Emperor of Rage: Chapter 19

Kir’s voice fills the library, his low, sharp commands cutting through the silence. I sit curled up in a high-backed chair, a glass of whiskey in my hand, the burn of the alcohol grounding me as I try to make sense of it all. The swift, brutal attack at the church was a sharp reminder of the danger lurking in the shadows of our world.

Across from me, Kir paces, his phone to his ear, his expression cold. His words are clipped, his tone businesslike as he barks orders to whomever is on the other end of the line, switching between English and Russian.

This is the Kir that most people see—the Bratva kingpin who’s always in control and one step ahead. But I know better. Underneath that cold, calculating exterior is a man who would cut his own heart out for those he considers family.

It’s a comforting feeling I’ve come to rely on, one that’s brought me out of some pretty dark places since I’ve become one of those people he considers family. When the rest of the world goes black and cold, I’ve always known Kir will be there for me.

I take another sip of whiskey, letting the warmth of it spread through my chest. I set the glass down and glance at my laptop. My fingers fly over the keys as I dig through various online databases I’ve found on the dark web, trying to find any shred of information about the attackers.

So far, there’s nothing. Nada. Zero. Zilch.

Whoever orchestrated this was meticulously careful. Which only makes me more determined to uncover the truth.

Mercifully, no one died today. But that doesn’t mean we all emerged unscathed. Lev, one of Kir’s men, is in the hospital with a piece of the van that exploded still embedded in his stomach. There are also four other Nikolayev men who took shrapnel and will need time to recover.

A soft ping interrupts my focus, and I glance down to see that Anni’s replied to my first text. While I’m here on lockdown with Kir at his mansion, she’s at her new husband’s penthouse—at Kenzo’s insistence, actually.

Me

You’re SURE you’re good there??

Annika

Yeah. Tons of security. There are five of Kenzo’s guys watching the lobby, plus three of Kir’s.

Thank fuck.

Annika

Are you okay?

Me

I’m good. Kinda shaken. Like WTF

Me

U thinking Kenzo’s enemies or ours?

With so much Yakuza and Bratva power in one place, in hindsight, it would almost be more shocking if someone didn’t try and use the wedding as an opportunity to attack—if they were suicidal or stupid enough to try it.

Annika

No idea, honestly. It DOES seem more like a Bratva move than a Yakuza one.

She’s not wrong. It’s the Russians who are fans of direct, explosive attacks. The Yakuza is subtler. Like, if this was them, I’d expect the wedding cake to be poisoned or something.

Annika

Kir sent guys to watch over Damian, right?

Me

As if that wasn’t my first thought?

Me

Or Kir’s?

Our quasi-brother just underwent his final surgery before the wedding, and it’s been a success. But the doctors are going to keep him in that coma for another few days just to be sure.

I get where Annika’s worry is coming from. Normally, Damian’s a strong, gym-addicted, cocky, trigger-happy tough guy. But while he’s weakened and lying unconscious in a hospital bed? He’s the perfect target for someone wanting to hurt Kir.

Annika

Sorry, just freaked out

Me

I know. Same. I’m just giving you hard time. Yeah, there’s like ten guys at the hospital right now.

Kir ends his call with a curt command and tosses the phone onto the table, rubbing his temples as he sinks into the chair across from me. He looks uncharacteristically tired. It appears even he isn’t immune to the pressure.

Me

I gotta go. I’m helping Kir on recon. Check in later?

Annika

For sure. Love ya, stay safe.

Me

Have fun on your speeeeeciiaal first niiiightt….

Annika

I hate you.

I grin as I close the messaging app.

“Any luck?” Kir asks, his eyes flicking to my laptop.

I shake my head. “Nothing yet. Whoever did this covered their fucking tracks well.”

He sighs, his expression darkening. “All right. Keep at it if you can. I want to find these fucks and string them up by the balls.”

“Or ovaries.”

He gives me a look. I shrug.

“It could have been women.”

“Women would be smart enough not to attack my daughter’s wedding.”

I laugh. “Touché.”

“We’ll find them, Frey,” he growls. “I promise.”

Yeah. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Kir over the years, it’s that he doesn’t give up. Ever. It’s one of the reasons I’ve always respected him so much—he’s relentless, just like me. That’s why we work so well together.

I lean back in my chair, taking another sip of whiskey, trying to focus on the task at hand. I glance up as the door to the library creaks open, and Mia, one of the newer household staff, steps inside. She’s carrying a fresh drink for Kir, her eyes wide and nervous as she approaches him.

