Inked Athena (Litvinov Bratva Book 2)
Inked Athena: Chapter 31

Blood and sweat stain the tape wrapped around my knuckles as I step back up to the punching bag. We’re in a private gym and the air in here reeks of luxury—premium leather, polished hardwood, and the particular kind of silence that only serious money can buy.

“Your form’s getting sloppy,” Myles taunts as I execute another combination on the heavy bag. “Too much time lounging on that yacht with your baby mama?”

I shoot him a look that would make most men piss themselves. Myles just grins wider.

“Speaking of Nova…” He lets the words hang there like bait.

“Don’t.”

“What? I was just going to say⁠—”

“You were going to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. Again.” I increase the intensity of my strikes, letting the satisfying impact drown out whatever bullshit he’s about to spew.

“Fine. But Hope mentioned⁠—”

“Hope needs to mind her own fucking business.” The bag swings wildly as I unleash a particularly vicious combination. “And so do you.”

“Alright, alright.” Myles holds up his hands in mock surrender. “No talk about the beautiful, pregnant woman you’re in love with but won’t commit to. Got it. Message received.”

I stop mid-strike, fixing him with a cold stare. “You’re fired.”

“Again?” He laughs. “That’s, what, the third time this month?”

“Keep pushing and I’ll make it permanent.”

We both know I won’t. Myles has been by my side since college—through the disaster with Katerina, through Ilya’s betrayal, through enough bloodshed to fill the Thames. Add the Scotland debacle to that, and he’s earned the right to push my buttons.

Doesn’t mean I have to like it.

“Come on,” he says, nodding toward the door. “Let’s grab some air. I know a good route for a little jog.”

I recognize the glint in his eye. The same look he gets before doing something stupid that will probably end with someone bleeding.

But the workout has barely taken the edge off the constant tension thrumming through my veins. The kind that comes from having a pregnant woman you’d kill for, a brother you need to kill, and an empire that demands blood to keep running.

“Fine,” I concede. “But I’m not looking to set any records.”

Myles’s grin widens. “When do I ever push you too hard?”

The memory of him fishing my drunk ass out of a Scottish loch flashes through my mind.

“Do you want the list chronologically or alphabetically?”

We hit the London streets at an easy pace. The late morning fog has burned away, leaving behind the kind of crisp autumn day that makes the city almost bearable. Almost.

I notice immediately when Myles veers us off the direct route back to the hotel. The same way I notice the three men who’ve been tailing us since we left the gym. They’re good—professionals keeping a careful distance.

But I’m better.

“Our fan club’s still with us,” I murmur, keeping my stride casual.

Myles nods almost imperceptibly. “Andropovs?”

“No. These are government types. Probably MI6 keeping tabs while I’m in their jurisdiction.”

“Should we lose them?”

I consider it. It would be easy enough—I know every rat hole and bolt spot in Mayfair from years of doing business here. But sometimes, being watched is useful. Let them think they know where I am, what I’m doing.

Let them think I’m just a businessman out for a morning run.

“Let them live,” I decide. “For now.”

Myles leads us down increasingly posh streets, past boutiques with eye-bleed-inducing price tags. The kind of places Katerina used to frequent, draining my accounts dry while fucking my brother behind my back.

When he slows to a stop in front of Graff, my jaw tightens.

“Really?”

“What?” He bends to adjust his already-perfect laces. “Just thought we could browse. Maybe pick up something sparkly for that gorgeous woman carrying your child.”

“You’re about as subtle as a bullet to the head, man.”

“Hey, I’m just saying, if you’re going to mark your territory, might as well do it with diamonds.”

I scan the street, cataloging exits and angles of fire. Old habits. “This isn’t about marking territory.”

“No?” Myles straightens, his expression turning serious. “Then what’s it about? Because from where I’m standing, you’ve got a queen-level woman who somehow puts up with your shit. And instead of locking that down, you’re acting like a scared little bitch.”

The muscle in my jaw jumps. Anyone else who spoke to me like that would be gargling their own teeth.

But Myles isn’t anyone else. And he’s not entirely wrong.

“You want to have this conversation? Fine.” I claim a bench, positioning myself to watch both the street and the MI6 team trying to look inconspicuous across the way. “But you’re not going to like what you hear.”

“Try me.” Myles settles beside me, his casual posture belying his alertness. Like me, he’s tracking every movement around us.

“Marriage in our world isn’t about love. It’s about alliances. Power. Creating weaknesses that can be exploited.” My phone buzzes—a message from Nova. I ignore it, even though every cell in my body screams to check it. “I won’t make her a target.”

“She’s already a target.” Myles’s voice hardens. “Or did you forget about Ilya taking her? The warehouse? The fact that she’s carrying the next generation of Litvinov?”

A growl builds in my chest. As if I could forget. As if I don’t see her terrified face in my dreams, hear her screams when I close my eyes.

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because…” The words stick in my throat. Around us, London flows by in its endless parade of tourists and businessmen. None of them know that two killers sit discussing marriage like it’s a tactical decision. “Because making her my wife tells everyone exactly how to hurt me.”

“And you think they don’t already know?” Myles snorts. “You really think Ilya doesn’t see how you look at her? How you’d burn the world down to keep her safe?”

“I’d burn it down anyway.”

“Exactly. So what’s the real reason?”

I clench my fists, fighting the urge to check my phone again. To see what Nova sent. To make sure she’s safe.

“You know what happened to my mother.”

“Nova isn’t your mother.”

“No. She’s stronger. Better.” My laugh comes out bitter. “Which makes it worse.”

“Then why are you treating her like she’s made of glass?” asks Myles.

“Because the stronger they are, the harder they break.” I lean forward, remembering the videos my father made me watch. The way my mother’s hands shook as she signed away her rights. “Nova thinks she can handle this life. But one day, she’ll wake up and realize what being a Litvinov really means.”

“And what’s that?”

“Blood.” My voice drops low enough that only Myles can hear. “Always blood. There’s no escape.”

“So you’d rather keep her in limbo? Not quite yours, not quite free?”

A sleek black Mercedes crawls past. I catalog the plate, the driver, the tinted windows.

“I’d rather keep her alive.”

“Bullshit.” Myles’s hand clamps on my shoulder. “You’re not protecting her. You’re protecting yourself.”

“Careful.”

“No, you need to hear this. You’re so fucking scared of her leaving that you won’t give her a real reason to stay.”

My phone buzzes again. This time, I check it.

NOVA: The baby just kicked. Wish you were here to feel it.

Something in my chest cracks. I thumb the ring box in my pocket—platinum and diamonds, custom-made weeks ago. I’ve told no one.

“She deserves better than me,” I mutter.

“Probably.” Myles stands, stretching. “But she chose you anyway. The question is, are you man enough to choose her back?”

I rise, my decision already made. It was made the moment I saw her in that park, covered in dog slobber and sass.

“Race you back?” I ask, already moving.

“You’re changing the subject.”

I am. Because I can’t tell him about the ring. Can’t admit that I’ve been carrying it for weeks, waiting for the right moment.

Waiting to be worthy of her.

“Come on, old man.” I pick up the pace as Myles scrambles to catch up. “Unless you’re scared?”

His curse follows me down the street as I run. Not from the truth this time.

Toward it.