Inked Adonis (Litvinov Bratva Book 1)
Inked Adonis: Chapter 45

The silence in my father’s Mercedes suffocates me. Each breath feels like borrowed time, each heartbeat a countdown to betrayal. The leather seat beneath me probably belonged to some other poor bastard he strong-armed—or worse. Now, it’s my turn to be another prop in his power plays.

It’s been years since we’ve been this close without his fists doing the talking. Years since I’ve been trapped in his orbit. But he doesn’t need to hit me anymore. Not when he’s got his fingers wrapped around Grams’ throat.

“How long have you been working for the Andropovs?” I ask, breaking the silence.

“Long enough to know that they will come out on top in the end. It’s in your best interests to pick the winning side, sweetheart.”

“You’re a cop,” I spit. “You’re supposed to pick the right side. You took an oath.”

He merges into traffic. I see his hand itch towards his lights and sirens, desperate to cut through the melee the way he usually would. But we’re not in his patrol car. He doesn’t want to draw more eyes than necessary.

“Life isn’t one of your fairytales, Nova.” His lips curl into something too cruel to be called a smile. “There are no villains and heroes. There are only the people who get ahead and the people who fall behind.” He glances over at me, checking to see if his uninspiring little speech might’ve put a dent in my idealism. His scoff tells me he doesn’t like what he sees. “You probably think the bastard loves you, don’t you?”

I turn to the window, watching the city blur past. There was a time when I thought Samuil might be different. When his touch felt like salvation instead of damnation. When the weight of his gaze meant protection rather than possession.

“I don’t pretend to know how Samuil feels,” I whisper, more to myself than him.

Dad blasts through a red light, nearly clipping a father and daughter in the crosswalk. The symbolism isn’t lost on me. “Then let me clear it up: he’s using you.”

“So are you.”

His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. In another life, in another car, that comment would have earned me a backhand. But he’s exercising restraint today. How generous of him.

“I’m saving you in the long run. Once Litvinov was tired of you, he would’ve dumped your ass by the wayside, and you would’ve been crawling back to me. But if you do as I say, the Andropovs will take care of you.” He nods like he’s trying to convince both me and himself. “They’ll take care of both of us.”

Sam’s building comes into view, and I fist my good hand in the material of my sweatpants. My heart is racing and every muscle aches. “What do you want me to do? There’s security everywhere.”

“But he trusts you, yeah? He lets you live in his house even when he’s away. According to Katerina, that isn’t normal for him.”

“Almost like he loves me,” I mumble. A child’s wishful thinking wrapped in barbed wire.

He shifts into park, the engine idling like a held breath. “Then use it. Get into his office. Find the server. Deliver it to the Andropovs yourself.” His voice drops to a growl. “And if you try to alert anyone, our deal is dead.”

I cough out a humorless laugh. “This isn’t a deal; it’s blackmail. Are you so far gone that you really don’t know the difference?”

He looks towards the building and across the sidewalk. For a fraction of a second, something flickers across his face—fear? Maybe there’s another gun pressed to another back. Maybe the Andropovs have pieces of him, too.

The thought dies as quickly as it forms. He killed any sympathy I had for him years ago, buried it under bruises and broken promises.

He’s not my father anymore. He’s just another man who thinks he owns me.

And I’m so fucking tired of being owned.

“Are you clear on what you have to do?” he asks flatly.

“Crystal.” I push open the door. “Betray everyone I love to help the people I hate. Should be a breeze.”

It’s hard work to limp my way toward the building. Not just because of the pain in my body, but because everything on the inside hurts even worse.

Samuil is gone. My father is a lost cause, a leech, a bad person who sees me only as a means to an end. I used to think I didn’t care anymore—but maybe daughters never truly stop wanting their fathers to love them. Call me soft or stupid, but a piece of me just wants to be more than an object in his eyes.

In Sam’s eyes, too. I want to believe he loves me. Or at least, that he can love me.

I’ve seen it in him. The flashes. The possibility. The little glimmers of gold.

