Page 34 of Hateful Vows

TWENTY-SIX

ALEKSEI

I ’m out of control. It’s all going to blow up in our faces.

I could have passed the first time with Dante and Irina as a lapse in judgment—a dream, almost. But I can’t ignore or defend that I went into their penthouse with intent when I asked Dante for help.

And I want to do it again.

But what would I tell them? “I loved being told what to do and suck cock, can we do it again?” That’s preposterous.

Nothing good can come of yet another repeat and Dante is way too good at coaxing me into taking what I want.

He can make me do it again. Not that it would be difficult.

A simple plea from Irina’s mouth and I’m done for.

Knowing Dante wrestled with complicated emotions made me feel strangely uncomfortable. I wanted him joyful, not pained. I’m not sure when I stopped considering him as my enemy.

To distract myself, I’ve been meeting with my men and my father’s best brigade leaders to elect a new treasurer and root out anyone who thought they could try to undermine me or our alliance with the Italians.

Since the wedding, I’ve only had to kill two more men, which is less than I thought.

None of them knew about the new trade deals Petrov wanted to implement, and I’ve established smaller brigades reporting to Mikhail, Boris and Ian.

But Popov’s eagerness still irritates me and raises subtle alarm bells at the back of my mind.

I don’t want to make a mistake because I’m too taken by a very perplexing couple.

Ilia and I are pouring our efforts into new trade routes for our drugs when my phone rings. Disappointment settles on my shoulders when I notice it’s Dan. I shake it off quickly.

“Talk to me.”

“I have my eyes on Misha Petrov’s fucking second-in-command. I thought you warned Petrov away from our turf.”

“I did,” I seethe.

“Batard’s driving to meet someone in the Cotswolds, but I don’t know who. I’m tailing him. You need to get your asses in gear.”

Dan hangs up then our phones ding with his live location.

“Why the Cotswolds?” Ilia asks incredulously.

“Because it’s remote and he’s trying to set up on my fucking territory. Call Capaldi. We need his brother.”

Ilia executes my order and I dial Popov. Straight to voicemail.

“Motherfucker,” I breathe between clenched teeth. I knew something wasn’t right with him. If he thought he could continue my father’s legacy right under my nose, he’s in for a reckoning.

I text Toma, who’s been assigned to Popov’s tailing detail.

Me

Where is he?

Toma

I was about to text you. He’s in the Costwolds, but I don’t have much more info. A man I’ve seen around your building is with him. Do you want their heads?

Me

Don’t do anything rash. We’re coming. Send me the location.

S omeone in my building betrayed me. Right under my fucking nose. Pain is too sweet for what I have planned for both of them. I run a list of who it could be, but my men are all answering my summons as I dial them, and sending me their live location. Except one.

I dial Dante, who picks up on the first ring. “Petrov’s second is in the country. Popov is with him. And my bodyguard.”

“Jivko?” I hear Irina on the other end of the line.

“Are you sure?” Dante asks.

“Yes. We’re going hunting.”

I don’t wait for him to answer; I share all the data I have from Dan who is sending us everything he has via satellite connection.

The man we’re about to kill is a worm and we knew he was in the UK the moment he set foot in the country.

That Misha Petrov thought it was safe to challenge me is a mistake his men will pay for.

The promise of violence sings in my system.

I need blood on my hands. To expel this crazed energy that has been following me around since I let myself drink Irina down like the best liquor in the world. And fuck, she was.

D an waits for us by his car, smoking a cigarette and assembling more weapons than he can carry when Ilia and I arrive, ahead of Mikhail who followed closely.

Popov and Misha’s second are meeting in an abandoned garage, off the beaten track of the national road.

The metal structure hidden behind the lush forest is a sore spot in the middle of the bucolic green landscape, only interrupted by clusters of villages made of picturesque stone-houses.

The ugly grey fits their rotten souls perfectly.

“What did you get?” I ask Dan who doesn’t look up from his task to answer.

“Recon didn’t give much. You were right though. Jivko’s with them. Eight men in total. No cargo.”

I wince at his careless language, but it’s a relief to know this will be all about annihilation. There’s no one to protect.

Dante’s car slowly makes its way towards our hiding place and my breath hitches when Irina gets out from the passenger’s side.

“Where are Tino and Lorenzo? And what is she doing here?” I ask Dante and the bastard shrugs.

