Inked Athena (Litvinov Bratva Book 2)

The meeting drags into its ninetieth fucking minute, and all I can focus on is the piece of lettuce wedged between Jonathan Beckett’s front teeth. He’s flicked his tongue across them four times now, missing the green intruder with each pass. I’m counting. It’s become a game—the only entertainment in this suffocating private dining room where old men come to stroke their egos and pretend the glory days of the Soviet Union aren’t long dead.

I drain another finger of vodka, grateful for the burn. Maybe if I get drunk enough, this will become bearable.

“I’m throwing a party next week,” Mr. Beckett says, his tongue once again missing the bit of lettuce. “Very exclusive. I would’ve invited you sooner, but you’ve been a hard man to track down.”

There’s an unspoken question there that I have no intention of answering.

“I’ll be out of town,” I reply shortly.

His wine glass wobbles as he blinks at me, nearly slipping from his grasp before a waiter materializes to refill it. “You’re not coming?”

I used to be better at this—the smiling, the drinking, the endless fucking small talk. I could endure it all while keeping my eyes on the prize: money, security, power. The holy trinity I’ve pursued my entire life.

Now, I look at this man across from me, and all I can think is, Nova. Nova. Nova.

If I’m going to spend another week away from her, it’s not going to be wasted stroking the ego of Jonathan Beckett and his friends at a fucking cocktail party.

“You have to be there,” he blathers on before I can say anything. “I’m flying in a chef from Amsterdam, and the entertainment…” He lets out a heinous moan that sets my teeth on edge. “The models I’m bringing in will be very entertaining. You’ll have first choice.”

The offer of sex with random women Beckett has paid to be there wouldn’t have tempted me even before Nova. But now, it’s as repulsive as the food lodged between his teeth.

“Tempting,” I say. “But no.”

The man frowns like nothing has ever been more confusing than someone refusing his company. I would’ve thought it would be a normal enough occurrence for him by now, but it’s remarkable what money can convince people to put up with. I’m sure sex isn’t the only companionship he’s paying for, whether he knows it or not.

Suddenly, his eyes cast over my shoulder. “Ah, well, if you can’t make it, perhaps the elder Litvinov can. Let’s ask him.”

My fist tightens around my tumbler of vodka. “My father doesn’t go out much.”

“He’s out today,” Beckett croons, looking far too pleased with himself. “And he’s coming this way.”

Fuck.

I keep my spine straight, refusing to turn until Jonathan has already extended his hand to my father, the two of them shaking over my shoulder. Only then do I look, meeting my father’s cold blue eyes as they lock onto mine with predatory interest.

I keep my spine straight, refusing to turn until Jonathan has already extended his hand to my father, the two of them shaking over my shoulder. Only then do I look, meeting my father’s cold blue eyes as they lock onto mine with predatory interest.

We both know that’s bullshit.

“Please, take my seat, Leonid.” Beckett rises and steps away from the table, pulling his chair out for my father. “I lost track of time with your son and have another meeting to attend. I’m afraid I’m already late.”

My father nods and lowers himself into the offered chair like a king taking up his throne. “Don’t let us keep you, then.”

Beckett shakes his hand again. “You’re working the boy too hard, Leonid. He has no time for parties and beautiful women, apparently.”

Leonid’s gaze veers lazily to me. “That’s news to me.”

Once Beckett is whisked away by his security team, Leonid’s smile withers and dies on his face. “Odious man. Did you see the food in his teeth?”

I keep my own face utterly impassive. I don’t want to give my father any edge to use against me. “He brings in enough money for us that I endure the occasional meal to keep him happy.”

“I stopped doing that kind of grunt work a long time ago.”

“Only because I picked up the slack.”

Leonid inclines his head in acknowledgement and orders himself a bourbon that costs more than the entire meal Beckett and I just indulged in.

“How long have you been in London?” he asks.

“Not long. A few weeks.”

“And you didn’t think to inform me?”

“No more than you thought to inform me of your presence here.”

“The head does not inform the hands of its location; it gives orders and they follow.” He sniffles and raises his chin high in the air.

I snort. “Where is your other hand, then? Are you aware of his whereabouts?”

His jaw clenches. Half his bourbon disappears before he speaks again. “This feud with your brother has gone on long enough, don’t you think? How did this nonsense even start?”

