Inked Adonis (Litvinov Bratva Book 1)

“Where are you off to in the middle of the day?”

I pull on my running shoes. “If you can’t put two and two together, man, I’m not gonna help you.”

Myles isn’t amused. He shifts his weight, blocking my office doorway. “You shouldn’t be running anywhere. You have a meeting with Danovic in ten minutes.”

“Had. Past tense.” I straighten, meeting his gaze. “And now, the Andropovs have him.”

For the second time in as many days, Myles plummets into the leatherback wing chair in front of my desk. “Fuck.”

Countless other men have slumped there just like him and cursed just like that. Usually, they were begging me for mercy of some kind or another.

But Myles isn’t like them. He’s been my right hand since our glory days at Dartmouth, back when we were still pretending to be normal college athletes instead of what we really are.

Monsters wearing designer suits.

“We knew this was coming,” I remind him.

“Doesn’t make it any less frustrating.” He runs his palms over his face. “Did he give you a reason?”

“Generic bullshit. ‘The Andropovs are giving me an offer I can’t refuse.’ ‘I have to go where the money is.’ Blah, blah, fucking blah.”

“That ungrateful svoloch’. Like you haven’t made him millions in the last few years alone. Did you give him a counteroffer?”

“I don’t throw good money after bad bets.” I tighten my laces and stand up, stretching muscles that are already twitching for release. For violence. “Danovic made his choice. Now, he has to deal with the consequences. This bridge is burned.”

“What about his contacts?” Myles asks. “He came to the Litvinov Group with a full portfolio.”

I shrug. “Some of them will move with him; some won’t. I can’t control that.”

“You have that look in your eye, Sam. Also, you’re going running.” He grips the arms of the chair to brace himself. “Is this the end or have you decided, after years of saying otherwise, that you actually like running?”

“My father will be here in three days.”

“Fuck. So this is the end. When did you find out?”

“Right after my meeting with Danovic.”

“Double fuck. What are you going to tell him before he arrives? Are you going to prepare him for what he’s walking into?”

“And give him time to plan my murder?” I chuckle darkly. “Pass.”

Losing Lev Danovic will be portrayed as entirely my fault. One more dash in the running tab of reasons my father thinks I’m not fit to lead.

If I gave a shit about his opinion, I might actually be worried.

Lucky for both of us, I stopped caring a long, long time ago.

“I was thinking maybe you’d hit him with the other news we’re sitting on.” In case I’m not following his train of thought—though I always am—Myles makes it clear. “There are leaks within our inner circle, Sam. We both know where they’re coming from. Leonid should, too.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “We’ve had this conversation before, Myles. It’s not the time to out Ilya.”

“He’s the reason shit’s hitting the fan!” Myles cries out. “Why should you have to take the brunt of it?”

“Because that’s my role in this family. I’m the punching bag; Ilya is the crown prince. I’m not going to take on my little brother until I know I’ll come out on top. Long game, remember?”

Myles grits his teeth. “It feels like it’s been a really fucking long game.”

“You gotta build up your endurance, pal.” I clap him on the shoulder as I make my way to the door. “Like me. It’s not too late to lace up and join me on my run.”

He wrinkles his nose. “I prefer to purge my demons on the ice. I reserved the rink for tonight. You in?”

I toss him a thumbs up on my way out the door. I’ll burn off some of my sour mood on this run, but there will be plenty left for later.

This well of rage runs very fucking deep.

Running is for prey animals and people with something to prove.

I am neither.

And yet here I am, pounding the Lakefront Trail like every other corporate schmuck trying to convince himself that grinding his cartilage to dust somehow makes him more of a man.

Give me hockey any day. Give me the brutal satisfaction of slamming someone into the boards. Give me blood on ice.

But I make myself run, because running is what humans evolved to do. What separates us from the beasts we pretend not to be. Before we invented stocks and bonds and Italian leather oxfords, we chased our prey until it collapsed from exhaustion.