It’s my headache of a step-sister who answers, a leader in her own right. “Tino and Lorenzo are occupied with finding Dante’s nemesis. I don’t need to remind you that I have the same training as you do, kozyol . And I’m a better shot.”

She flips her long ponytail and takes a black bag out of the car trunk, assembling a sniper rifle in just a few minutes under the mesmerised gaze of my right-hand-man, chief of security and the ex-MI6 officer who whistles under his breath.

“She’s hot when she’s blood-thirsty,” Dante says as he adjusts his dick.

They’re going to get us killed. I don’t see any other outcome. The horny hunk of a man trails after Irina who asks Dan what he knows and I just watch, stunned at how easily she inserted herself into business and how everyone else gravitates around her.

I’ve always protected her. It’s as easy as breathing and I wouldn’t know what else to do. But it seems she might not need it.

It’s not like I think Irina needs saving. It’s just that we’ve faced a monster I wasn’t sure she would survive before. Or maybe that’s what I told myself so I could keep her at bay.

This version of Irina… She’s stunning all in black safety gear that moulds to her athletic frame, a fierce expression on her face and weapons strapped all across her thighs. She ties the strands of her hair into a tight chignon, giving her angular features a deadly edge.

Plants rustle behind us and we all whirl back as one.

“If it were anyone else, you’d be dead,” the Angel of Death says.

Andrea Capaldi’s brother, Nico, is an assassin, and a deadly one.

I’ve used his service a few times. He’s silent, organised to a fault and with him at our sides, we are maximising the chances of destroying the people who thought they could claim what is mine.

Misha’s second entering the country is an act of war.

Popov and Jivko meeting with him without my knowledge, treason. Both will swiftly be punished.

Equipped with earpieces, protective gear and weapons, we move as one towards the two-story building, spreading around it. Only the rustling sound of trees disturbs our silent progress.

I peek through one of the dirty windows.

The space is empty, thin metal poles holding the structure together offering no cover; the tools are long gone with the owner of the place.

Popov smiles at Barychev, Misha’s second-in-command.

I don’t recognise any of the other men, foot soldiers with no name.

And dead men without graves.

After inspection of the building and its perimeter, it’s clear that we can only come in one way, and it’s through the main door. Breaking the two windows, one at the side and one at the rear, is too risky. But we have the element of surprise on our side.

When we are all ready, I give the signal.

“Go!”

We storm the building.

Shouts and bullets fly.

Irina left her sniper rifle behind, preferring her classic beretta and knives she throws with deadly precision. Two men fall, a blade in between their hateful eyes, now vacant. She looms over Jivko’s body and spits. “Should have taken more than your tongue,” she mumbles in Russian.

The strength that shot must have required… I don’t have time to let awe bloom. Manslaughter is my only goal.

I take aim and shoot one of the guards, the crimson blood spreading underneath his corpse soothing me. But it’s not enough.

I throw myself at the next man who comes at me. Popov.

“You fucking traitor,” I yell.

The butt of my gun snaps against his cheekbone, a satisfying crack reverberating along my arm. He gives as good as he gets, more fit than I gave him credit for, for his age.

“You’re the traitor here, Aleksei. Your father always knew how worthless you were.”

His words would have hurt months ago, but I’m not that man anymore. I’m not a puppet for evil, waiting silently for a sign of love I should have been getting while he treated me worse than a dog.

“Yet I will live, and you’ll die just like him,” I tell him.

We battle with fists and body strength. But air is stolen from my lungs as he punches me in the diaphragm.

I cough, brace for the next hit. It doesn’t come. Dante holds the man by his hair, then slashes a hunting knife across his throat. Popov’s eyes widen but the light extinguishes fast in them.

He drops dead and Dante winks at me. “My cock in your mouth in thanks will suffice.”

I blink. And it cost him.

Another guard shoots at his back. He staggers before falling onto his knees, wheezing like he can’t get enough air in.

“Dante!” Irina yells and I sprint into action, pulling the trigger so many times I empty a full magazine on the culprit.

My heart jumps in my throat at seeing the man who steps in front of Irina, massive and threatening.

Her ire is a thing to behold. I watch, riveted, as she thrusts one of her knives into her assailant’s side, distracting him enough with the pain of a minor injury to inflict a deadly one.

A second knife juts out of his throat now, his gurgled voice still clear enough for him to say, “you fucking bitch.”

“Dead men's insults carry no weight.”