Inked Athena (Litvinov Bratva Book 2)
Inked Athena: Chapter 38

The sound of Nova’s laughter drifts across the library, every bit as warm as the sunbeams slanting through the stained glass. She’s curled up with Hope on the leather sofa, both of them pouring over a pile of books while discussing their plans for some animal sanctuary they plan on building out by the sheep pens.

Their enthusiasm makes the musty old shelves and creaky floorboards feel more like home than any of my penthouses ever did.

Everyone else has caught the same peaceful vibe. Rufus and Ruby are sprawled at Nova’s feet like furry throw rugs, with all the puppies scattered between them. Through the window, I spot Serena and Mrs. Morris mapping out the spring gardens, their gestures animated as they debate the merits of various vegetable placements.

My security team’s settled in, too. Viktor is sprawled at one door, Mikhail at another. Myles has been in and out all morning, whistling everywhere he goes like one of Snow White’s fucking dwarves.

It’s a rare sight.

It should probably set off warning bells.

Instead, I find myself memorizing the moment. This implausible snapshot of contentment.

The way Nova’s hair catches the light. Her free hand absently stroking her growing belly. How Hope teases her about naming all the future sanctuary animals after romance novel heroes, and the way Nova shamelessly says, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

This is what I’ve been fighting for without even knowing it. A fortress not built on fear, but filled with life and⁠—

“Samuil.”

Myles appears in the doorway. My chest tightens before he even opens his mouth.

I know that look. I despise that look. I hoped to never see that look again.

“I got a report.” His voice is low, meant for my ears only. “We need to talk. Now.”

I rise. Nova glances up, her smile fading as she reads my expression. “I’ll be back in a moment,” I tell her. “Keep the fire going.”

I follow Myles into my study, leaving warmth and laughter behind. The moment the door closes, his shoulders square.

Bad news incoming. I find myself wishing I’d kissed Nova goodbye.

“Ilya’s gone.” Myles runs a hand over his buzzcut. “The safe house in Novosibirsk is empty. Clean as a fuckin’ whistle, man. Like he was never there.”

Ice surges through my veins. “How long?”

“Unknown. Our guy missed two check-ins. When the backup team arrived, they found him with his throat slit. Professional job.”

Fuck. My brother’s always been a snake, but this is different. This is calculated. Patient.

Not Ilya’s style at all.

I cross to the window. From here, I can see the north wing where our bedroom used to be. Where Nova spent those first weeks after I brought her here, scared and unsure. Before she made this drafty pile of stones into something worth protecting.

The muscles in my jaw ache from clenching my teeth. When I turn my head, I have a vantage into the library I just left. Through the window, I watch Nova lean closer to Hope, pointing at something in one of their books.

So innocent. So pure.

So fucking vulnerable.

“Triple the security detail,” I rumble to Myles, forcing my voice to stay measured. “I want four men on Nova at all times, rotating in six-hour shifts. Get Dmitri’s team down from Edinburgh. And contact our London crew—I need eyes on every property Ilya’s touched in the past five years.”

“Already started the calls.” Myles pulls out his phone, his fingers flying. “But Sam… this isn’t like him. Ilya’s always been a hothead. Leaving zero trace? Taking out our guy that cleanly? It’s⁠—”

“Like someone’s coaching him.” As always, Myles is thinking exactly what I’m thinking. “Someone patient. Someone who knows how to play the long game.”

“Someone like Katerina.”

I nod. “She’s had years to work on him. To channel all that raw hatred into something calculated. Looks like she did a good job.”

“Fuck.” Myles scrubs a hand over his face. “Want me to send the team in right now?”

“No. She’ll be expecting that.” I drum my fingers on the windowsill, mind racing through scenarios. “Focus on the places they wouldn’t think we’d look. Storage units. Dead drops. Those old shipping containers by the docks that the Andropovs think we don’t know about.”

Nova’s laugh drifts through the walls, and my chest constricts. Everything I love is right here in this castle.

Which makes it the perfect target.

