Inked Athena (Litvinov Bratva Book 2)
Inked Athena: Chapter 34

It takes everything in me to stay unmoving.

“You still flinch when doors slam,” my father used to tell me. “Like Mother’s departure left permanent echoes.”

Tonight, his entrance silences the dining room like a gunshot.

My first thought is for Nova. I reach for her and replace her hand under the table. It’s cold and trembling, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at her face. From the shoulders up, she’s ready for fucking war.

But she won’t have to fight those fights. That’s why I’m here. That’s what I’m for: to go to battle on her behalf.

And if it’s my father on the wrong end of my displeasure? So fucking be it.

He’s earned his grave many times over.

But even then, she manages to surprise me. I’m halfway out of my seat, already clearing my throat to tell Leonid to fuck back off to whichever rat hole he crawled out of, when another voice cuts me off at the pass.

“Welcome to our home, Mr. Litvinov.” Nova’s voice carries clear across the room. Every eye turns on her. “I trust your journey from London was pleasant?”

Leonid’s cold, gray eyes—the ones I inherited, but with hardly an ounce of the life in them—assess her from head to toe. He waltzes toward us with the measured steps of a predator. His cane tip scrapes over the flagstones. Nails on a chalkboard. Not an accident.

“My dear, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. And please, call me Father.”

Nova’s fingers curl into fists at her sides. “I reserve that title for those who’ve earned it.”

The other oligarchs at the table shift uncomfortably. My muscles coil, ready to intervene, but Nova continues with perfect poise.

“Your place is set at the far end.” She gestures to the opposite end of the table from where we sit. “I’m told you prefer distance from family gatherings.”

Fuck. Even I feel the sting of that one.

My father’s lips twitch. Amusement? Anger? It’s never clear with him. “Far be it from me to wander where I shouldn’t,” he says. Then he reaches into his jacket and produces a small velvet box. “But before I go, a gift for my future daughter-in-law.”

Something in my gut withers and dies. It’s my body recognizing the object long before my mind does.

I can’t look away as she takes it. As she opens it. As the flickering lights of the candle-lit chandelier overhead catches the familiar grooves and jewels of a ring.

The one my mother used to wear every day of her life.

It’s silver and worn. It wouldn’t look out of place in a pawn shop. But it sure as fuck looks out of place here—in this place that’s supposed to be happy, supposed to be secure. It doesn’t belong under this roof.

And it doesn’t fucking belong in my fiancée’s hands.

Nova, oblivious—because how could she know?—accepts it with a graceful nod. “How thoughtful. I’ll add it to the collection of family heirlooms we keep in the east wing. The ones we never use.”

The muscle in my father’s jaw ticks. He inclines his head and moves to his assigned seat, but I catch the dangerous glint in his eye.

He didn’t come here to make peace.

Unfortunately for him…

Neither did I.

The rest of dinner plays out like a game of Russian roulette. Every time my father lifts his fork, every time he opens his mouth to address one of my guests, I brace for the bullet.

But the bullet never comes.

Instead, he plays the gracious guest. Compliments the food. Makes small talk with Petrov about his recent acquisition of a Formula One team. Even manages to keep his snide comments about the castle’s “rustic charm” to a minimum.

Nova handles it like she was born to this life. She directs the conversation with subtle grace, never letting silence linger too long, never allowing topics to stray into dangerous territory. More than one of my associates sends appreciative glances her way.

I should be proud. Should be focused on how perfectly she fits this role.

Instead, my mother’s ring burns a hole in my brain. I see it every time Nova’s hand moves, even though she tucked the box away. Even though she handled the situation perfectly.

She couldn’t have known what that ring means. What giving it to her means.

But I do.

And so does he.

When the final course is cleared, my father dabs his napkin against his lips and rises. “Son,” he says, “join me in the billiards room? For old times’ sake?”

Nova’s fingers replace my thigh under the table. A gentle squeeze. Reassurance, maybe. Or a warning.

I stand, buttoning my jacket. “After you.”

Time to play another round of Russian roulette. Only this time, I know the chamber’s loaded.

And I know exactly where I want to aim.

A few of the men follow along, though they stay behind in the library to drink brandy and smoke cigars while my father and I venture deeper, into the rarely-used billiards room.

It stinks in here. Dust, cobwebs, fear. I take one glance back at our dinner guests before the door shuts behind me. They all look back, eyes wide like terrified rats. At least they’re wise enough to stay away. There’s violence brewing on this side of things.

Leonid positions himself where the shadows eat half his face. He sets his cane down and picks up a pool cue, chalking it with slow, deliberate twists of his wrist. “Shall we play for stakes, son?”

I cross my arms and regard him. “You’re looking frail, Father. Sure you’re up for it?”

His hands still on the triangle rack. Just for a heartbeat. But it’s enough.

“My hands are steady enough to sink the black.” He lines up the cue ball. “Unless you’d rather forfeit now. Like your mother did.”

The rage builds slow and cold in my chest. He wants me to react. Wants me to give him an excuse.

Not tonight.

I chalk my cue with precise strokes. “Name your stakes.”

“Simple enough.” He breaks, scattering reds and yellows across the felt. “Your brother comes home. Takes his rightful place. And you—” His eyes glitter in the dark. “You get to keep playing happy families in this sheep-shit castle with your pregnant whore.”

I sight down my cue at the perfect shot presenting itself.

Sometimes, the universe hands you exactly what you need.

“Counter offer.”

I lean over the table, line up my shot. “You walk out of here tonight. Never contact me, Nova, or our child again. And in exchange, I won’t burn everything you’ve built to the ground.”

