Page 98 of The Darkness is Calling

“Don’t tell me you’re taking his side after you saw that picture too, and after he chose that club instead of coming to my recital.”

Her enthusiasm slowly fades, and her face twists slightly. “You’re right. He’s a bastard. But he’s a very sexy bastard who, after some torture, deserves forgiveness.”

“Not from me.”

Her eyes linger on me for a moment, then back at the road, more serious than before. “He won’t let you marry Oliver.”

“He has no choice.”

“Katya… We’re talking about the most intelligent Pakhan the Bratva has had in the last twenty years. Everyone knows his madness is built on a terrifying intelligence, which is exactly why so many people prefer not to stand in his way. He’ll find a solution to get what he wants, which is you.”

She speaks as if she is truly convinced of this scenario.

“He won’t,” I say, holding on to my own certainty. “There is only one man in this world he listens to, and I already spoke to him.”

“His father.”

“Yes.”

She looks ahead at the road, and I do the same. But after a few seconds of silence, my friend adds. “There comes a moment in life when the son can surpass the power of his mentor. And I’m afraid Voron has already done that.”

“Then why does he still listen to his father? He did when he agreed to let me move into his house, and now he got a call from the Vor telling him to let me leave.”

She shrugs.

“Maybe out of respect. But one thing is certain, Katya. He will fight anyone for you. Even his father.”

Her words give me something to think about, but among them, one single word, spoken far too often in recent days by Sasha, returns to my mind.

War.

“Is that blood?” she suddenly says, starting to examine me with a hand reaching toward me.

“Where?” I ask when her voice jolts me from my thoughts.

“On your hand.”

I immediately examine my hands and discover that along the outer edge of my left palm, I am smeared with something red, something that looks very much like dried blood.

I didn’t cut myself or anything like that, and at once, I realize where the stain came from.

“It isn’t mine,” I say quietly, seized by a worry I should not still feel. “It’s his.”

Chapter 18

Artem

“Are you really letting her go?”

I don’t even look at Sasha when my two brothers join me on the driveway in front of the house.

“For now,” I answer shortly, seeming calm. But I am not.

I am starving with the need to destroy

someone, just as fiercely as I wanted to pull her into my arms when I saw her tears.

“Why didn’t you tell her why you didn’t make it?”