Page 57 of Claimed By the Pakhan

“Death shows who has the control and who lacks it,” I tell Ivan, lunging forward, teasing the blade under his throat. “Your opinions are irrelevant in the face of god.”

I draw a line down his neck, opening up his throat. Ivan chokes on his own blood, red liquid spilling out of his mouth, his neck, even his nostrils as he takes his last few staggered breaths before joining the rest of the night shift crew.

I stand over him, watching the blood spill across the floor. I clean the blade on my pants pocket, sheathing it back under my belt. A dead man’s words should be irrelevant, but the more I stare at Ivan, the more his words crawl under my skin, causing my mind to wander.

How many others share Ivan’s opinion?

“What the fuck, Emil?” calls Luka, falling into a jog to catch up to me. “Why kill Ivan? He’s our most resourceful guy when it comes to watching the docks, keeping an eye on things.”

“He showed his true colors.”

Lines appear between Luka’s brows. “Please don’t tell me he’s the?—”

“No, the Judas is still among us, but Ivan has no business working for me when he refuses to support my love for Fia, and the family I’m creating.”

“Ivan never had a family,” states Luka, “so I can see why he would have a problem with yours, but murdering the man is a step too far during these vulnerable times.”

“Do I look like I give a fuck?” I say, flashing Luka a glare.

Luka, after returning my glare, turns back around, watching Ivan waste away with the rest of the men.

“We need to increase security around here,” I say. “Double down on CCTV and make sure this never happens again. In the meantime, all this needs to be cleaned up,” I say, sliding my bloody hands into my pocket and taking my leave.

Flies swarm the dead bodies as I maneuver around them, heading back to my car. My fingers are itching to grab my gun and round up all my employees like sheep, organizing them into a line so I can threaten their lives and see who is truly on my side.

Alexander’s presence is turning my men into snakes.

20

FIA

After hearingabout the dockyard attack, my first reaction is to get down on my knees and make Emil feel better, but he shoves a dress in my hand before I can act.

“Yellow?” I scoff, taking the garment from his hands, holding it out on the hanger. “You should have given me a head’s up if you wanted to roleplay Beauty and the Beast. I would have prepared the cups and saucers.”

“Very funny,” deadpans Emil.

I note the blood streaked across his shirt and face. His abnormal height, along with the fact that he just murdered someone, makes him the perfect beast.

I clench my thighs together, noting his forearms, corded with thick veins. They tend to pop when his emotions are heightened.

“We’re attending a charity event in the city tonight.”

“Since you’re a very charitable man, as you established yesterday…”

“It’s an annual event where we celebrate the prosperity of the docks, along with some other successful Seattle entrepreneurs, and have a few drinks.”

“The prosperity of the docks?” I repeat, folding my arms over my chest. “Thirty-two men were murdered last night.”

“Thirty-three,” corrects Emil, perking his eyebrow up at me. “Ivan is burning in hell.”

I feel my mouth gape open. “I knew he was the traitor.”

“Not in the way you might think,” says Emil, walking across the kitchen, hands folded behind his back. “But he did secretly have a vendetta against me, which cost him his life.”

In the real world when you disagree with someone, you argue and cut the person off. When Emil is pissed, he plays the grim reaper and murders to make himself feel better. But I note his clenched jaw, the hard-set eyes, and wonder if he does indeed feel better. Something is weighing on his mind.

“What did Ivan say? Was it about me?”