Shattered Crown: A Dark Mafia Age Gap Romance (Kozlov Empire Book 4)

My mind must be playing tricks on me. I blink hard, convinced my vision is blurred by The Butcher’s punches. But no, there she is—Kira, standing amidst the chaos, looking so exposed, so vulnerable in this sea of unbridled male aggression. She thinks she can handle herself, but it’s cold comfort when my enemies are actively pursuing her.

Rage replaces reason as my gaze fixes on The Butcher. Every ounce of me is driven by a single purpose to end this fight—now. That’s exactly what I do seconds later with a swift roundhouse to his knee, bringing my towering opponent down like a sack of potatoes. I had hoped to toy with him a bit longer, but seeing her here changes everything.

I don’t even stick around to bask in the roar of the crowd. As soon as my victory is declared, I vault over the ropes, my gaze locked onto the flash of Kira’s blonde hair as she pushes through the frenzied crowd. My little lastochka thinks she can run from me. How wrong she is.

I let her get as far as the entrance. I let her taste freedom before I lunge for her, one arm wrapping around her middle like a seatbelt, lifting her right off the ground and bringing her flush with my body, adrenaline still pumping hard through my system.

“Where do you think you’re going, wife?” I hiss into her ear.

Her breath catches, and she fights me. Of course she does. Wriggling and trying to break free of my grasp, but that’s not going to happen. Ever again.

One nod at the bouncer, and he rushes to open a side door for me. It leads out to the alleyway between two looming brick buildings, dimly lit and echoing with the distant sounds of the city. The door slams shut behind us, the roar of the crowd cut off.

Before she can do anything else, I press her against the cold, rough wall. My hands shoot out, planting firmly on either side of her head, caging her in.

Her chest heaves with short, panicked breaths, her wide eyes locked onto mine. There’s a wild defiance in them, but also fear.

My voice is a low growl, vibrating with anger. “Have you no fucking sense of self-preservation? Wasn’t nearly being killed once today enough? You made it that much easier for my enemies to get to you.”

She notches her chin and pushes against my chest with a dark glare, but I don’t budge. I have a sudden pressing urge to turn her around, press her against the wall, and fuck her mercilessly until she chants my name like I’m her personal savior. Fuck that stubborn streak right out of her. But first, I’m going to make my wife spill all of her secrets—right here, right now.

‘What about you?!’ she explodes. Despite the tremor in her words, the fire in her eyes is unwavering. “You get to take off into the night, alone and with no word of explanation? You don’t even have a weapon on you. Your double standards are bullshit.” She punctuates her words with a furious stomp of her foot. “Fuck you, Maxim!”

I slam the underside of my balled fist into the brick above her head.

She flinches, swallowing hard, her delicate throat moving under the pale glow of a distant street light.

“Why did you follow me? What were you hoping to learn by trailing me?” Because that’s the only way she could have known where I went. Other than my driver, who is a steel trap, no one else knew where I was headed.

“I … I thought maybe you were going to see another woman.” She takes a shaky breath, her resolve faltering for a moment. ‘I had to see for myself.”

“Haven’t we moved past this already?” I weigh her words, trying to gauge her honesty and finding it sorely lacking. “I’m not interested in any more lies.”

Leaning in close, the heat of our bodies mingles in the cool air. I wrap my hand around her neck like a collar, feeling for the delicate pulse thumping under my fingers. “I’m going to give you one more chance to tell me the truth, and if you don’t…” I squeeze the slightest bit, giving her a taste of what it feels like to have your air supply cut off. “I’m ending this right now.”

Her eyes widen in horror and tears spring to the corners, glistening in the dim light.

“No, you wouldn’t… How could you⁠—”

“I would,” I cut her off. “Start talking. Right. Fucking. Now.” I lightly trace her pulse with my thumb, the tender touch contrasting with the veiled threat it carries. Not that I’d actually kill her, but I want her to believe I will. “Why do you think Roman’s been your bodyguard all this time? I have eyes and ears on you, and you sure ask a lot of questions. You sneak into my office, and then you follow me here. Start talking while you still can. Because I’m out of patience.”

She heaves a sob. “You are a fucking animal!” Her voice carries fierce, raw emotion.

“I am. No one would disagree.” My fingers around her throat tighten again, only for a second. I want her to feel fear, to understand I have all the power here and we’re not leaving this alley without a confession. But when she remains stubbornly silent, I’ve had enough. “Have it your way, lastochka.”

I spin her around, still pushing her against the wall, ignoring her gasp of surprise. I was never going to choke her, but she sure as hell earned this punishment.

“Maxim.” She tries to turn, but I don’t let her. I grab the back of her neck and force her to face forward, away from me. With the other hand, I pull her leggings down right to her knee so her pristine pale skin is exposed to me.

“What are you⁠—”

My hand connects with her ass cheek, delivering a hard smack that echoes in the quiet of the night. Lust shoots through me as I take in the pink imprint on her skin. I did that. I marked her, and it only makes me hungry for more.

Her breath stutters for a moment, before she regains control. “I swear to fucking God, if you⁠—”

I don’t wait for her opinion on the matter before delivering another slap. This one is hard enough that her flesh jiggles with the contact, leaving her skin the prettiest shade of crimson. She makes a noise that sounds like a whimper of need.