But there’s a boldness in her gaze too that makes me want to roll my eyes. I also don’t miss that her makeup is freshly touched up, the skirt of her maid’s uniform hiked up a little higher than usual, or that the top button of said uniform is open, showing a hefty amount of cleavage and a glimpse of black lace bra.

Ugh, not even anything tasteful. It’s like sale bin Victoria’s Secret.

Up your game, girl.

She sets the drink down in front of Kir, her hand lingering a little too long on the glass, her voice soft and sugary as she murmurs, “Anything else I can get for you, sir?”

Kir doesn’t even look up. “That’ll be all, Mia.”

There’s no angry edge to his voice, but the dismissal is clear. He’s not interested. He never is. But Mia, like so many before her, just doesn’t get the hint. Her smile falters only for a second before she composes herself and clears her throat.

“Well, I’m available all evening, if there’s anything that you need, sir⁠—”

“I said that’ll be all, Mia.”

There’s a finality in his tone now that shuts the whole thing down. Mia’s face darkens and she nods curtly as she turns and quickly clicks out of the room on ridiculously high heels.

I wait until the door shuts before I glance at Kir, smirking. “You’d think she’d get the hint by now.”

Kir finally looks up, a faint smile on his lips. “She’ll be gone by morning. Promise.”

I chuckle. “Oh, don’t fire her on my account.”

“I’m not. I’m firing her on mine.” He sighs. “I don’t need that shit around the house.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know why they bother.”

“They see power and think they can charm their way into it,” Kir shrugs, lifting his drink to his lips. “But power comes from control, not being distracted.”

I nod, completely understanding. Kir and I are cut from the same cloth. We don’t get distracted. We don’t let emotions or petty desires cloud our judgment. That’s another reason we’ve always worked so well together. We see the bigger picture.

“Have you contacted The Broker yet?” Kir asks, his sharp gaze drifting back to my laptop.

I bite back a grimace. The Broker is the black market, underworld go-between that set Annika and I up with the job with Ulkan Gacaferi to steal the yellow Lambo, which unfortunately got us back on that monster Valon Leka’s radar in the process.

Kir, however, knows none of this, because we haven’t told him about the Lambo job.

“Not yet,” I say quickly. “But I will.”

Kir watches me for a moment, his expression softening in that way it only does when he’s around me or Annika. “We’ll figure this all out out, Freya. We always do.”

I give him a small smile, the weight of his trust settling over me like a warm blanket. “Yeah. We will.”

A few hours later, with dawn approaching and my eyes blurry from staring at my laptop for too long, I finally take a break. Kir’s asleep on the office couch when I toss a blanket over him and retreat to my room, the events of the day weighing heavily on me.

It’s been an insane twenty-four hours.

Dinner and karaoke…a high-speed car chase in a stolen vehicle…a trip across an international border…acting out a seriously fucked-up kink with Mal and losing my fucking virginity to him…and then to top it all off a car bombing at Annika’s wedding?

I mean, a pause button would be nice.

Exhaustion washes through me, worse because I didn’t get any of my usual daytime sleep today. But my mind is too restless to allow me any peace. Too many thoughts are swirling, too many emotions are tangled up inside me.

Mal.

I close the door behind me, letting out a long, shaky breath. My fingers brush over my neck, where the purple bruises from his touch still linger.

A reminder of the hold he has on me, even when he’s not here.

I shouldn’t want him. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t crave him the way I do.

Mal is a monster—dark, dangerous, twisted in ways that should, and do, terrify me. But that fear is mixed with something else. I can’t explain it, can’t make sense of the way my body responds to him, the way my mind fixates on him. I’m supposed to hate him.

I move to the window, staring out into the darkness. The city is quiet tonight, the distant hum of traffic barely audible through the thick glass, but the stillness does nothing to calm me.

I find myself wondering where Mal is now. Is he thinking about me? Does he regret leaving so abruptly last night?

Then I groan and almost slap myself.

Grow up.

This isn’t high school. We’re two adults who engaged in a little adult fun, that’s all. And I refuse to be “that girl” who gets all emo about a guy.

I mean, like hell is he feeling anything close to that. Mal doesn’t have regrets. He doesn’t do guilt, or even emotions—at least, I seriously doubt he does.

And yet, despite everything, I can’t help but want him here with me.

It’s fucking maddening.

And the worst part?

I don’t think I want that to stop.