Page 31 of Her Darkest Possession

A couple glances our way, eyeing our assembled group before turning back to their conversation about which Broadway showthey wanted to go see next week. A couple of kids run down the street, narrowing missing a man in a suit rushing to his office

I don't like it. Too many people. Too many bystanders. Too many eyes who might see something that they shouldn't see.

"Keep your weapons concealed until we're inside," I instruct the group. "We don't need any heroes calling the cops before we even get through the door."

The men nod in understanding. I motion for Vassily to follow me as I step away from the group.

When we're out of earshot, I turn to face my younger brother. His eyes are still uncharacteristically downcast.

"Whatever Mother told you and whatever you're thinking right now, keep it to yourself until we get back to the mansion," I tell him, my voice low but firm. "I need you to fucking focus right now, Vasya.Ponimayesh?"

Vassily swallows hard. "Tolya, I?—"

"You need to remember who the pakhan is," I cut in. "It's not Mother. It's me. And she's been working with Lola against us. By any reasonable interpretation, that's betrayal. What I did two days ago was well within my rights."

My brother's eyes widen slightly, but he nods.

"I know."

I study him, not entirely convinced. There's something off about him, something beyond just the shock of learning I nearly had our mother kill herself.

Vassily shifts again under my gaze, and takes a deep breath. "Tolya, there's something you need to know?—"

"Later," I interrupt, glancing back at our waiting men. The job comes first. Whatever Vassily wants to confess can wait until after we've secured Amara. "Right now, we have a job to do."

I walk back to where the men are waiting, and scan their faces. These are good men. Loyal. Ready to die for the bratva if needed. I hope it won't come to that today.

"Gotovi?" I ask. Ready?

They nod.

We walk in smaller groups to avoid drawing attention. As we approach The Devil's Shamrock, I notice Volkov men sitting in cars parked around the perimeter. They're not even trying to be subtle about it. Four vehicles with two men each, all watching the entrance like hawks.

I signal to my men to take their positions—covering the exits, blending into the crowd and keeping an eye on the Volkovs. Once everyone's in place, I approach the front door with Roma and Vassily by my side.

The bouncer—a big guy with a neck wider than most people's thighs—immediately steps forward, blocking our path.

"Club's closed for a private event, gentlemen," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. "Come back tomorrow."

I smile thinly. "Tell Killian that the pakhan of the Baryshev Bratva is here to see him. He'll want to make time."

The bouncer's face hardens. "I said?—"

"I heard what you said." I reach into my jacket pocket.

The bouncer tenses, hand shifting toward what I assume is his own weapon. But I pull out a fat roll of cash instead. Peeling off a few hundreds, I press them into his meaty palm.

"Go tell Killian I'm here," I say quietly. "Unless he wants a bloody fight in broad daylight that'll ruin his business for good. Do that, and you'll get the rest of this when I'm inside."

The bouncer looks down at the money, then back at my face. Something in my expression must convince him I'm not fucking around.

"Wait here," he mutters, disappearing inside.

Roma shifts closer. "That's one hell of an entrance fee."

"Chump change for what's at stake," I respond, eyes fixed on the door.

A few minutes later, the bouncer returns, holding the door open.