment, but she recovers quickly and with such finesse that I’m forced to admire her for it.

“Fine, then,” she grumbles defensively. “Your loss.” She turns and struts away like she doesn’t have a care in the world. She almost nails the exit, too. Unfortunately, she fucks it up by turning and looking back over her shoulder.

I sigh bitterly. She can’t be more than eighteen or nineteen. And she was so ready to give herself to me for nothing.

Maybe that’s what’s wrong with the world. Too many women out there, willing to give it all up for a man who can keep them safe. Who can make them feel loved.

I think about the beautiful blonde with the haunting brown eyes. I wonder what her name is. I wonder if she’s okay now.

But a part of me is glad she’s somewhere else. Somewhere away from me.

Because what do I have to offer her?

Only one thing: pain. Lots of it.

Phoenix

One Year Later

I’m driving fast when the call comes in on the video phone in my car. I don’t know why Konstantin had it installed in the first place. Thing’s a fucking nuisance.

So is the person calling.

“Jesus,” I growl when I see the name lighting up the screen.

I don’t have the time for this conversation, especially when I can probably predict word for word what they’re about to say. But I’ve avoided calls for a week straight. The longer I do that, the more frequent they become.

So I hit the answer button. My parents’ faces fill up the small screen propped up just over the dashboard.

Artem and Esme Kovalyov. To anyone who knows anything about our world, they’re two of the most fearsome faces in existence. King and queen of the Kovalyov Bratva. Infamously wealthy. Infamously powerful.

To me, though, they’re just an infamous pain in my ass.

“Are you driving?” my mother asks before I can get a word in edgewise. She’s as beautiful as she’s ever been and aging gracefully all the time. Long, dark hair, though there are a few more grays in there than I remember. Those shimmering eyes that see everything in an instant.

“You two realize that I’m not an eighteen-year-old kid living under your roof anymore, right?” I demand.

“Then why are you acting like one?”

I suppress a sigh. “Nice to see you too, Papa.”

It’s been over a year since I’ve met them in the flesh. Too long. My fault.

But I’ve been focused on my mission. And every time I pop up for air, I realize another few months have passed.

My father’s features have darkened with age. His features have taken a more severe bent. I suppose it’s the inevitable culmination of decades of being a don.

I wonder if the same will happen to me. But deep down, I know it’s already happening. The last vestiges of softness disappeared from my face five years ago, when Yuri and Aurora disappeared.

I’ve always looked a lot like my father on the surface. But the older I get, the more my eyes start to look like his, too. Sharp. Brutal. Dark as midnight.

“Is it true?” Papa asks.

Fuck.“Any number of things could be true,” I reply evasively.

“The hit on the warehouse two nights ago,” he asks, leaving me no way out.

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