Page 46 of Only for Him (Starkov Bratva #1)

ROMAN

They’re both fucking here.

The woman I need like air, but who I can’t trust to keep me breathing.

The man I owe far too much to, and who will never let me forget it.

I stare at them, sitting here like we’re all old pals about to wax nostalgic over fucking cartoons or some shit.

A tight coil wraps around my chest and I know tonight won’t end quietly.

Do they ever?

“Romochka,” Afanasy greets me, the diminutive rolling off his tongue like a rubber bullet. It’s both a tease and a jab, but I keep my face stone cold, professional.

“Afanasy Timofeyevich,” I respond, keeping it formal. My voice is steel against the velvet of his mockery.

“Oh, don’t be so formal.” He deliberately continues in Russian to keep Giselle in the dark. Maybe it’s for the best. I have a feeling that she won’t like a single word of what either of us is about to discuss. “Respect is less flattering on you than you think.”

If I were in a better mood, I might be amused thinking of her furrowed brow and muttered protests later, as well as how I can smooth it all out by grabbing her by the hips and using her body the way she loves it used.

But I’m not in a better mood, and my mood worsens with every second that I have to sit here.

Afanasy leans back in his chair, arms crossed. It’s like he can see where my mind is, and how I’m captivated by the memory of Giselle begging me to let her ride my cock until she can hardly think straight.

“I can’t help but feel disappointment in your dalliances with this little policewoman,” he chides, shaking his head. “I broke you out of prison for one reason, and it certainly wasn’t to watch you chase tail and fall in love.”

I look at Giselle, and it’s like looking at the sun. Now that I know she’s done something she wants to hide, everything burns.

“I’m not falling in love,” I state. My voice holds steady, but only just.

“No? But you’ve taken quite a liking to her, haven’t you?” He lets the implications hang heavy between us, twisting the knife with each syllable. “You’re just a man, Romochka. I can see why she would catch your eye.”

He’s baiting me, trying to see if I really don’t care. Because hearing him talk about my little viper like that? I want to gouge his eyes out so he can’t see anything about her ever again.

I won’t give in. Let him think I wouldn’t flay a man for less. I know that she’s mine, and only mine, and that no man will ever try to take her from me and live to tell about it.

For now, that has to be enough.

“I’m using her,” I say, and uttering those words hurts just as much as whatever Giselle’s done. Because it, too, is a betrayal. “She’s helping me break up your family.”

“What a relief,” Afanasy raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “I don’t need a lover for this job. I need a soldier.”

That, at least, I can agree with.

I am a soldier, and I will dismantle the Starkovs piece by piece.

Once I take them down, Afanasy will step in and take over anything still worth taking over. He has his eyes on Pavel’s New York real estate.

In truth, I don’t fucking care what Afanasy does with the ashes of his family’s empire. He can crown himself king of the wreckage for all I care.

All I want is Pavel’s head.

“I’m focused on the work,” I say, a promise to both of us.

“Of course you are,” Afanasy gestures lazily, already bored of the debate. “And since you’re so focused, you must already know that my father is dead.”

The words choke the air.

Timofey is dead?

The very idea feels unnatural, like finding out that every species except cockroaches managed to survive a nuclear apocalypse. A failure of evolution.

There was a time that man was like a father to me. To this day, he might be the closest anyone ever got to that role.

But I won’t grieve the bastard. Even if I know why he’d take Pavel’s word over mine, even if he wasn’t the one who killed Anastasia, he was still a part of it.

So no, I won’t mourn him.

I’ll spit on his grave.

I cut my eyes to Giselle, watching us talk without understanding any of it. This might be the first time I’ve seen her so submissive with her fucking clothes on.

She knows I know she did something.

And she isn’t even supposed to be here!

I told her to stay at the mansion. She’s meant to obey me.

Just the fact that she snuck out, came to Manhattan without telling me…

Are you pissed that she disobeyed, or that she might have put herself in harm’s way? Because if it’s the second option, you need to get your fucking head straight.

I’ve looked at her too long. Afanasy clocks it and rolls his eyes.

“You’re not selling me on ‘not in love’, Romochka,” he says. “Anyway, word on the street is that Pasha is trying to sideline both Vova and Ilyusha from their rightful share of the inheritance.”

