Throne of Power (Throne Duet #1) - Rina Kent Page 0,10

goes out of the room.

Long-lost son? I’ve heard stories about how Igor lost his firstborn thirty years ago during one of his trips to Europe. Dedushka told me it changed the man forever. There was an Igor before losing his son and another one after. I didn’t know there was a chance his firstborn was still alive. Does this mean he knows nothing of the brotherhood?

This is my chance to latch onto him and use him as a puppet, as per my plan with Vlad. I stare at the latter, and we share a moment of understanding. I soon cut off eye contact because Adrian and Kirill are watching us.

I smile so big I feel the strain in my cheeks. “Igor’s eldest it is, Dvoyurodnyy Ded.”

“I’m honored,” Igor says, more to Sergei than to me.

The door opens and in comes Igor’s guard, followed by his boss’s son.

My smile falls when the boyevik takes his place behind his leader, revealing the newcomer.

Blood drains from my face and my smile falters as I stare into the eyes I never thought I would ever see again.

But here he is.

Igor’s son, the husband I just willingly chose, is none other than the one who stabbed my heart then walked all over it.

Kyle fucking Hunter.

4

Kyle

I stand in front of the people whom I once belonged to, the people who opened their doors for me when I was twenty-six because Nikolai, the previous Pakhan, took a special liking to me.

Now it’s different.

Now, the tension rolls in the air like a whip ready to split my back open.

Most of these men used to like me because, well, I was the most efficient hitman in the Bratva. None of their soldiers could come close to my skills. I did all their dirty work and sniped down people they needed taken care of.

While I was in their good graces before, the fact that I left for years doesn’t sit well with any of them. No one is allowed to leave the brotherhood—at least, not alive. The only resignation is death.

My gaze trails from the head of the table, Sergei—Nikolai’s youngest brother—to his elite group, who are all watching me peculiarly, all except for Daddy dearest, Igor, since he already knows about this.

Oh, and her.

I tilt my head to the side to get a better view of my little mafia princess. She’s actually sitting with the inner circle. That’s progress she must be proud of.

Rai is not so little anymore, though. Her face has aged and lost the few remains of innocence she used to hold on to in her grandfather’s time. Now, she appears like a cold, white statue with her light blonde hair and fair skin.

Her face’s contours are sharp, but it appears that way due to her makeup. It’s like she’s in disguise. Her lips are painted a nude color, and her eyeliner is like a preview of witch makeup for Halloween. Her posture is straight, flat, almost like she can’t move or control her limbs.

She’s nothing like the Rai who used to run all over the place and bug Nikolai so he would come out with her to the garden, or the Rai who used to pester Vladimir and me so we would teach her how to shoot.

It’s like the girl inside was taken away and this frigid woman was put in on her behalf.

Her eyes widen when they meet mine, though. It’s the only reaction she shows in her mute state, and it’s the only one I need.

There’s always been something mystical about Rai’s eyes. They’re blue, but not quite. There are situations where they darken like the sea in the middle of the storm, and there are times where they lighten to a clear summer sky. Then, there are instances like now where they’re caught in the middle, not sure if they want to wreak havoc or simply let it go.

Slowly, the widening disappears and the blue of her eyes turns pitch-black. I smile to myself. Of course, Rai wouldn’t choose to let go. She’s the epitome of determination and infuriating stubbornness.

Her Russian half always gets the better of her. It doesn’t matter that she spent the first twelve years of her life with her American father. The moment she joined her grandfather, she shed away the person from the past and completely embraced this lifestyle.

“What are you doing here?” It’s Damien who asks first, with subtle aggression. “You escaped the Bratva when you knew the punishment.” He stands up and points a gun