Page 85 of Forced & Obsessed By the Bratva King
Artem looks down at it, and the color drains from his face as he stares at the photograph of him outside one of the Italian casinos with Vasili.
I slide another photo to him, and then another, and by the time we get to the last one, his eyes are dark with terror. Iwatch him carefully, scrutinizing every movement he makes just in case he’s grown enough balls to openly attack me.
He hasn’t.
For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks confused, like he’s gambling between keeping his calm exterior or exploding with rage.
My stomach twists. I can’t make sense of why he would betray me, and I hate that there’s still a part of me waiting for an explanation. For him to tell me there’s been a mistake and that the photos are fabricated.
He raises his head slowly, and when his eyes find mine, whatever hope I had dies. There are no excuses in his eyes, only resentment and hate I’ve never seen from him before.
“You had me followed.”
It’s not a question, but an accusation. One that would be almost amusing under different circumstances.
My jaw tightens and a bitter laugh rips from my throat. “Predatel.”
The tension in the room becomes almost unbearable.
Artem’s right hand twitches. He reaches for his holster, but unfortunately for him, Mikhail is quicker. He flies to his feet, pulling out his gun and pressing it to Artem’s temple.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Artem’s fingers freeze right above his holster. Then he looks at me and smirks. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance, Leonid. And I should’ve killed that fucking bitch you brought home and made your wife.”
His words feel like a knife buried in my heart and slowly twisted between my ribs. The hatred I see in his eyes is like lava about to spill over, and as I glare back at him, only one question burns at the back of my mind. “Why?”
“Why?” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Everything has always been aboutyou. Your empire. Your reputation. Your money. Your woman. Every fucking thing.”
I cock my head. “So all of this was about money?”
“I built this with you. I fought your wars with you, Leonid.” His voice rises. The bitterness pouring from him is almost tangible now. “I bled for you, but no matter what I did, nobody ever saw me. They saw Leonid Nazarov’s right hand. His soldier. His shadow.”
A cold emptiness settles in my chest. All these years together, and this is what it comes down to? A wounded ego? “Is that your excuse? You betrayed me and all of our brothers because you were jealous?”
His face twists, seething with rage I still can’t understand. Artem takes a step forward before Mikhail cocks his weapon, making him halt before he takes another step.
“You think this is about jealousy?” He basically spits the question at me. “Vasili understood something you never did. Everything you have was supposed to be mine. You never deserved any of this, Leonid. And neither did your father.”
My mind goes completely still at the mention of my father. At the memory of my mother. Whatever hesitation I had before vanishes. “Fine. Dream all you want, but none of this will ever be yours. Not on Earth. And definitely not in hell.”
I pull my gun from where it’s tucked under my desk and click off the safety.
For a second, something that looks suspiciously like regret crosses Artem’s face. He had his chance to back down before I ever found out about his betrayal, but he crossed a line I can’t forgive when he exposed my weakness to the enemy and tried to hurt Elena.
“Leonid—”
“Farewell,brat.See you in hell.” I pull the trigger, and the gunshot echoes through the office.
Artem’s body collapses backward. Mikhail curses in Russian as blood splatters his white shirt.
Placing the gun back under the desk, I rise to my feet and stare at Artem for several seconds.
His icy blue eyes stare sightlessly toward the ceiling. Only minutes ago, they were filled with anger and resentment. Now there’s nothing left in them at all. Blood pools beneath his head, creeping across the floorboards while fragments of bone and brain matter stain the expensive rug.
For the first time since I joined the bratva, I don’t feel relief or satisfaction from killing an enemy. I feel numb. Helpless.
“Have someone clean up this mess,” I manage to say. Then I step over Artem’s lifeless body and walk out of the room.