“I don’t give a shit about your family feud,” I sneer, finally telling an unabashed truth.

“I don’t expect you to,” Afanasy shrugs. “But surely you’re curious as to why I’m here?”

I am, in fact, very curious. I’m even more curious why he’s with her. I nod, jaw clenching in preparation for him to say something I don’t want to hear.

“The woman you’re absolutely not falling in love with has done something very stupid,” he says, eyes steady on me. “She put a drop of your DNA into the police database.”

My heart plummets. Panic flickers at the edges of my mind. The room is too noisy, too many eyes and ears . I fight the urge to kill everyone in it, just to make sure we’re safe.

We? Am I still thinking of Giselle and I as a we?

She fucking gave me up.

She handed me over to her precious NYPD like I was fucking nothing. A perp. Not her owner, not her partner, not even her fucking ally : just a walking DNA sample.

“What?” I grind out, jaw locked and aching.

“The database triggered an alarm back in Russia,” he says smoothly, like he’s not informing me of a death sentence. “Pasha knows you’re alive, and he’s doing everything in his power to hunt you down and finish what he started in Chechnya.”

White-hot rage sizzles up my spine, and I devote myself entirely to keeping it from showing on my face. Inside, I’m molten, but I won’t let Afanasy see it.

Or Giselle.

Rosa’s warning echoes in the back of my mind. She will betray you.

She was right on the fucking money.

I didn’t think anything could hurt me after Anastasia, but I was wrong, in the worst possible way.

I’d rather die than feel this again.

And I probably will, the second she walks out of my life for good.

Fuck! What has she done to me?

“But it’s not all bad news,” Afanasy says. “He’s becoming less paranoid. Years of unchecked power have gone to his head. He’s gotten sloppy.”

He’s not the only one. Rosa was right about far too goddamn much.

How did Giselle even get my DNA?

That’s a fucking joke. I’ve been spilling myself all over her for weeks now. Anything to mark her as mine.

Maybe blood from a thorn on one of those roses? Maybe a swab of her own cheek after I kissed her? Skin under her nails?

Does it even fucking matter?

Do I even care about that, or is it the fact that she never told me? After everything—the men I’ve gifted her, the way her body bucked beneath mine, the promises we made each other—she kept this fucking secret.

No, it’s not a secret.

At this point, it’s a fucking lie .

“And as luck would have it,” Afanasy continues, like I’m not splintering in front of him. That’s good. He doesn’t need to know what this has done to me. “Your little side quests with the policewoman align with something I need. Fortuitous, no?”

“Fortuitous,” I echo. My blood is boiling in my veins, charring my heart as it moves through the chambers. Afanasy glances back to Giselle, then back at me.

“Tell me, Romochka,” he asks, pulling something out of his pocket. “Can we trust her?”

“Of course,” I lie, my voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“Hmm,” Afanasy grunts, seeing through my lie.

It’s the same lie I gave Rosa. The same lie I gave myself.

Christ, I fucking wanted to trust her.

So goddamn bad.

She was supposed to be mine. She was supposed to see how much more we could do together.

I realize, only now, too fucking late, that my desire to trust her was bigger than my desire for her body or her clever little mind.

I wanted her loyalty to come from something other than how hard I make her come.

I wanted her to worship me as the only god she ever believed in, because I believed in her.

I wanted her devotion, and I would have lost everything trying to get it.

Afanasy slides a USB stick across the table. “While you were off on your stupid little detours with your policewoman, I’ve been doing actual work. And wouldn’t you know it? It paid off.”

Unease prickles up my spine as I glance down at the USB. Nothing he offers comes without a chain. “What is it?”

“The identity of Pasha’s main enabler in New York,” Afanasy says smoothly. “Consider it a gift.”

“And the catch?”

His smile broadens. “Simple, Romochka. It’s a test to see just where your policewoman’s loyalty lies.”

Doubt crawls under my skin like a parasite.

I don’t fucking doubt because I don’t fucking believe, in anyone or anything.

Until her.

“I wish you two luck,” Afanasy says, finally switching to English so Giselle can understand. His words are honeyed poison. “Pasha will be here in a week. And if I know my brother, he’ll pick the simplest solution to his problems.”

“Which is?” I ask.

His eyes glint.

“Kill us all.”