“Thirty-something years, by the last count,” I say, still silently urging myself not to crush the tumbler in my fist. “And I believe it started around the time you decided to make me and Ilya fight over everything we got. Everything we were. Your idea of fatherhood was turning your sons into gladiators for your entertainment.”

“Is that your charge against me?” Leonid drawls. “Because I believe I made up for taking away your toys by giving you my empire. And look how you’ve thanked me for that.”

That, at last, gets a rise out of me. I abandon my vodka, leaning forward until I can see every line carved into his face by cruelty. “I will not dignify that with an answer.”

“If you didn’t want to talk, son, you should’ve stayed in your backwater hideout in Scotland.”

It takes all my willpower not to betray my surprise.

He knows. He fucking knows.

“I just needed a change of pace.”

One of Leonid’s eyebrows rises skeptically. “You did? Or was it your low-rent girlfriend who wanted the vacation?”

I slide my hands beneath the table before he can see them curl into fists. Before they betray how badly I want to wrap them around his throat.

“You’ve always been led around by your cock,” he spits. “At least Katerina had pedigree. Class. A sense of propriety.”

“No wonder she and Ilya got along perfectly.”

“Don’t make such a fuss, boy. He knows better than to continue any association with that backstabbing bitch. You, on the other hand⁠—”

“Nova Pierce did not betray anyone,” I interrupt. “She was a pawn. I’ve taken responsibility for her, and she is not your concern.”

He scowls. “Whoever my sons choose to fuck is very much my concern. Haven’t you learned anything from me? A woman is nothing more than a warm hole to stick your cock. Apart from that, they serve no purpose.”

“I didn’t know you were such a romantic, Father. Your wife is a lucky woman.”

“My wife knows her place,” he growls. “Can you say the same for that traitorous little cunt you’re seeing? She may be able to suck your cock like a cheap American whore, but she will never be worthy of the Litvinov name. She will never⁠—”

“Enough!” The roar rips from my chest before I can contain it.

My heart hammers against my ribs. Red bleeds into the edges of my vision. It’s taking everything I have not to flip this table and show him exactly what kind of monster he created.

He arches one eyebrow, daring me to say another word.

Unfortunately for him, I fucking dare.

The blood is pounding in my temples, but my voice remains as frigid as ever. I learned that from the best: him.

“I’ve endured your abuse patiently for thirty-three years to make sure I didn’t damage your fragile ego, but I will not sit for another second and hear any of it hurled at Nova.”

I know I’m showing my hand here, but I can’t stop myself. This needs to be said.

I won’t stand idly by while he aims his fangs for her throat.

“Do you know how easily I could take it all away from you, boy?” Leonid hisses. He snaps his fingers. “Like that. One word from me and your title, your position, everything you wrongly think is yours—gone.”

“Ah, we’ve come to my favorite portion of the night: the inevitable dance where you put me in my place.” I lean forward. “You know what, Father? I’m tired of all these games. Go ahead and fucking do it already.”

Leonid’s eyes go wide.

I bare my teeth in a smile. “You want to kick me off the cliff and hand the reins over to Ilya? Fine. Go right ahead. See how that works out for you. I’ll just retire to my ‘backwater hideout’ and enjoy the implosion from the sidelines.”

He freezes in his chair, all color draining from his face. For the first time in my life, I’ve left him speechless. Because I finally called his bluff.

“This meeting is over.” His voice comes out rough, unsteady. “Get out of my sight and get to work proving to me that you’re worthy of my legacy.”

As I push away from the table, his eyes track me—a predator suddenly realizing his teeth aren’t as sharp as he thought. The sight should fill me with victory, but I’m not naive enough to think I’ve won.

A cornered man is a desperate one.

And Leonid has walls closing in on all sides.

I stride out into London’s perpetual gloom, already pulling out my phone to change my travel arrangements. I’d planned to stay another five days, work through the mountain of meetings Myles arranged.

Fuck that.

All I can think about is Nova. The gentle curve of her belly. The way her eyes light up when she sees me. The quiet strength that makes her so different from the women in my father’s world.

I need to breathe her in, hold her close, make sure she and my child are safe. Everything else—the empire, the rivals, my father’s games—can wait.

It’s time to go back to Scotland.

It’s time to go back to the only thing that matters anymore.

It’s time to go back to my family.