Satin Princess(104)

Lev seems to be thinking the same thing. “Hasn’t changed a bit, has she?”

She creeps towards the bodyguard. I see the glint of silver just before she strikes. The guard senses something at the last moment, but it’s too late to do anything except turn and see the face of his murderer.

She slices her knife across his throat. He hits the ground, alerting Yaromir to another presence in the room.

Yaromir jumps up to face her. Even in the video, I see the color drain out of him. His hand moves to his weapon, but she stops him by turning her own gun on him.

“That’s enough, cousin,” she says.

Yulian turns up the volume. I still have to strain my ears to hear them.

“Marina,” says Yaromir warily.

“I ask you for a meeting and you deck the halls of my father’s estates with men,” she says, shaking her head in disgust. “Still as scared as ever, I see.”

“I’m not scared,” he protests. But the tremor in his voice betrays him.

“Fucking pathetic,” Yulian growls.

“No?” Marina asks in the footage. “Then why bring out all the guns for a simple meet-up? I’m just one little woman.”

“A woman who just murdered my man in cold blood.”

She raises her eyebrows, looking amused. “Do you expect something different from me?” she asks. “The men in this family have always killed without conscience. Why am I expected to do any differently?”

“How did you get in here?” he croaks.

“I have my ways,” she says. “I grew up in this house, Yaromir. I know all its secrets. And if you so much as think about calling on your men, I will pull this trigger and end you right now. You’re going to die anyway, but if you cooperate, it will be much less painful. Understood?”

He nods. She gives him a sweet smile and walks forward, keeping her gun raised the whole time. I notice the knife she used to kill the guard dangling from the waistband of her pants. Blood drips from the blade. Yaromir seems to be preoccupied with the crimson drops landing on the white carpet under their feet.

“Oops,” Marina says, noticing the same thing. “I’m making a mess. How rude of me.”

“What do you want, Marina?” Yaromir asks.

“The question is, what do you want, Yaromir?” she asks, twisting the question around on him. “I’ve risen from the dead to come and meet you, and this is how you welcome me?”

“Why fake your own death?”

She sighs. “If you haven’t figured that part out already, then I’m not going to help you. You always were a little slow in the head.”

“He’s on his way, you know,” Yaromir says foolishly.

“Fucker,” Lev growls. “He should have kept her talking.”

Marina looks perfectly at ease. Not a hair out of place. “You think I don’t know that he’s got you eating out of the palm of his hand? I’m not just a pretty face, Yaromir.”

“What do you want?” he asks again.

She smiles. The effect is chilling. It would be upsetting for even the bravest of men. For Yaromir, it’s overwhelming. He seems to wither on the spot, folding in on himself.

“I want what’s mine,” she says simply.

“Your father handed the reins of the Ivanov Bratva to me.”

“Because he thought I was dead.”

“Exactly,” Yaromir says. “He thought you were dead. Why would you let him think that?”

She rolls her eyes. “Why do you think? My father loved me to death, but he was too much of a traditionalist to give me his Bratva. He wanted me to marry for it. So I did.”

“You had the Ivanovs and the Stepanovs,” Yaromir points out.

She scoffs. “If you believe that, then you’re an even bigger fool than I thought you were. Do you really think Anton gave me any power at all? Half his strength came from me, but he wanted me on the sidelines.”

I heard versions of this sob story for years while we were married. I’m almost bored hearing it again.

“If Daddy had known I was alive, he would have told Anton. They would have tried to bring me to heel. But I’m no one’s bitch. You’d do well to remember that, Yaromir.” He takes a step back and she raises her gun higher. “Another move and I blow your head clean off.”

“You’ll give yourself away.”

“But you’ll be lying on the floor with your brains gushing out. So what does it matter to you?”

He cringes away from her, but his feet stay rooted in place. She gives him an approving smile. “My father must have really been desperate for an heir to hand the Bratva over to you.”

“I’m his last surviving heir.”

“Heir?” she repeats scornfully. “No, you’re no heir. You’re not even Bratva. Not for the first time, Daddy made a mistake.”

Yaromir tries to stand tall. “I may not be as ruthless or as brutal as you or Anton, but I have the head for this.”

She laughs softly. “What’s the point of having the head if it’s not firmly fixed on your shoulders? It’s much harder to think when your severed skull is rolling around on the floor, Yaromir.”

Marina bares her teeth. Just like that, she goes from composed to feral. The outside finally matches the inside.