Chapter 24

I don’t know why, but I don’t want to think about some nameless, faceless prick touching her, sharing her bed. My guysclaimed she doesn’t have one, but there could always be a hookup they’re unaware of.

“Friends. Coworkers. I have class, rehearsals, choreography. I’ve been promoted to soloist for the summer season. I can’t just not show up.”

I know all that. I did my homework.

“It’s been taken care of,” I tell her.

“How?”

We hacked her phone and texted that she was sick and would need to be out for a few days. But like the rest of what I’m keeping from her, that’s none of her business, so I don’t respond.

Instead, I give the sauce another stir and then slowly add inZiaMaria’s famous meatballs to warm them through.

“Tell me, does your employer know about your Bratva ties?” I ask, my eyes flicking to the monitor.

She stops dead in the middle of the floor. Caught her there. I know all there is to know about Ekaterina Sidorova.

She’s been training in ballet for years. Her other brother, Dmitri, was responsible for paying for all the best programs and schools. I have to hand it to him. He was damn good at keeping her a secret. I didn’t even know she existed until Mikhail Sidorov showed up in the city, crowned as the new Pakhan. And there’s no doubt about it. If her company had an inkling she’s got blood ties to one of the deadliest criminal empires in the city, they’d cut her loose so fast she wouldn’t know what hit her.

“All it takes is one text to the press,” I tell her.

“I’ve been working my ass off for years,” she grinds out, back at the door, slapping her hand on it in anger.

“Join the club.”

Her fury doesn’t affect me.

I shrug as I start boiling water for spaghetti. Regretfully, it’s notZiaMaria’s and it came out of a box, but it’ll have to do.

I’ve been doing the same fucking thing. And now herstronzobrother is putting everything my brothers and I have been building in jeopardy. I don’t give a shit if she’s been training to be a ballerina her whole life. I don’t care if she gets fired. What I care about is protecting my family. Preserving what’s ours and doing whatever it takes to make sure the Bratva doesn’t try to steal it.

“Ballet is nothing like the Mafia,” she snaps, her tone going snooty. “Training as an athlete and shooting people for a living are two different things.”

Now I’m annoyed. Who the hell does she think she is to look down on me? I’ve almost given my life for everything I have. What my brothers and I have built came from blood, sweat, and bullets. Our old man may have been the don, and we may have been born to wealth and power, but that doesn’t mean it was ours to keep. We’ve waged fucking war in the streets. Struck fear into the hearts of our enemies. Did what we had to, no matter the cost.

“You’re right,” I call back to her. “Going around on tiptoe in a leotard is way more important than owning the streets of the biggest city on the East Coast.”

“You may think you own the streets now, but wait until Misha is finished with you,” she spits out. “The gutters will be running red with Andriani blood, and you’ll be begging him to surrender.”

There’s the hellcat I’ve come to know, hissing and spitting again. If she weren’t pissing me off so much, I’d probably be impressed. I like that she’s not afraid of me, even if I want her to be.

I go back to stirring my sauce andZiaMaria’s meatballs. It’s no good if you burn the fucking sauce. Then I give the spaghetti a swirl. I bite my tongue for a few seconds more, but then I can’t resist.

“If anyone is going to be begging for surrender, it’s your prick of a brother.”

She doesn’t respond. I glance back at the monitor and see that she’s shooting me the finger. She’s got teeth, this one. What I’d give to feel her sinking them into me.

But that’s not going to happen, so I finish up making dinner.

Katya

When I wake up,I’m disoriented. My head aches, and my mouth is dry. I run my tongue over my lips, wondering where I left my natural lip balm. Then urgency hits me. I’ve got things to do.

It’s dark. What time is it? I have to be at yoga by eight a.m., and then I’ll have class before afternoon rehearsals. If any of the pieces of my day get skipped, I feel off and it affects my performance. And being newly promoted, I can’t afford to falter.

I reach for my phone on the nightstand to check the time and realize it’s not my nightstand next to the bed I’m in, which also isn’t my bed, and I haven’t seen my phone since I was taken off the street on my way home, shoved into an SUV, and driven out of the city at gunpoint.

Reality falls on me like an imploding skyscraper.