I intend to do the same.

I’m on my second loop when I spot them.

At first, all I register is that giant wall of fur that is Rufus, prancing through the grass like gravity is optional. Then I see her. Nova. She’s wearing tiny running shorts that make her ass look like an invitation to sin, her hair falling out of its messy bun as she tries to wrangle control of her beast.

Something in my chest loosens. Something dark and ugly uncurls.

I’m moving toward her before I can stop myself, already anticipating Rufus’s enthusiastic greeting. Already thinking about how I’ll use it as an excuse to get my hands on her again.

Then she turns.

And my world stops spinning.

Because Nova isn’t alone.

She’s with my ex-wife.

I’d recognize those blond locks and bony Pilates ass anywhere. You can’t be married to the she-devil of Chicago without becoming sensitive to her unique scent of sulfur and Chanel.

I’m used to betrayal. Katerina made damn sure of that.

But this one still knocks me sideways.

Nova was supposed to be mine… but she’s standing in a park, laughing at something my ex-wife is saying. And she never breathed a word of it to me.

Not when we met.

Not in any of the hundreds of messages we’ve exchanged since.

Before they spot me, I duck behind a tree just off the path, my entire body cold and rigid despite the blood thrumming in my veins. Why her? I ask myself again and again. Why the fuck did it have to be her?

My fingers are already dialing Myles before my brain catches up.

“You were right.”

“Usually am.” He pauses. “What’s the damage this time?”

“Nova.” I fucking hate those syllables rolling off my tongue. “She’s working with Katerina.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Papers rustle in the background. “You sure?”

“I’m watching them play fucking patty-cake in the park right now.” Even Rufus—that traitor—is weaving between them like they’re old pals. Like this is normal. Like my world isn’t cracking apart. “Get the team ready. This ends today.”

I hang up before he can respond, my eyes locked on the scene before me.

Katerina has wandered off, glued to her phone the way she always is. Nova stays behind with Rufus, laughing as he discovers his own tail for the hundredth time.

She’s so soft with him. So careful. So fucking perfect at playing the innocent.

I was an idiot not to see it sooner.

Nothing in this life is random. Not Rufus choosing me to hump that day. Not running into her again at the beach. Not the way she stripped for me in her apartment, all shy and demure, all I never do this.

All fucking bullshit.

The signs were there. I just didn’t want to read them.

I wonder if Katerina knew her little spy would take method acting to the next level. If she approved of Nova riding me in that shower. Probably not—Kat always was possessive of me, even after she fucked my brother.

My hands curl into fists, nails biting into palms as it tears open the cuts from the whiskey tumbler I shattered yesterday. But the pain is good. It grounds me. Reminds me who I am.

What I am.

What I’m capable of doing.

As the women move on, I lurk behind at a safe distance. Katerina rarely looks up from her phone, which makes sense: she’s never had much respect for anyone on her payroll. Nova seems content to bring up the rear with Rufus.

When they reach the park entrance, Kat dismisses Nova with a flick of her manicured fingers. The second she’s gone, Nova’s shoulders drop. She tips her face to the sun and actually smiles.

I can relate. It’s the same lightness I felt when I finally cut Katerina out of my life. When I stopped pretending we were anything but what we were—a mistake wrapped in designer clothes and soaked in blood money.

I send Myles my location, my thumbs steady on the screen despite the rage coursing through my veins. Despite the urge to wrap my hands around Nova’s throat and squeeze until she tells me every fucking detail of their plan.

But I’m not that man anymore. I’m not the kid who solved problems with his fists behind the hockey rink. I’m not the husband who let jealousy cloud his judgment.

I’m something much worse.

I’m patient.

As soon as I’m sure Katerina is well and truly gone, I start jogging toward Nova, already crafting my approach. Will she try to play it cool? Will she stumble over excuses? Will those honey-gold eyes fill with tears when she realizes I know what she’s done and who she’s done it with?

Only one way to find out.