2: Bring Her To Me

[Nikolai]

I have no issue killing women for one reason: my enemies have no gender.

But no woman had ever had the balls to point a damn gun at me—until now.

This tiny woman standing in front of me with her ass pressing against my dick was the first one. And she hadn’t just pointed a gun; she’d dared to try and kick me in the balls.

The thought sent adrenaline through my veins as I tightened my arms around her small neck, threatening to squeeze the life out of her if she moved the wrong way.

Her white hair reeked of strawberry and lavender, masking the stench of alcohol, death, and nitroglycerin. I wrapped the length of it twice in my hands, yanking her head back painfully. She stiffened, her trembling legs betraying the fear she tried to hide.

I wondered if she was cursing me or swearing to kill me. Not that it mattered. The chances of me fucking her life out of her were far greater than her taking mine.

“Go, malysh (Little one),” I whispered hoarsely in her ear. “Tell him I am coming.”

She took two cautious steps away, as if doubting I’d let her go. She was right to think so. I never let anyone go without a souvenir.

“Stop!”

She froze in front of Ricco. I’d recognized him immediately as Carlos’s most reliable man. Only Carlos would be bold enough to kill one of mine—a message to relinquish my control of New York. He’d been after me since I became the Bratva boss at eighteen.

Carlos believed I was too young to rule. He wanted me to serve him or surrender power. No Lantsov in Bratva history had ever given up power to a Patrizio, and I wasn’t going to be the first.

Even my uncle had tried to take the throne, aligning with Carlos for a slice of influence in exchange for betraying his family.

I had no choice but to tear him apart limb by limb, sending his mutilated corpse as a warning. Carlos received one of those human limb packages.

He behaved for a while, but now he was pushing boundaries again. I needed to eliminate him soon.

Since Ricco was here, I was certain she was connected to Carlos. I’d heard Carlos had a daughter, but word was she’d died alongside her mother.

This woman didn’t resemble him at all—she was average height, white-haired, gray-eyed, and dangerously curvy.

Those curves.

The way her black slit dress clung to her body made it hard to focus. I’d imagined flipping her over the bar counter, sliding up her dress, and fucking her senseless more than I cared to admit.

But with one of my men dead on the floor, I had priorities. I couldn’t indulge in a woman likely thinking of how to kill me. Still, the thought of her fiery defiance excited me more than it should have.

I pulled a knife from my jacket and crouched over Ricco’s body, slicing into his right index finger. My signature was dismembering enemies, but it was far less satisfying with him already dead.

“Here,” I said, extending the knife to the white-haired woman. “Cut it off.”

Her gasp escaped involuntarily, terror widening her eyes. The sassy woman who’d pointed a gun at me moments ago was gone.

“I can’t,” she whispered weakly.

“Malysh.” I stood, towering over her. “I wasn’t giving you a choice.”

“Neither was I asking for one.” Her voice, now a growl, held a defiant edge. She cleared her throat and fixed me with a steady glare. “I won’t.”

I smirked, amused for the first time in years. No woman had ever dared defy me like this.

She was crossing every line, and I wanted to see how far she’d go before she snapped.

“Either you cut it off…or I punish you.”

“Punish me, then.” Her bold gaze traveled from my chest to my face, her blood-smeared features striking against the lights.

If only she had an idea of the many ways I could punish her.

I would have those ways for next time, though; I had a feeling we’d be meeting again soon.

“Very well then.” I walked behind her and wrapped her hair in my hand, twice, so that only the length reaching her shoulders was free from my grasp.

In one quick slash of my knife, her waist-length hair fell short, only reaching her shoulder. Her white hair looked better that way, fitting for a sassy woman.

I lowered myself to her ears. “Carlos Patrizio, tell him I will have his head soon,” I whispered dryly.

She spun very quickly to me, her eyes dilating with dread. Her chest was rising too quickly, as if a volcano was erupting inside.

“Carlos Patrizio had nothing to do with this.”

“Does he not?” I grabbed her jaw and tilted her face toward mine. “Lie to me again, and your tongue will be out of your mouth faster than his head would roll off his neck.”

She threw her head from side to side, trying to wrestle free from my grip, but I didn’t let her.

“I’ve heard people say you’re unkillable.” She smiled softly, cruelly. “I may end up proving them wrong.”

I heard the sound of a spray followed by the feeling of pepper in my eyes and footsteps as she ran away.

“Fucking—” I growled, struggling not to rub my eyes. Another set of footsteps approached, and from the heaviness, I knew it was Mikhail.

“Brat!”

“Brother.” I could feel his eyes scrutinize me for a moment.

“I’ll get her,” he said, trying to move away, but I grabbed his hand and pulled him back. Tears escaped my eyes—another astonishing feat this tiny woman had managed to pull.

Forcing my eyes open, I tried not to blink to escape the sting of the pepper spray. I was lucky she hadn’t chosen acid.

“Let her go.”

Mikhail looked at me, demanding an explanation. He was forty, two years younger than me, and taller by three inches. He’d been my right-hand man since I was eighteen and he was sixteen.

He gave the best advice and once scooped out a man’s eyeballs because the guy glared at me the wrong way.

I had two other brothers. Dimitri, three years younger than Mikhail, was gruesome but not completely loyal. He enjoyed playing the devil on Earth.

Valentin, though, was a teenage boy in a thirty-five-year-old body who loved partying, drinking, and fucking half the women in New York.

I didn’t care about his sex life, but my brother caused more problems than those craving my head.

“Leave her for now.” I turned to where my man’s body lay. His veins had run out of blood; his forehead was no longer bleeding.

“Clean this shit up first.”

Mikhail’s eyes, the same cloudless blue as mine, stayed fixed on me. He seemed like he wanted to say something but was contemplating it.

“Find out who she is.”

“Enora Patrizio,” Mikhail said, cutting me off. “Carlos Patrizio’s daughter.”

“Carlos’s daughter didn’t die?”

“No. He kept her hidden for years. She’s seduced two of our men, lured them into a room, and had them killed. She’s also delivered the time of death of four of them.”

He paused. “They call her Morte.”

I shot an angry glance at him. “You kept this hidden from me?”

He put on his indifferent expression. “I wanted to tell you only after I’d gotten all the information about her.”

“There is no time for that.” I clenched my fist on Enora’s hair in my hand.

The only difference between me and Carlos was this: I keep those close to me safe, while he used his only daughter as a weapon, the same way he used his wife to make a baby twenty-one years ago, knowing it would kill her.

Right!

How could I miss the resemblance between Enora and Isabella? The same white hair and searching gray eyes.

She hadn’t died—she’d grown into a beautiful woman like her mama and was her papa’s weapon.

I’d turn that weapon into mine and end the Patrizio lineage with it.

“Find her and bring her to me.”