“But you’ll be lying on the floor with your brains gushing out. So what does it matter to you?”
He cringes away from her, but his feet stay rooted in place. She gives him an approving smile. “My father must have really been desperate for an heir to hand the Bratva over to you.”
“I’m his last surviving heir.”
“Heir?” she repeats scornfully. “No, you’re no heir. You’re not even Bratva. Not for the first time, Daddy made a mistake.”
Yaromir tries to stand tall. “I may not be as ruthless or as brutal as you or Anton, but I have the head for this.”
She laughs softly. “What’s the point of having the head if it’s not firmly fixed on your shoulders? It’s much harder to think when your severed skull is rolling around on the floor, Yaromir.”
Marina bares her teeth. Just like that, she goes fro
