“Door open,” I added.
She growled but left the door ajar.
I paced back and forth just outside, impatiently waiting until she reappeared.
Dried blood framed the tear in her pants, her blouse was wrinkled and stained, her feet once again in the expensive high heels, and her long black hair somewhat tamed.
As she kept plucking at the softly ruffled cuffs of her top, I sensed she wasn’t used to being the slightest bit bedraggled.
She ran her fingers through her hair one last time before meeting my gaze.
“Not the best, but you will do,” I said.
Her lips parted again—probably so she could throw more foreign insults at me.
I held a warning finger up to her. “I suggest you stow your tongue right now and let me handle the talking from this point on. That is, if you possess any survival instincts at all.”
Thus semi tamed, Lucia marched beside me down the staircase, and I was surprised there wasn’t a full audience waiting at the bottom of the steps.
I pushed her toward the congregation in the kitchen, palm on my Sig Sauer just in case.
As she faced the members of my family, the key players in the Bratva, I knew the exact moment when everything was going to turn to shit in a blender.
“This is Lucia.” I showed the Italian woman a modicum of civility I probably shouldn’t even have afforded her.
Her chin jutted.
Her brittle stare landed on Kirill who straightened from lounging against the island.
Jo gasped in instant recognition.
“That’s right. I’m Lucia Leone. Bastiano’s sister,” she spit out.
Then her hand lashed out, and she grabbed a long knife from the counter.
A second later, she launched herself at Kirill. “And you slaughtered my brother, bastardo!”
4
Lucia
I COULDN’T BELIEVE IT. The man I wanted to murder was right here!
A banshee-like scream ripped from my throat, and I rushed at Kirill Krasnov, knife in hand.
I didn’t even stop when guns were leveled on me from all around. I just wanted to gouge his black heart from his chest.
Suddenly, someone wrangled me from behind, and I lurched on my feet.
“Let me go!” I howled, trying to fight my way free.
I was so damn close I could taste the bitter tang of vengeance on my tongue.
“Stop moving, Lucia.” Arkady’s bleak voice infiltrated my mind, his arms wrenching me closer to his body and farther away from Kirill.
Still gripping the blade, I tried to slash at him, but he had my arms pinned to my sides. I twisted back and forth, and he growled loudly in my ear.
“Blyad! Goddamn stop it or I’ll snap your neck right here.”
Despite Arkady’s threat, I glared ahead through tangled strands of hair, and Kirill aimed a gun at my head, grave black eyes scouring over me.
I didn’t care.
Kill me already.
I made another attempt at stabbing Arkady from the cage of his arms, but he brought his fist down in a hammerlike blow that all but shattered my wrist.
My fingers spasmed. The sharp butcher knife clattered to the floor.
A sob escaped my lips as he held me tightly against his front. “I told you to let me do the talking.”
I kicked back at him, my hair flying in my face. “You didn’t tell me he was here!”
To make matters worse, the whole kitchen was filled with people . . . strangers. Russians and their sympathizers. And they watched me like I was the animal in this scenario.
Anger flowed as hot as lava in my veins.
An old woman stood at the stove with a spatula in her hand as she regarded me.
A dog growled at me, its hackles raised.
Presumably one more Krasnov brother—the likeness was unmistakable—stood guard over a statuesque brunette whose eyes were alight with questions.
Then a girl with bright bronze-red tresses pushed her way between Kirill and where Arkady continued to restrain me.
She flicked open a switchblade, which she waved in my face. “I can take care of her.”
My head coiled back, and I bristled even more when Arkady chuckled.
Kirill pulled her to his side, lightly scolding, “Not in your condition, malyshka.”
More gasps filtered through the room, and it appeared Kirill’s announcement was a surprise to the whole Bratva.
Arkady held me plastered against him, and he sounded almost astonished when he asked, “She’s expecting?”
Kirill grinned. He grinned! With his pistol still trained on me, he acted like a proud papa while my brother would never know the same happiness.
“What the hell is wrong with you people?” I craned forward, screaming. “He’s a killer! A murderer! An assassin! No one like him should ever be a father!”
Venom surged through me like live electric wires hitting all my nerve endings.
At once, Kirill released the safety on his pistol as his easygoing grin became a tight-lipped snarl. “And I am not above putting an end to you as well. Perhaps you’d like to have your reunion in hell.”
He had mutilated my only brother.
He’d taken away my best friend.
The darkness that could’ve swallowed me whole years ago . . . only Bastiano had tried to save me from that gigantic black hole of depression.
“Why don’t you try it?” I dared the hulking monster of a man.
“Just stop!” The pregnant woman stomped her foot, curly hair shivering around her shoulders. “And lower those damn guns all of you.”
Everyone stilled, even the dog that had begun to bare its teeth at me.
I froze too, amazed at her outburst and the fact the men listened to a woman who had to be about the same age as me.
“How do you think I’d react if the same had happened to one of my brothers? Lucky or Kelly or Dex?” she asked Kirill.
He tilted her face to his, concern pressing lines into his brow. “Are you saying you’re sorry for the way I killed that . . . that mongrel, Joanna? After you just threatened her too?”
My brother was not a mongrel.
I struggled again, and Arkady towed me backward, away from the happy couple.
He pressed me into a chair, his fingers digging into my shoulders.
The girl, this Joanna, glanced briefly at me. “I just wanted to see how tough she really is.”
If Arkady would let me go, I’d show her just how tough I could be.
I’d start with her mate.
My lips curled up in distaste when she turned her attention back to that asshole. “Also, no one goes after my man.”
I would’ve snorted if I wasn’t so disgusted and demoralized by the entire situation.
“And no, I’m not sorry about what you did.” The woman placed one hand on Kirill’s chest and used the other to lower his firearm. “But you’re acting on instinct instead of thinking with reason.”
“Heard.” The only other girl in the room—the brunette—stepped around her guard, the one that had to be the third and final Krasnov brother.
They all possessed superior height and well-muscled builds, and a tense expression blanketed this latest one’s features.
The big heavies of the Zolotov Bratva all in one place.
If only I had the manpower, I could get them in one fell swoop.