Page 148 of The Bratva Sinner

I haven’t seen Arlind since they dragged me into this room.

He’s making me wait. It’s deliberate. The beating isn’t about extracting information. I don’t have anything he needs. He wants me to feel the weight of my situation before he delivers the death blow. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is being filmed. He’ll try to blackmail Sergei, which would make me laugh if it didn’t hurt to breathe. Arlind has no idea about the devil he’s invoked. I will probably die, but Sergei will have the final word. And if Nikolai gets a piece, Arlind will be sorry he ever looked at my wife.

I breathe through my nose while I think about Lila in a bikini on a beach in Portugal. Smiling. Tanned. Happy. I hold onto that image and don’t let go.

The door opens, and Arlind walks in. He’s changed his shirt. The scratches on his cheek have been cleaned and dressed. I feel a surge of pride knowing she left her mark on him. It will leave a scar.

He pulls a chair from the corner and sets it in front of me.

“You look terrible,” he says.

“You should see the other guy.” My voice comes out harsher than I’d like. The copper taste of blood slides over my tongue.

He almost smiles. “You have a sense of humor. Even now.”

“It’s a gift.”

“I want to tell you something,” he says. “Before we discuss terms.”

Terms. As if there are terms. The deal has already been made; I’m just waiting for a miracle or a death blow.

“I’m listening.”

“You believe this is about me. My pride. You think I’m insulted that you took something that belonged to us.” He tilts his head. “Part of that’s true, but I want you to know the whole picture. I want you to understand what happens after I kill you.”

I say nothing.

“When Lila’s father came to me with his debt, the arrangement he made was not with me alone. I was the intermediary. The transaction was brokered on behalf of someone else. A man who had been searching for a very specific kind of woman for a very specific purpose. The krye."

Ice moves through my chest.

“He’s not a young man,” Arlind says. “He has many sons from many women. But sons are only useful when they come from the right blood. The right stock.” He pauses. “He wanted a wife. Not a woman for a night or a year. One who would produce sons to carry his legacy. He was specific about what he wanted.” Another pause. “Young. Strong. Healthy. The kind of woman who comesfrom the right bloodlines and looks a certain way. Young enough to be trained.”

I am going to be sick. I swallow it down and keep my face neutral because I cannot afford to let him see what this is doing to me.

"Do you know the name Skanderbeg?" Arlind asks.

I say nothing.

"It was the nickname of Gjergj Kastrioti. Albania's greatest warrior. The man who held back the Ottoman Empire for twenty-five years." He pauses, letting it settle. "Her father's family carries a direct line. Documented. Verified. A bloodline believed lost for generations." He looks at me. "She is the last known descendant of that branch."

Something goes very still inside me.

Something about her blood makes her worth more than money to the right man.

Lila had told me that, six weeks ago in the med room. Something a dying, bitter man had said to her that she didn't understand, and neither did I.

I understand now.

"Her father understood the honor that was extended," Arlind says. "He owed me a debt he couldn't repay. Rather than punishment, he was offered something far greater. A chance to connect his blood to something much larger than himself." He spreads his hands. "He accepted."

“He sold a ten-year-old girl.” I am unable to hide my disgust.

“He made an arrangement.”

“She was a child.”

Arlind shrugs. “She was meant to wait until she was of appropriate age. The krye is patient. As I said, there would have been training before she got pregnant.”