Page 46 of Brutal Union (Ruthless Mafia Kings #8)

SHO

Nadia’s head rests on my chest, her breathing a slow rhythm, the warmth of our bodies creating a sweet layer of sweat, reminding me of the storm we’ve just survived.

Her hair is strewn along her perfect figure, and she snores just a little on every third breath. But aside from her appearance, she is mine, and that’s all I need.

The weight of her feels right—grounding me in a way that battle never can.

I run my hand along the curve of her spine, savoring the rise and fall of her breath, the gentle heat radiating from her skin.

For all her sharp edges, for all the venom she keeps locked behind those blue eyes, here she is—peaceful, unguarded. Vulnerable, but not weak.

Her fingers twitch against my stomach, unconsciously tracing over the scar she once left on me. It makes me smile. Even in sleep, she brands me.

Outside, the forest groans, the birds chirp the happy little tune I once sneered at—but right now the early afternoon sun barely makes an appearance, silence wraps around us like silk, and I pull her closer to me, relief after all this time.

She murmurs something in Russian, half-asleep. I don’t need to understand the words. Her voice alone undoes something in me that I’ve spent years trying to seal off.

“I could kill you in your sleep,” she whispers groggily, lips brushing my chest.

I chuckle. “You’d never get the chance. I’d wake up the moment you reached for the knife.”

“You think you know me so well,” she mumbles, the threat softening into a sigh as she presses her mouth to my skin.

I slide my hand into her hair, gently tugging her head back just enough to see her face. Her lashes flutter open, sleepy but sharp, daring me.

“I do know you,” I say. “Every wicked little thought. Every scar. Every lie you tell yourself to survive. I know you.”

She studies me for a beat, then smirks. “Then you know I’ll leave you eventually.”

“Maybe,” I admit, brushing my lips against her temple. “But not tonight.”

Her smile falters, something raw flickering in her gaze before she nestles into my chest again, her arm tightening around my waist like she doesn’t believe herself either.

And in that fragile moment, amid the chaos of the world we built on blood and betrayal, I dare to hope that maybe, just maybe, we can survive each other.

Nadia rolls off my chest a few minutes later, slipping into the depths of sleep with a kind of ease that only comes from absolute exhaustion. She sprawls out across the bed, one arm flung over a pillow, her legs tangled in the sheets like she owns every inch of the room.

I watch her for a moment longer, memorizing the curve of her lips and the rise and fall of her bare back, before carefully slipping out from under her. Every movement is a slow, panther-like jump. I don’t want to risk waking her.

As I pad toward the kitchen, the low murmur of voices pulls me to a stop just beyond the hallway.

Instinct kicks in immediately, my shoulders tensing, heart rate edging toward alert.

I tilt my head, listening, ready for a threat—until Bhon’s unmistakable laugh rings out, sharp and unbothered, slicing through the quiet.

Rounding the corner, I find Bhon and Aoi seated at the kitchen table.

They’re deep in conversation, Aoi practically draped over him, laughing like he’s just told the greatest joke in the world.

She wears that familiar smirk—mischievous, unreadable—and Bhon, as usual, looks like he has three plans and two escape routes already mapped out.

When Bhon catches sight of me in the doorway, he gives a knowing smile.

“You must be feeling like a god right now,” he says, his voice low and amused.

I snort, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “Are gods usually covered in bruises and cuts? Honestly, how’d you do it?”

He laughs again, softer this time, and Aoi slides a steaming cup of tea toward me. The smell alone is enough to cut through the lingering ache in my bones. I take it gratefully and nod. “Thanks. ”

Aoi returns the gesture with a tight-lipped smile. “We have news.”

That word— news —always lands wrong when it comes from Aoi’s mouth. With her, it rarely means something good. Usually it’s the kind of news that demands bloodshed, pain, and a plan sketched in destruction.

I hesitate, taking a sip of the tea. “Okay,” I say slowly. “What kind of news?”

She straightens, her tone shifting into a chilling sharp edge. “We reached out to an old informant with ties to the Yakuza. They’re holding someone—Mia. The girl Nadia mentioned. She’s alive.”

My cup nearly slips from my fingers. “Where?” I ask, sharper than I mean to, the word cracking through the air like a shot.

“Patience, child,” Aoi chides, her voice a strange echo of my mother’s when I used to run ahead without looking. Firm, not angry—measured. “This isn’t the time for a reckless charge. We need precision. Planning. Control.”

I force myself to breathe through the adrenaline starting to build. “So what do you have in mind?”

“That depends,” Bhon says, his fingers tapping slowly against the table.

“On what?”

“On you.”

The way they look at me then—Bhon’s brow slightly furrowed, Aoi’s lips pressed into a fine line—it’s the look people wear before delivering something dangerous. Not impossible, just heavy. Like they’re more afraid of how I’ll react than what they’re about to suggest .

“Okay…” I say cautiously. “Can you stop staring at me like I’m about to explode and just tell me?”

Bhon reaches for a slim folder and lays it on the table. He opens it methodically, revealing two passports with unfamiliar names and our faces, a folded letter, and a small brass key.

“We can’t storm their compound, not without getting all of us killed. Even I’m not arrogant enough to try that. But there’s another way. The auction.”