“And Myles?” I turn from the window. “Not a word to Nova or the others. As far as they’re concerned, nothing’s changed.”

He nods grimly. “What about the FBI operative? Boyko—remember him? Could reach out⁠—”

“No. This stays in the family.”

After a moment of hesitation, he inclines his head. “As you wish, pakhan.” Then he turns to begin carrying out my orders.

I watch him go, already coordinating teams through his earpiece. The library’s warmth beckons, but I can’t face Nova right now. Not with murder on my mind.

My phone buzzes. It’s Viktor, forwarding the latest surveillance photos from that email trap Hope and Nova set, right on time with his regular daily submission.

I flick through the pictures. Katerina’s Aston Martin, parked outside a boutique hotel in Geneva. Her platinum hair gleaming as she kisses some oligarch on both cheeks. Her stilettos clicking across marble floors to the elevator.

I’ve been sitting on this intel for weeks, telling myself there was time. That I could afford to play the long game while Nova settled into the castle, while we built something real here. Something worth protecting.

But Ilya’s new patience changes everything. The brother I knew would have stormed the castle gates by now, guns blazing. This calculated ghost routine? That’s pure Katerina. She’s finally managed to leash his rage and aim it in the right direction.

And I won’t stand to have guns pointed at my family.

I just told Myles not to unleash the wolves, but…

Change of fucking plans.

I pull up the command chat and type out a message to the inner circle: Execute Option Red. No witnesses.

Twelve of my best are already in position around that Geneva hotel. They’ve been there for days, waiting for my word. Within moments of my text being sent, I watch their body cam feeds flicker to life on my monitors, checking weapons, moving into formation.

In a few short minutes, Katerina will be dead.

I take a seat at my operations center. Through a dozen live camera feeds, I watch my men creep through Katerina’s hotel like black-clad ghosts. Their night vision equipment bathes everything in an otherworldly green glow.

Empty bathtub. Abandoned bedframe, no mattress. Dust motes dancing in flashlight beams.

Too empty.

Too clean.

My fingers drum against the mahogany desk as I toggle between views. Something’s off. Katerina’s precise, methodical—a shark in stilettos—but this level of pristine organization isn’t her style. She enjoys leaving a trail of breadcrumbs, little fuck-you souvenirs designed to get under my skin.

“West corridor clear,” Anatoly murmurs through my earpiece.

“En-suite bathroom clear,” adds Igor.

I lean closer to the monitors, scanning for any hint of movement. The place should be crawling with signs of my ex-wife’s presence.

Instead, there’s nothing but shadows and silence.

“Sir.” Alexei’s voice crackles. “You need to see this.”

His body cam swings toward a wall. At first glance, it appears blank. But as he moves closer, I spot faint marks in the concrete. Letters carved with painstaking precision:

TICK TOCK

Below the message is today’s date. And beneath that, lying forlornly on the carpet…

… is the ring I gave her on the day we were married.

“Pull out,” I order, my voice deadly calm even as my heartbeat pounds like fucking thunder in my temples. “Now. Fucking NOW!”

My men don’t hesitate. They know that tone.

As their feeds show them retreating toward the exit points, my mind races. Katerina’s letting me know she’s always one step ahead. That ring—it’s not meant for me. It’s meant for Nova.

My queen.

My weakness.

I reach for my phone to call Myles, but before I can dial, all twelve camera feeds suddenly go black. The audio channel lives one moment longer—long enough to hear an earsplitting boom, laced with the sounds of my best men dying.

My phone erupts. Alerts from my teams in Chicago, Moscow, Dubai—all hitting simultaneously.

Not random. Not coincidence.

I scan the incoming reports with numb fingers. Each one is worse than the last. Our Dubai shipping operation—decimated. The Chicago data center—breached. Three warehouses in Moscow’s industrial district—burning.

Sixteen dead. Twenty-eight wounded. Millions in assets, gone.

The timestamps tell the story. Every attack executed within the same five-minute window. This wasn’t just Katerina being clever with a hotel trap. This was a masterpiece of timing and coordination, planned down to the second.

