Chapter 58: Chapter Three

Andrei

“What the hell is that?” I pointed my pen at the pink cupcake with rainbow sprinkles sitting in the middle of my desk, looking so out of place I would have smiled had I wanted to waste the energy.

“We drew straws.” Tex, the Capo dei Capi of the five families, grinned a stupid ass grin and crossed his arms.

“I drew the short one, just in case you were wondering.” The guy was lethal and a giant pain in the ass. If he brought you a cupcake, you fucking said thank you and left it at that.

But I wasn’t most people.

And I didn’t answer to him.

I was Russian.

The last of my line.

A Petrov.

The last living heir.

He could shit a golden egg and call me Bitch the rest of his life, and I’d still want to rip his face off for putting me in a position I loathed.

Playing both sides.

Claiming my birthright in order to keep up pretenses.

And betraying my own blood by working alongside the families that destroyed mine effortlessly.

God, I hated them all.

Probably as much as they hated me.

We barely tolerated each other.

A cupcake?

Really?

What was next? A Christmas sweater?

“It’s not poisoned.” Tex felt the need to point out. “Bro, I gotta be honest, you’re staring real hard at that pink cupcake.

“Is there a reason you’re here?” I interrupted, changing the subject. “I have twenty-five girls ready for transport. The weakest ones will die on the way, the other ones have been given weapons.

“One of my men has been given strict instructions to give them a head start. It’s all I can do.”

Tex whistled and pulled out one of the leather chairs. “Working on your twenty-second birthday?”

I sighed in irritation. “Was there anything else?”

“Shit, you’re old.” He said it more to himself than to me. “Just answer me one thing…”

“And then you’ll leave and let me do my job?”

“You know how I live for our conversations, Drei.” Great, his nickname for me. And then the mask he always wore slipped.

Shit, he leaned forward, his elbows on his thick thighs, both of his favorite Glocks were strapped to his chest, held there by an ever-present holster that wrapped around his whole body.

Because we’d somehow found a greater enemy than each other.

The one from within.

The De Lange crime family was hated by everyone—Italians, Russians, Irish mobsters, the cartels—they were sloppy, and they made us look bad. Ergo, we were eliminating them one by one.

They had giant red marks on their backs.

Women. Children.

I narrowed my eyes at Tex. “What?”

He jerked his chin toward the cupcake. “Laced it with some Xanax so you wouldn’t yell.”

“Truly?” I smirked. “You know that wouldn’t do shit.”

He eyed me up and down. “Yeah, you’re strung tight as a drum. Sexually repressed assholes are my favorite, just ask Chase. Makes it so much fun to spar—he coughed up two teeth last year.”

“So, you came to gossip about Chase?”

“One of the girls,” Tex said slowly. “The one Chase brought in a few days ago…”

Interesting. I leaned back in my chair, suddenly enjoying the conversation a lot more. “You mean the dirty one that tried to bite his fingers off?”

Tex smirked. “Best day of my life.” And then. “Holy shit, are you smiling?”

“She tried to bite off his thumb, if that doesn’t deserve a smile.”

“It’s why you and I get along.” Tex chuckled. “Look, Chase went in blind following a lead for a De Lange nest, didn’t know how many men would be guarding the house.

“The brother got off, everyone else is dead, but her brother was abusing her, mentally, sexually. He needs her. He’ll come for her.”

My stomach sank as I tried to keep my expression indifferent. I tapped my pen on the desk, once, twice, three times.

I focused on my breathing, on the blank expression on my face as I tilted my head to the side. “You’re saying you want me to sell her… here.”

“I’m saying we want you to auction her off to the highest bidder, get him to come out of the woodwork.”

“We can’t kill him in front of other customers,” I pointed out.

Tex stood. “No… but she can.”

I stood, leaning dangerously close to the pink sprinkles. “What are you saying?”

“How much do you think they’ll pay to see her slit his throat? How distracted do you think those men will be for thirty or so minutes?” He shrugged.

A weight settled onto my shoulders. “Tex, it’s too many women. It would be a fucking exodus of women who’ve been abused for years, who have no clothes, and most of them with no will to live.

Tex locked eyes with me. “Family dinner, this Saturday. Bring someone so Chase stops asking if you’re a virgin.”

At that, I did laugh. “Chase can suck my dick.”

“Saying things like that doesn’t really help, Drei.”

I pointed at the door, my ever-present black leather gloves covered my cold hands. “Go.”

“Enjoy your cupcake, Cupcake!” He started whistling. “Oh, and it’s at seven, and you’re in charge of wine.”

I cursed under my breath.

Italians and their wine.

The door slammed behind him.

And I knew, he hadn’t given me a choice.

In typical Tex fashion, he was letting me know what they wanted to plan, and I could either side with them.

Or against.

I slammed my knuckles against the desk and then stomped over to the side room and shoved the heavy metal door open. “Out.”

Four of my men stood and left.

I faced the wall of cameras.

I knew hers by heart.

I knew everything.

Because the minute they’d brought her in, I heard silence. They screamed, all of them screamed, they struggled, they cursed.

This girl, this woman, looked relieved.

And as my men passed me by in the hall, for two seconds she lifted her eyes to mine and I felt a fissure of tension erupt between us.

It was a new feeling, having a woman look at me that way. It was also hateful, because they all used to look at me like that, and I’d done exactly what my father did.

Because I still damned the rest, didn’t I?

That was three days ago.

Three days of watching her lay across her bed, arms spread out like she was on a damn vacation in the Caribbean. A small smile on her face as she fell asleep like she was finally at peace.

Like I, Andrei Petrov, seller of women.

Had saved her.

She couldn’t be more wrong.

I watched as she lifted her arms to the ceiling and then let them drop back down at her sides, and then she yawned, her blanket of hair moving across the pillows as she rose up on her side.

She wasn’t just beautiful. She was stunning, the kind of beauty that made a man forget himself. The kind that would bring a man to his knees.

My least favorite.

Because women, in my experience, didn’t know how to handle the chore of that sort of beauty, so they either manipulated it or wasted it.

I watched another ten minutes as she smiled.

I expected more tears.

And then she laughed.

I put my hand on the screen. I had this impossible need to hear it, to close my eyes and see if it would make me feel better about what I did. And I knew I was the sort of man to steal that laugh.

And replace it with hate.