Page 27 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“But you are not acting alone,” Papa interrupts. “You are a don; you have men that follow you. You need to be smart.”

You need to be smart.I feel like I’ve heard that my whole fucking life.

“Just because I’m not doing it your way doesn’t mean I’m doing it the wrong way,” I tell him.

“You’re acting rashly,” my father says, his voice taking on the hardened authority he’s spent decades cultivating. “You’re acting from a place of emotion. You’re making it personal.”

“Astra Tyrannis abducted my wife and son!” I snap with anger. “They rounded them up like cattle and slaughtered them like pigs. Of course it’s fucking personal.”

Silence reigns for a moment. My hands are tight and sweaty on the steering wheel. The speedometer ticks up and the engine roars as I press the pedal harder into the floor.

“A good don knows how to separate emotion from a mission,” Papa says finally, his tone chipping at the edges.

I notice Mama’s hand stroking a little faster now. It’s the gesture she uses to calm him down when she knows he’s getting riled up.

I wonder for a moment what it must be like for her—living in between two Kovalyov male egos her entire life.

No wonder she’s going grey.

“Guess I’m not a good don then,” I fire back hotly.

“You’re being childish.”

“I know what I’m doing,” I say.

I hate how much I’m forced to repeat myself any time I talk to my father. He makes me feel like I’m thirteen again.

“You’ve been saying that for five years now.”

“Ozol is a slippery motherfucker. But he can’t escape me for long.”

“You’re antagonizing a viper,” he says calmly. “Sooner or later, he’ll strike.”

“That’s what I’m counting on.”

“You’re trying to draw him out?” Mama cuts in before my father can say anything. “You’re trying to goad him into an open war with you?”

I know how it sounds.

Reckless.

Short-sighted.

Stupid.

To which I say: fuck all that.

I’m strong enough to take a few hits to my reputation. I’m strong enough not to care.

“If I keep attacking him, he’ll have no choice but to answer in kind.”

“You’re endangering your men.”

“This isn’t day camp. I’m not here to babysit them. This is the fucking job. It comes with the territory. If my men have a problem with how I’m running things, they can fucking say so to my face. I will not stop anyone from walking away. But if they stay, I expect them to follow my orders. Because in this city, I am the fucking don.”

“Dios, Phoenix,” my mother says, sounding close to tears now. “Do you even hear yourself?”

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