And I fucking missed it.

I’ve been too distracted building my fairy tale here in Scotland. Playing lord of the manor while Katerina and Ilya meticulously tied a noose around my throat. They used my own tactics against me—patience, precision, the long game.

All those surveillance photos of Katerina in Geneva? Bait. The IP address she “accidentally” revealed? Bullshit. She wanted me focused there while they positioned their pieces everywhere else.

My phone buzzes again. Myles.

“Three more locations hit in St. Petersburg,” he says without preamble. “They’re going after everything, Sam. Even the legitimate businesses. They just blew up a fucking laundromat in Queens, for God’s sake.”

Through the window, I catch a glimpse of Nova still laughing with Hope in the library.

I’ve tried to keep her separate from this darkness. To give her the peaceful life she deserves.

But now, my enemies have declared total war. And I’ll have to become the monster she fears to keep her safe.

Myles bursts into the room, panting. “Sam⁠—”

“Get Artem’s team in Chicago to summon all hands on deck,” I tell him, my voice dropping to the arctic register I haven’t used since coming to Scotland. “And call in every favor we’re owed from every fucking family in Chicago. We’re going to war.”

“Sam, I⁠—”

“War means follow fucking orders, Myles. The only thing I want to hear from you is yes, pakhan.”

He sighs. I see all the questions in his eyes, the dying hope, the withering belief that maybe the man I used to be was actually gone for good. Fuck, I’d almost believed it, too.

Katerina and Ilya have proved us both wrong.

“Pull in every soldier we have between here and Moscow. I want a strike team ready in four hours.”

“Sam,” Myles says one last time, “you’re talking about a lot of people losing their lives. You’re talking about Armageddon.”

“They already started it.” I check my weapons, the familiar weight of my Glock settling against my ribs like an old friend. “I’m going to finish it.”

Through the study door, I hear Nova’s laughter fade. Soon, she’ll realize her fairytale is over. That her prince is actually the dragon.

“What about Nova?” Myles asks quietly. “She’s going to⁠—”

“She knew what I was when she agreed to marry me.” The words come out sharp as broken glass. “This is who I am. Who I’ve always been. I just forgot for a while.”

I move toward the door, already plotting trajectories and kill zones. The monster my father created is wide awake now, and he’s thirsty for blood.

“Sound general quarters,” I order. “We’re going hunting.”

I stride down the hallway, my footsteps echoing off stone walls that have witnessed centuries of violence. Fitting, since I’m about to add a new, bloody chapter to the history books.

The library’s oak door swings open before I reach it. Nova stands in the opening, her gold-flecked eyes wide with concern. “Sam, I—” She sees my face and frowns. “Sam…? What’s happening?”

Her voice—so soft, so fucking tender—makes my hands curl into fists. I shoulder past her to the walk-in closet, yanking tactical gear from hangers.

“Go back to your books,” I snarl. “This doesn’t concern you.”

She flinches but plants herself in place. Always so brave, my little queen. So determined to save everyone, even the monsters who don’t deserve it.

“Like hell it doesn’t. We’re in this together.”

I whirl to face her, letting her see the ruthless killer I’ve kept caged these past months. The one who’s executed men for far less than the destruction Katerina and Ilya just wreaked.

“No, we’re not.” I loathe the sound of my own voice. So hateful, so cold I want to shiver. “This is my world, and you need to stay the hell out of it.”

Devastation crashes across her face. Her hand flies to her stomach—to our child—and something inside me fractures. But I force myself to keep moving, to stuff weapons into my go-bag while she watches in mute horror.

Better she sees the truth now. Better she understands that the man she fell in love with was just a fantasy. A temporary fiction we both allowed ourselves to believe in.

The real Samuil Litvinov deals in blood and bullets, not happily-ever-afters. And it’s time I remembered that.

It’s time she did, too.

I zip the bag closed with brutal finality. When I turn, Nova’s tears shine in the dim light, but she lifts her chin defiantly.

My beautiful, stubborn woman.

I pray she lives long enough to hate me for this.