I tense immediately.

“We get in through the auction,” he continues. “We let them think they’re in control. We use their own system to infiltrate, gather intel from the inside, and destroy them. Slowly. Quietly. The only way this works is if they don’t see us coming.”

His eyes meet mine squarely as he delivers the blow.

“We put Nadia up for bidding.”

“No.” The word erupts out of me before I even register the thought. My fist slams against the table, and tea sloshes over the edge of my cup, burning the back of my hand. I barely feel it.

Aoi slaps my arm—hard enough to sting, not hard enough to be disrespectful—but the glare she gives me is deadly serious. Her eyes flick up toward the bedroom. Toward Nadia. The silent message is clear: Don’t wake her. Don’t do this now.

Bhon holds his ground. “We wouldn’t be putting her in danger. Not the kind we can’t manage. She’s the best infiltrator we have. Hell, she got into your head, didn’t she?”

“Absolutely fucking not,” I snap, standing up now, blood pounding in my temples. “It’s too dangerous. Everything about this reeks. We find another way, any other way, I don’t give a damn how long it takes?—”

“I’ll do it.”

The voice is soft, barely louder than the rustle of breath, but it cuts through me like a blade. All three of us turn toward the hallway.

Nadia stands there in an oversized T-shirt, her bare legs pale in the moonlight pouring through the kitchen window. Her hair is tied back into a messy ponytail, loose strands framing her face, but her eyes—God, those eyes—are crystal clear and cold with resolve.

“I’ll do it,” she repeats, stepping into the room like she hasn’t just heard me threatening to rip the plan apart at the seams. She looks between Bhon, Aoi, and then me—unflinching, unapologetic. Beautiful. And completely, terrifyingly fearless.

“No,” I say, gathering myself before the storm inside me can spill any further.

“This isn’t some gala event full of bored aristocrats bidding on overpriced art for charity.

This is a den of monsters—depraved, sadistic masterminds of the underworld.

They don’t just trade in flesh and fear, they thrive on it.

They buy people like cattle. They use them, break them, discard them.

They blackmail governments, bankroll civil wars, and bathe in the blood money they earn doing it.

This isn’t a field trip, Nadia. You don’t get to smile, flirt, and charm your way to safety. ”

She tilts her head, voice light and unbothered. “Am I not dangerous?” she asks with a chirp, the glint in her eyes daring me to say otherwise. “You’ve seen the scars on your body. You know I can handle myself. ”

My composure cracks. I step forward, my voice hardening, my jaw clenched so tight it aches.

“No,” I snap, grabbing her arm before I can stop myself.

She winces—only slightly—but I can tell I’ve gripped too close to the shoulder I dislocated days earlier.

My hand trembles as I loosen my hold but I refuse to let go.

“It’s not about the danger. It’s not even about you,” I hiss, my voice now a low growl from somewhere deep in my chest. “It’s about the boys and girls who stand on that stage, dressed up like prizes, and sold to some inbred lizard of a man for a price that's both too high to comprehend and too low for a human soul.

They vanish. Just like that. No goodbyes, no bodies, no clues.

Their friends never find them. Their families get silence.

They're erased from existence. Forgotten. And for what? For power. For perversion. For profit.”

My fists curl so tight my nails bite into my palms. I can feel the heat radiating from my skin, purple-red fury rising in my veins like smoke. My heart hammers against my ribs, not from fear—but from the violent urge to burn every last pillar of the empire that makes that kind of cruelty possible.

“One,” Nadia says coolly, her voice steely despite the pain on her face, “let go of my arm.”

I obey, jaw flexing as I gently place her wrist back at her side. She rotates the shoulder slowly, never breaking eye contact.

“And two,” she continues, stepping in close, “why the fuck does it matter how disgusting these people are? That’s exactly why we have to do this.

You’re trying to take them down, right? Destroy their empire?

Then stop acting like a martyr and act like a soldier.

If Bhon says this is our way in—our only way—then we take it.

We don’t have time to wait for a cleaner option.

Mia is in that hellhole right now. Every second we stall, more girls like her disappear.

More lives are ruined. The longer we wait, the more untouchable they become. ”

Her voice lowers, but not in volume—in gravity. “I’m doing this. Whether you’re with me or not. So are you coming, or are you staying behind to wrestle with your conscience while they get away with everything?”

Her words carve through me with surgical precision. There’s no anger behind them—just truth. And truth, as always, hurts the most. Somewhere between the fear and the fury, I’ve lost the thread. Am I trying to protect her, or am I just too afraid of what losing her might do to me?

“Ooh!” Aoi lets out a delighted sound, clapping softly. “A feisty one. Sharp, too. I like her. She’s got more grit than half the men I've trained.” She turns to me, one brow raised like a taunt. “She’s willing. But it’s your call, Sho. What’s it going to be?”

I look at Nadia—barefoot, bruised, unyielding. She looks like a storm wrapped in silk. I hate the plan. Hate everything about it.

But I hate the idea of letting those bastards win even more.

“I’m in,” I say finally, my voice hoarse, weighted. “But if anything happens to her…”

“You’ll burn the world,” Bhon finishes, nodding once. “I know. That’s why this might actually work.”

And just like that, the clock begins to tick.