Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
The East Coast was swiftly becoming more of a home to me than the West. And because I came to New York several times a month, I got myself set up with a penthouse right outside this shitty city.
I could hear the muffled chanting coming through the dilapidated walls of this broken-down building.
I slid in my earbuds, cranked my music, and closed my eyes. My face was concealed, a vicious half-skull mask hiding my identity. But, fuck, I hadn’t bothered to cover the inked markings all over my body.
My tattoos were proudly on full display, like a neon sign warning everyone off, letting them know how violent I really was.
Then again, no one saw me without a shirt when I wasn't D’yavol.
The vibrations of the thick metal door opening had me lifting my head and looking over to see the man standing on the other side. He was strapped with guns and wearing all black. He pushed the door open wider and gave me one nod.
I stood, rolled my shoulders, cracked my knuckles, and cranked up the music until it blasted through my ears and drowned out everything else.
And then I headed to the blood-stained cage, feeling the adrenaline pump through me at the thought of adding another tally mark to my death count.
2
TATIANA
My father had been a bastard.
Leonid Petrov was the worst of the worst.
He once killed a man just for looking at me. But it hadn’t been because he loved me or was protecting me. It was because it had been an offense to him, and because of that, he had to take action and show how strong he was. That he had all the power.
And when he died—when he was murdered—I felt myself become somewhat of a wild child.
I liked to break the rules, even if it was the smallest infraction. Because I knew I wouldn’t get beaten or locked away in my room.
I wouldn’t be a prisoner.
I supposed that was what happened when I was sheltered my entire life and trained to be the perfect, little, obedient Russian bride for some piece-of-shit Mafia member.
That was the plan my father had for me.
That was the only future I saw for myself.
But then he was killed. Murdered.
And it was like the curtains were drawn back. The sun shone in. And I could see clearly for the first time in my life.
With my older brothers Dmitry and Nikolai, now Pakhans of the East Coast Bratva, busy running things and making sure they didn’t get killed, I felt free for the very first time.
They cared for me. They protected me. They loved me the best way men like them in our world could. I was family.
But I was a weakness who could be used against them.
Nevertheless, even though I was protected and watched over, I figured out how to sneak away. It was easy enough when you knew the schedules and rotations of the men assigned to guard you.
I don’t know about this, though, I thought to myself.
I sent a text to Giana on the burner phone I picked up the other day. I let her know where I was on the off-chance I got into deep shit while here, which was a genuine possibility.
She’d grown up in the lifestyle and knew how hard it was to survive being a woman in the Bratva, with bastards all around, trying to mold you into something you’d never want to be.
G
Be careful, you crazy bitch.
I laughed softly.
A twinge of worry tickled the back of my consciousness. That was my survival instinct kicking in. I knew the feeling well. But I ignored it.
I wanted to feel alive. I wanted to break the mold and constraints that always restricted me my whole life.
G
I mean it, Tatiana. BE CAREFUL!
I exhaled and responded.
I will.
I tucked the cell into my purse… right next to my gun.
Giana’s father owned a casino that my brothers controlled—that the Bratva owned. On the outside, Giana was sweet and a little naïve. But she repressed a party girl. A bad girl. And she was the only person I admitted all the things I wanted to do in life.
I faced the warehouse and the four men who stood in front of the rusted and chipped red metal door. I’d walked a block to Butcher and Son because, if I rolled up in an Uber, that would set off all kinds of red flags to these criminals… which was ironic in itself.
The men noticed me instantly and watched me intently. My black wig was in place, the bangs thick and blunt cut just below my eyebrows. My shirt and pants were black, my jacket baggy enough it concealed my shape and skin.
Disguised because every single person in that fucking building would know who I was because of my brothers.
Everyone in Desolation knew Dmitry and Nikolai, who had made it known I was off fucking limits. If anyone even attempted to go against that order, they’d pay with their life.