Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Guess we can’t use this one anymore,” she mutters, frowning at it, before she tosses it aside. She glares down at the wreckage of the crib. “Who the fuck made this thing? It broke, like, immediately. What if our kid was in there?”
“We probably wouldn’t be fucking like animals with our baby in the crib like that.”
“Idiot.” She nudges me with her toe. God, that woman. I love her so much it hurts. I stare up at her and smile like a moron as she glares down at me. “We need a new one.”
“I’ll make sure we get something good.”
“And I’m building it this time.” She nudges me again. “You didn’t tighten the bolts enough.”
“Whatever you say.” When she tries to nudge me a third time, I catch her ankle and drag her down to the floor. She yelps and struggles, but I pin her and hold her against my body, my dick between her ass cheek, my mouth on her neck. “Now shut up and let me cuddle you.”
“Big prick,” she murmurs, but she doesn’t struggle this time.
“That’s my good girl.” I pat her hip lightly. “There’s a big family meeting tomorrow. I need you there with me.”
“You think that’s a good idea?”
“You’re my wife.”
“Then I’ll be by your side.”
“I know you will.” I close my eyes. Everything’s changed, but maybe that’s good. I don’t have to define myself by my father anymore. He was only ever my abuser.
I can be whatever I want.
Now I want to be Lena’s husband, the father of our baby—
And the patron of the Brotherhood.
Chapter 42
Arsen
The entire family gathers on the fourteenth floor of the Sarkissian Building. I have Tigran set aside the biggest conference room we have. It’s large enough for an entire company to have an all-hands meeting, but it still feels cramped and packed with every blood relative and all the important Brotherhood members sitting around and talking with each other.
Nobody knows I’m here to fuck up their lives.
They eat lunch provided by an Armenian family that owns a restaurant near here. Kebab sliders, chicken shawarma wraps, vegetarian stuffed eggplant, and a host of side dishes. Everything’s set out in those ugly silver warming trays. Bottles of vodka and beer litter the table. There’s laughter and smiling. Only Tigran seems subdued along with some of the more perceptive captains.
If my brother’s not smiling, shit’s going down.
Lena laces her fingers through mine. She stays by my side as the family settles in and finishes their meal. I give them some time to digest while I speak quietly with some cousins. Lena remains there, practically in my lap.
Some of the aunts shoot her ugly looks. A Russian bitch married to their patron? The shame of it. The fucking nightmare.
“Are you ready?” Lena whispers in my ear once Tigran starts settling the crowd. “You don’t have to do this.”
“We both know that I do.” I kiss her quickly. Then I kiss her again, but slower this time. Why fucking rush it? Just because some old, prejudiced assholes are watching?
They’re about to have one hell of a shock.
“Own it then.” She nods sharply to me. Her pierced eyebrow’s healing nicely and her bushy auburn hair’s pushed back in thick curls. I’ve never seen a stronger, more beautiful woman in my life.
I push back my chair and stand.
Everyone’s looking at me. Men and women I’ve known forever. There’s cousin Vartan and his little brother, Greg. They always joke Vartan got the ethnic name while Greg must’ve been adopted. Beside them is Aunt Araxie and Uncle Haik. Last year, Haik cut the throat of a Russian and nearly did time for it when the cops decided to investigate. These are people I grew up with. People I fought with and people I’d die for.
And I’m about to drop a goddamn bomb.
“I want to thank you all for coming here. I know it’s not easy, mingling the family like this.” Sitting toward the back are Garen and Sona. Both look unhappy. They’re surrounded by the other members of the Brotherhood that allied with them during the civil war.
“Family is blood,” Uncle Michael shouts. A half-empty bottle of vodka is at his elbow. “Hail the patron.”
“Hail, hail, hail,” comes a chorus of voices.
I hold up my hands for quiet.
“These last few months have been a very trying time for the Brotherhood. The conflict with the Russians, my father’s death, our own internal struggles. They tested the bonds of our family. There was a time when I wondered if blood is enough.”
“It’s more than enough!” Uncle Michael cries, slurring and swaying.
I nod at Tigran. He stands, walks over to the drunk asshole, and punches him in the face. Michael grunts in surprise and pitches over. He hits the floor and doesn’t get back up.
Tigran returns to his seat. There’s nervous laughter all around.