Page 21 of Sinful Hearts

“Aleksy isn’t smart enough to fucking lead,” Antonio chimes in.

I point my glass at Antonio. “Which is exactly my concern. I don’t want us affiliated with his fuckups.”

I never wanted to marry, but we ended up in a tricky situation with the Russians. In exchange for clearing his debt, Carlisle Astor had agreed to marry off his daughter, Genesis, to Dima Morozova. Julian went to Dima’s father, Yaroslav, and brokered a deal behind his back, making Genesis his.

Dima lost his shit,allegedlymurdered Yaroslav, and abducted Genesis. The problem was that Dima didn’t know Genesis was as batshit crazy as Julian, and she murdered him.

Now, Aleksy is the boss, and he offered us a peace deal and a cut of the Russian businesses if we signed a marriage contract. That was the only smart decision he’s made since becoming Bratva boss. He wants a seat at the big-boy table, aninwith the Mafia families who run New York.

Four mob families run New York City: Lombardis, Marchettis, Cavallaros, and O’Connors. The Morozovas aren’t even on the list.

“What do you want to do with the runaway sister?” Antonio asks me.

“I have a wife. I’m not interested in hunting down another.” I shrug and take a drink. The whiskey is cool as it slides down my throat.

“If a man helped her run, he’s dead,” Damien adds. “We won’t tolerate that level of disrespect.”

This isn’t about Dasha.

We couldn’t give two fucks about her.

I scrub my hand over my face. “I’m aware. We’ll start looking into it tomorrow. I’d rather Aleksy do the heavy lifting with this problem. It’s his sister who fucked him over and made him look like the idiot he is.”

Damien studies me, flicking his Zippo lighter open and closed. “I don’t think you have a problem with the wife swap. In fact, you prefer this one.” He opens the Zippo again, staring atme through the flame. “I saw the way you looked at her at the engagement party.”

I shake my head, not responding.

He’s not wrong, but that’s not the point.

“Next order of business.” I down the whiskey. “How do we fuck over the Russians and take every dollar their businesses bring in? I want to know every outside deal they have and steal it from them. Their income. Every-fucking-thing.”

Antonio leans in, resting his elbows on the table. “Let’s proceed.”

8

At 9:38 a.m.,my phone rings.

Unknown Number.

I know it’s Dasha because that’sour time.

Even though Dasha and I were born two years apart, on different days, we entered the world at the same minute—9:38 a.m.

Every year on our birthdays, we eat our cake at that time. It became a ritual with us. We even have matching9:38tattoos on our wrists.

I hurriedly hit the Accept button. “Hello?”

“Liliya,” Dasha breathes out on the other line.

“Where the hell are you?” I grip the phone to my ear, pull myself out of bed, and limp to the bedroom door to make sure it’s locked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” she rushes out, as if on a time limit. “What are they saying there … about me?”

I drop back onto the bed, crossing my legs, and my pulse races. “Aleksy is losing his absolute shit. I’m sure he already has people out looking for you.” A chill runs over my skin when I think of what they’ll do if they find her.

Last night, after Emilio left, I locked the door, got into bed, and checked my phone to find ten texts from Aleksy.

Six ordered me to keep Emilio happy.