Page 96 of Cinderella and the Daddy

I reach for more gauze and press against the wound.

To my utter relief, the bleeding slows. I almost cry..

“It’s stopped,” I say.

I look at Grigori’s pale face. His eyes are closed.

“Oh no. No, no, no.”

I shake him. He moans, and his eyes pop open.

I sigh with relief once again.

He’s alive.

For now.

I pull a blanket from the closet that is stacked with blankets, pillows, and towels. I do my best to clean him up and make him comfortable.

What’s happening out there? It feels like we’ve been in here forever.

With Grigori tended to, I need to make sure Leo is okay.

I sink into one of the chairs and pull Leo onto my lap. He's trembling. I realize, I am too.

"Tell me a story," Leo whispers against my shoulder.

I close my eyes and begin to speak, my voice weaving a tale of brave knights and safe castles while gunfire echoes somewhere above us, muffled by steel and stone but impossible to ignore.

If the safe room is breached, it will be up to me to protect Leo and myself.

I will protect him with my last dying breath.

27

LUKA

The crystal tumbler of vodka sits untouched between us, the clear liquid catching the afternoon light streaming through the reinforced windows of Dimitri Andropov's office. His office looks like any other corporate headquarters. All dark wood with an amazing view of the city from his perch on the thirty-second floor.

The pakhan doesn't rise when I enter. Power play number one—making me come to him.

I don't sit until he gestures to the chair. Power play number two—controlling when I'm allowed comfort. The chair is lower than his, forcing me to look up. Number three.

Dimitri Andropov has ruled the East Coast Bratva for two decades by being smarter than his enemies, not stronger. Every detail in this room is calculated to remind visitors of their place in the hierarchy.

"Luka Markovic." He says my name like he's tasting wine, letting it roll around in his mouth. "The man who started a war over a woman."

I keep my expression neutral. Showing emotion to a pakhan is like bleeding in shark-infested water.

"So, Kozlov blames you for stealing his shipment," he continues, his accent thick with what sounds like amusement but could just as easily be contempt. "When we both know it was my boys who took it right from under his nose."

The admission is a test. He's watching to see if I'll try to use this information against him or try to play him against Kozlov. Amateur move. Instead, I wait.

"Nothing to say?" His smile is all teeth. "Good. You might survive this after all."

I keep my expression neutral, though inside, satisfaction burns cold and bright. Finding out the Andropov Bratva was behind the hijacking had been a stroke of luck—or maybe divine intervention. Dimitri and Yuri have been at each other's throats for years over territory disputes. The enemy of my enemy, and all that.

"He's got a hard-on for revenge that's going to get him killed," I say, leaning forward slightly. "The question is whether you want to help me put him in the ground or watch him tear apart everything we've both worked to build in this city."