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Just like my brother.

Gleb hung in front of us, wrists raw and bleeding from the cuffs—a living warning of what happens when you break theVorovskoy Mir, the Thieves’ Code.

“Tell us the three laws you took a vow to,” Rafail said. When we were younger, Rafail acted as the big brother for all of us. He was stern and unyielding, our guide and friend. Now he was ourpakhan,the acting leader of our Bratva, the one who called for the execution of his cousin. My brother.

And I vowed I would watch every brutal, soul-tearing second.

I’d failed my younger brother. It was onmeto teach him to obey the law of the Bratva.Iwas the one who taught him how to ride a bike, how to smoke a joint, how to fuck a girl well and good and keep her coming back for more. I was the one who bailed him out when he fucked up, but that night—that night, I was the one who burned his tats from his flesh before he faced the ultimate punishment for his sins against us.

I took a blood vow when I was eighteen years old. And I’ll die before I break it.

Just like Gleb did.

The Thieves’ Code was ironclad:

The Bratva comes before all else.

Never cooperate with the authorities.

Never, ever betray your brothers.

There’s a reason we’re feared, a reason why the mark of the Bratva makes women hold their children closer when we pass and grown men tremble.

“We’re done.”

My eyes fly open. Someone presses a bottle of vodka to my lips. I drink as if I’m dying of thirst. It helps a little.

I sit up straighter. Every cell in my body seems concentrated on my back, the pain carved into my flesh, throbbing, unrelenting. I grip the neck of the bottle and take another swig.

Vadka lists off instructions for healing the brand. I only half hear him.

I spilled my blood and took an oath. Let them brand me. I did what had to be done.

Now,she’sthe next step. My offering. My proof of loyalty.

My obsession.

I grit my teeth and think of her.

The runaway. The traitor. My ghost.

The one who ran away from mypakhanbut made a fool out of all of us. Rafail has moved on. Thanks to my brother’s folly, Rafail married a woman he thought was Anissa while Anissa ran.

Unpunished.

She’s mine.I’m going to own her. Every inch, every breath, every scream. She doesn’t know it yet, but she already belongs to me.

I can already imagine her gasping beneath me, marked by me. I want to fill her, breed her, make her mine in ways no one can ever undo.

Rafail stands in front of me, feet planted on either side, his arms crossed. He’s dressed in a suit, still wearing his jacket as always.

“I’ll let you know when we have our meeting, Matvei,” Rafail says.

Though Rafail is happily married, Bratva men don’t forget betrayal. Rafail has not forgotten. He knows exactly why the specific date matters. I meet his eyes and nod. “I’ll wait.”

The others look on curiously, but it isn’t time yet to tell them why the dates matter. And Rafail doesn’t give a shit who knows what; he’ll tell them when he’s good and ready.

Even as I’m breathing through my nose, my body throbbing in pain, pride surges in my chest. Ink marks the sign of the Bratva, but branding means something entirely different. And Rafail trusts me.