But am I soft or stupid if I hold out for more? Dad is ruined. Sam might not be, but I can’t keep waiting for him to share his heart with me.

I have only my own heart left. I may not know how Sam feels, but I have that much. And after years of denying myself, years of playing by the rules of someone else’s game, I finally know exactly what I want.

I want to protect the people I care about.

And I want to bring my father and Katerina and the Andropovs to their fucking knees.

The elevator doors open to chaos—two dogs and Frederik’s calculating stare.

Rufus and Ruby assault me with concerned sniffs, investigating my bandages like furry little medics. Rufus skitters away from my crutch.

“Ms. Pierce!” Frederik makes a show of concern, all wide eyes and placating murmur. “What— How⁠—?”

But it’s like I can see all the puppet strings now. I can follow where they lead. And the ones wrapped around Frederik’s neck like a noose have a clear path back to where my father is waiting downstairs.

I’d been wondering where my security went during the “accident.” And why they weren’t there to look over me at the hospital.

I guess I have Frederik to thank. Leonid said he signed Frederik’s paychecks, but something tells me my personal guard is pulling from several honey pots. He kept the guards away, kept them from calling Sam.

I hope the price he got was worth it.

“Such concern.” I force a laugh. “Really touching.”

His lips twitch. “You’re on crutches.”

“Crutch. Singular.” I wink, playing it casual. “And I’m fine. Really.”

I’m not fine. Nothing is fine. But I can’t do what I need to do if Frederik insists on tailing me around the penthouse.

“Does Samuil know?” His hand itches towards the phone in his pocket.

If I had to guess, I’d say Samuil doesn’t have a clue what’s going on. Frederik, helper that he is, probably offered to make that call himself because he knew that Sam would come home to be with me.

“Already texted him.” The lie flows smooth as silk. “We talked an hour ago. He wants me to rest. Alone.”

Frederik’s mouth curves into something that might be a smile, if sharks could smile. “Of course. I’ll leave you to it then.”

He moves to the elevator with practiced efficiency. No questions. No security protocols. No genuine concern.

Just confirmation of what I already suspected—he’s been Leonid’s man all along.

The second the elevator doors close, my fake smile crashes. One obstacle down.

A million more to go.

My father and Katerina may believe the server is in Samuil’s office, but I happen to know it’s in our bedroom. It’s behind the kennel Rufus hasn’t used in weeks—not since he realized he could sneak up onto the end of the king-sized bed in the middle of the night if he waited until I was too tired to shoo him back down.

I also happen to know that Samuil trades out the servers regularly to minimize any possible security breaches.

And I watched him change the one in our bedroom one day before he left the country.

Moving the kennel is hell with one good arm and shit balance. But I manage to wedge myself between the wall and the oversized dog house, stretching until my fingers brush cool metal.

When I finally straighten up, server held triumphant above my head, I find myself pinned by two sets of judging eyes. Rufus and Ruby stare at me like they know exactly what I’m doing.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I lower the server, wrapping it in one of my sweaters. “I’m on his side. Always.”

The words don’t make me feel any better as I stuff the bundle into a tote bag and sling it over my good shoulder. I give both dogs a final scratch behind the ears, trying not to think about whether I’ll see them again.

The trek to the elevator feels endless. Each step is a countdown in my head—wondering if Frederik will return, if Sam will call, if my whole plan will implode before it begins.

But the elevator doors open to an empty lobby. No security teams swarm me. No alarms blare.

Just like that, I’m out. The great Litvinov fortress breached by a limping girl with a tote bag.

My father’s car isn’t in sight, but I doubt he’s far. A cab pulls up almost immediately when I wave. The driver’s eyes widen as he takes in my battered state. “Need a ride, miss?”

“Yes, please.” I slide into the backseat, clutching my stolen cargo. “Andropov Headquarters. South Loop.”

“Right.” He glances in the rearview mirror. “What happened to you?”

I close my eyes, letting my head fall back against the seat. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

And even if he would, I’m done letting other people write my story.