The Moscow sky bled gray.
Rain hammered the city, soaking stone and soul alike as Borya Alexei Morozov stood unmoving before a fresh grave. His black coat hung heavy against his tall frame, rain streaming off his sharp jaw and the strands of blond hair plastered to his forehead.
The silver plaque glinted under the stormlight.
Yakov Sidorov. 1989–2024. Brother in Blood.
Borya's gloved hand tightened around a single white rose before dropping it onto the closed casket.
Aleksei Varonin stood beside him, soaked to the bone, face unreadable, hands clasped behind his back. The rest of their men stood in silence behind them, heads bowed, weapons still strapped tight to their bodies…because grief in the Bratva didn't come without the scent of retribution.
"He was loyal," Borya murmured, low and hollow. "Fought like a damn soldier. Took three bullets before the fourth finally stopped him."
Aleksei said nothing.
Borya's eyes narrowed. "And they think that's the end of it?"
Rain sliced down his cheek as he turned sharply. "Call the cars. All of them. I want black metal and silence on the road. Tonight, we show them what happens when they come for mine."
Later that Night — Estate of Deputy Director William Raines (Langford's Right Hand)
The rain followed them like a curse.
The convoy parked three blocks away from the mansion in silence, engines humming before cutting completely. The men filed out, dressed in black from neck to boot. No words spoken. Only hand signals and locked gazes.
Borya's boots hit the pavement with slow purpose as he adjusted his gloves and pulled the black scarf over his lower face.
"Target?" Aleksei asked, voice sharp.
"His daughter. Elise Raines. She's twenty-one. Law student. Innocent."
Borya's voice was cold steel. "Perfect."
The estate's perimeter was child's play.
By the time Elise opened the front door..thinking it was a delivery…the gun was already at her temple.
She didn't scream.
Not at first.
Inside, she was dragged into the lavish living room, the crystal chandelier above her swaying slightly as the front door shut behind them. She was trembling. Wrists bound. Duct tape slapped over her mouth.
She wasn't harmed.
But Borya made her look.
He made her watch.
Aleksei dragged one of Raines' bodyguards..alive, barely breathing…into the room and threw him at her feet.
Borya crouched beside her.
"Your father plays dirty," he whispered. "But I play uglier."
Then he took out a hunting knife.
And carved the Bratva insignia into the man's chest…slowly, methodically…never breaking eye contact with the girl.
The man screamed.
She did too.
Not that it helped.
Borya stood and dropped a blood-soaked card on the table. It bore a single phrase.
"For Yakov."
He nodded once. His men turned.
They left her sobbing beside the still body of the man she once trusted to protect her.
Three Hours Later — FBI Berlin HQ
Deputy Director William Raines stormed into Langford's office, face pale, coat drenched, eyes bloodshot.
"They were in my house," he growled. "My house. My daughter…" His voice broke.
Langford stood slowly, cigarette dangling from his fingers.
"Is she alive?"
"She's traumatized. They didn't touch her… but they made her watch."
Langford's jaw tensed.
"They left a message. For me."
Langford crushed the cigarette out. "They're escalating."
"They're sending a message," Raines hissed. "That no one is safe. Not even our families."
Langford met his eyes.
"Then we burn them all."
The bass at Sable was pulsing hard enough to rattle bones, red and blue lights flashing like heat lightning across bare skin and sweat-soaked velvet. It was loud. Carnal. Sinful. A heaven made for sinners.
Aubrey…Dorian…was already two drinks deep.
The second one he didn't even remember ordering, but it was burning pleasantly in his throat, and the warmth had seeped into his limbs just enough to loosen his hips. His shirt clung to his slender torso, the thin black fabric soaked against his skin. He moved with the music, eyes half-lidded, drunk on rhythm and fire.
He wasn't dancing with anyone. Not yet.
But he danced like he was being touched. Like someone had their hands all over his waist, guiding his body to sway and roll and grind.
His lashes fluttered open for a second. And there…through the haze, through the shadows and bodies and sweat…he saw him.
Borya.
Long blond hair tied at the nape of his neck, sharp black coat parted slightly over his broad chest, a glacier made man. He was flanked by two of his men…Aleksei and Viktor…but his eyes were fixed forward.
On him.
Aubrey's pulse kicked hard. His lips parted.
Then slowly, deliberately, he turned and rolled his hips deeper into the beat, letting it devour him. His hands moved to his own waist as he ground into nothing, knowing exactly how he looked. Knowing the devil was watching.
He wasn't alone for long.
A tall stranger…inked arms, cut jaw, wrong scent…slid in behind him. Put hands on his hips. Aubrey didn't want to let him, but he didn't stop it either. Not when he felt the burn of eyes on him like lasers.
Borya.
The man behind him was getting bold now, mouth too close to his neck. Aubrey arched forward slightly, letting his back brush the man's chest, grinding with a sensual twist. All he could see was platinum blond through the crowd, that jaw ticking, eyes like blue fire across the room.
Aleksei said something to Borya. He didn't answer.
When the stranger's hand slid toward Aubrey's thigh and his mouth dipped toward his cheek…
Borya moved.
He didn't push through the crowd.
He cleaved it.
Like ice through flesh, like a god descending. The crowd parted before him as he stormed toward the dance floor, coat flaring, boots heavy, eyes locked on the man stupid enough to touch what was his.
He reached them in seconds.
A single brutal yank…
And the stranger went flying.
A crash, bodies scattering, gasps rising.
Aubrey blinked. Heart thudding.
Borya stood there, broad chest heaving slightly. His gaze seared through Aubrey like knives.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he growled.
Aubrey tilted his head, hair clinging to his flushed face. "I was dancing."
"With him?"
"Didn't see your name carved into my hips," he said, voice slurred but sharp.
Borya's jaw ticked.
Then he grabbed Aubrey by the wrist. Hard.
"Let go of me…"
"Don't make me break your fucking legs right here, malysh."
Aubrey gasped, stumbling as Borya dragged him across the floor.
They were halfway through the club when Aubrey dug his heels in. "You don't own me."
Borya stopped.
Dead.
Turned slowly.
Their eyes locked. Ice and fire.
"I claimed you the second I fucked you in the backseat of my car," he said darkly, breath warm against Aubrey's mouth. "Anyone who touches you dies. That's not romance. That's law."
Aubrey pouted. Innocent. Deadly.
"You're insane."
"I warned you."
And then, without warning, he hoisted him over his shoulder like a fucking bag of silk.
Aubrey yelped, fists pounding against his back. "Put me down, you psycho!"
People were staring. Laughing. Whispering.
Borya didn't give a damn.
He kicked open the club door. Stormed toward the black car waiting by the curb. Aleksei opened the back door with a smirk.
Borya didn't wait.
He threw Aubrey inside.
The smaller man landed on the seat with a bounce, eyes wide, breath caught.
Borya climbed in after him, looming, caging him in.
"Drive," he barked.
The car lurched forward.
Silence thickened inside.
Aubrey swallowed.
"You can't just throw people like that."
"You're mine."
Aubrey's lips parted. "You're a lunatic."
Borya smirked.
Then he kissed him.