The solid green ball drops with a satisfying thunk.

“So angry.” Leonid’s smile slithers across his face. “My boy. My precious firstborn.” He circles the table, tapping his cue against the floor with each step. “I came here tonight to congratulate you. On the engagement. On the baby. Such joyous occasions deserve family, do they not?”

He sinks a red without looking. “This is a prosperous time for us, Samuil. The Litvinov name commands more respect than ever. Our influence spans continents.” Another shot. Another striped ball disappears. “But there’s a shadow over us. A rift that needs mending.”

I grip my cue tighter. “Ilya made his choices.”

“He did. But he’s young. Impetuous. The thing with Katerina—” Leonid waves his hand dismissively. “You were both fools over that woman. But now, you’ve found happiness. Real happiness. Shouldn’t your brother have the same chance?”

“The same chance he tried to take from me?” I bark out a laugh. “The same chance that ended with him plotting to destroy everything I built?”

“The past is past.” Leonid misses his next shot. On purpose. “Invite him here. Let him see what you’ve created. Show him there’s a place for him in our future.”

I study the table. Study the angles. Just like I study my father’s face for signs of the trap I know lurks beneath his words.

“And if I refuse?”

Leonid shrugs. Sets his cue in the rack with careful precision. “Then I suppose we’ll never know if your child could have had the family you never did.”

The laughter bubbles up from somewhere deep and dark inside me. A place I didn’t know existed until Nova crawled in there and made herself at home.

I line up another shot, focusing on the cue ball like it’s Ilya’s head. “You want me to give him another chance? After what he did to me?”

“Family is⁠—”

The cue strikes true. But it’s too much. Too angry.

The ball rockets off the table and explodes against the wall in a shower of composite fragments.

Father’s eyes widen a fraction. Good. Let him see what decades of his psychological warfare have created.

“Let me tell you what family is.” I stalk toward him, leaving the broken pieces where they fell. “Family is the woman out there who carries my child. Family is the friend I almost lost because I was too much like you. Family is what I’m building—what I’m protecting—from the poison you and Ilya represent.”

“Such dramatics!” But his voice wavers. “I only want⁠—”

“I know exactly what you want.” The laughter comes again, soft and deadly. “You want me to take the snake back into my home. Give him another chance to strike. But here’s what you don’t understand, Father.”

I lean in close. Close enough to see the pulse jumping in his throat.

“I’m not that little boy anymore. The one desperate for scraps of your approval. I’m not the man who married Katerina to please you. And I’m sure as fuck not going to risk my child’s future on your games.”

His eyebrows climb toward his hairline. “This isn’t the reaction I expected.”

“No.” I grin. “I bet it’s not.”

Turning back, I lean against the rack. “Three months ago, your precious Ilyusha took my pregnant fiancée. Tied her up. Made her think I was coming to execute her.” My voice stays conversational. Almost bored. “Before that, he used her as bait to start a war with the Andropovs. A war that’s already claimed lives.”

Father opens his mouth, but I hold up my hand.

“And that’s just what he’s done recently. Should we discuss the years of sabotage? The clients he’s poached? The deals he’s torpedoed?” I straighten my cuffs. “Or maybe we should talk about how he fucked my wife while planning to steal my company?”

“The past⁠—”

“—is exactly where Ilya belongs.” I push off from the rack. “If you think I’d let that rabid dog anywhere near Nova or my child, you’re even stupider than he is.”

I stride toward the door, pausing with my hand on the handle. “One more thing.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“That ring you gave Nova? Mother’s ring?” I meet his eyes. “I remember the day you made her sign it over. Remember how you played that video of her choosing drugs over me. Over and over.”

His face pales.

“Touch my family again,” I say softly, “and I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly what kind of father you really are.”

A beat.

A long beat.

Too long.

My father’s face contorts into something monstrous as he swings the cue at my head. “Svoloch! Ublyudok!”

I catch the stick mid-arc, wood splintering in my grip. For a moment, we’re frozen in this grotesque dance—him snarling, me calculating exactly how much pressure it would take to drive the shattered cue through his throat.

But Nova’s upstairs. Carrying my child. My future.

I won’t stain our home with his worthless blood.

“I’m going to give you five minutes to leave,” I snarl. “If so much as a toe of yours is still on my property by the time those five minutes are up, I will sever it and drain you of every drop of toxic fucking blood left in your body. Do you understand me, Father?” I let the cue clatter to the floor between us. “Five minutes. Not a second more.”

He draws himself up, shoulders squared. “You dare⁠—”

“Four minutes, fifty seconds.” I check my watch. “Tick tock, old man.”

“This isn’t over.” His voice drops to a whisper. “You think you can protect them? Your little krasavitsa? Your bastard? Ilya will⁠—”

My hand replaces his throat. Squeezes. Just enough to remind him how fragile life can be. “Four and a half minutes. Should I start counting body parts instead?”

He claws at my fingers, face purpling. I release him and he stumbles back, gasping.

“Four minutes.” I straighten my jacket. “I’d hurry if I were you. The roads are awfully dark this time of night.”

He snatches up his cane, backing toward the door, never turning away from me. “You’ll regret this.”

“Three minutes, forty-five.” I smile. “And Father? Next time you raise a hand to me, make sure you finish the job. Because I sure as fuck will.”

The door slams behind him. I count his uneven footsteps as he flees.

My phone buzzes. Nova.

Everything okay down there?

I type back: Never better, krasavitsa. Never better.