“I should have done this a long time ago,” I growl. “And I’m not going to stop until you confess.” I want the truth from her, but in this moment, I want her submission more.

The vixen doesn’t argue with me. Instead, she subtly arches her back, her body begging for my touch. I can hear it in her uneven breaths, and see it in the way she clenches her jaw and waits for my touch.

Shit, so much for spanking a confession out of her. She likes it too much. As do I. My cock is harder than it’s ever been, but I won’t let it distract me from what I need to do.

“Suit yourself,” I say between clenched teeth.

This time, I brace one hand in the center of her back, and I let her have it. I’ll extract a confession from her one way or another, whether through pain or pleasure. The sound of my hand slapping flesh reverberates in the small space between the buildings. She releases an audible gasp and turns her head, shooting me a look that suggests she’s far from reaching her breaking point. So, I go harder. I spank both cheeks until her skin is bright red and adorned with my handprints.

Her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as I lean in and whisper into her hair, “You brought this on yourself.” How much more can she take until she breaks? I guess I’m about to find out.

A laugh spills from her throat, dark and bitter. “Spank me all you want. It doesn’t change the fact that you are a monster. What kind of psychopath marries the person whose life you ripped apart?!”

Confusion churns in my gut. I spin her around so she’s facing me and haul her leggings up over her ass. I don’t know what she means, but there’s an ominous undercurrent in her words.

“You want to know what this is all about? Fine!” Her lips tremble, her eyes brimming with tears. “You helped my father kill Masha! Led her to her horrible death like an animal brought to slaughter.”

Her accusation lands like a punch to the stomach, disbelief coiling tightly within me.

She thinks I had something to do with killing Masha?

Before I have time to absorb the accusation, she strikes me, her small fists pounding against my chest. I can feel the weight of her anger and sorrow. It’s a storm that needs unleashing, and even though I’m not the person she accuses me of being, I do the only thing I can to lessen the weight of her grief—I stand firm as she vents her fury. She wants to use me as a punching bag? I’ll be that for her.

Kira keeps hitting me, her strikes fueled by tumultuous emotions. It’s an ugly combination that I know all too well. That pain burrows under your skin and eats at your very soul unless you have an outlet.

Only when she’s spent and exhausted, and her tears have slowed to a trickle, do I cage her against the wall and force her eyes to meet mine with a finger under her chin.

“I don’t know where the fuck that accusation comes from, but let me be clear. If I have a reason to kill someone, I do it without a second thought. And trust me, I don’t shy away from my sins.” Kira’s eyes narrow with suspicion. “I. Didn’t. Kill. Masha.”

“Of course you’d say that! Of course you’d deny it. But the night of Alyona’s ball, Boris Ivanov told me everything. It’s what people have been saying behind your back for years, and he was the only one who had the guts to say it to my face.” She takes a deep, heaving breath. “It makes sense. You owed my father for bringing you into the bratva.”

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. ‘You’re delusional if you think I owed your father anything. And Boris Ivanov is not a reliable source of information.’ I can’t contain the laughter that spills from my lips until something even more absurd occurs to me. ‘Is this why you married me?’

“Yes,” she hisses. “So I could kill you with my bare hands.”

Amusement flickers to life. She’s gutsy, even if she’s off the mark. “Go ahead.” I hold my arms open wide. “Get your revenge.”

Fire courses through my veins. I’ve had enough of this bullshit, and we’re ending it here and now.

Her lower lip trembles. “You’re a snake,” she shoots back but says nothing else.

“Do you believe I’m her killer?”

A flicker of doubt passes over her features. My shoulders lower a notch as she grapples with the truth. “You had a meeting scheduled with her days before someone convinced her to come out of hiding.”

The memory slowly comes back to me. “I did have a meeting scheduled with Masha, about donating to one of her charities, but it never happened. I have documentation to prove it.” Her red-rimmed eyes dart towards me, the fiery accusation replaced with a shadow of something else. Acceptance. “Look at me, lastochka. Look at me.” Her gaze meets mine, and she nods slowly. “I’m sorry this is not what you want to hear, but it wasn’t me. I had nothing to do with Masha’s death.”

She shakes her head and covers her hand with her mouth. A strangled sob escapes her. “She didn’t deserve it … didn’t deserve what they did to her. It was all because of me.”

Her knees buckle, but before she goes down, I swoop in and cradle her to my chest. She may still hate me, but I’m not letting her be swallowed by the abyss of guilt.

I want to tell her it’s not her fault. Her aunt Masha was a big girl and made her own choices. But I know firsthand that hearing “there’s nothing you could have done” only feels worse.

I study her face, tracing the soft curve of her jawline with my eyes. Every instinct in me screams to protect her, to shield her from this world, but it’s too late for that. The scars are already etched deep into her soul, as they are in mine.

Anger bubbles up—not towards Kira, but at the sacrifices she’s made to get justice. Like marrying me. It’s a painful echo of my own past. In Kira, I see a reflection of the grief I’ve carried within me since Ilya’s death. She’s felt loss and pain like I have, and her determination to get revenge strikes a chord.

I tighten my hand wrapped around her jaw. “I’m going to hunt down Masha’s killer, and I’m going to do to them exactly what was done to her. You can even watch. Every ounce of pain they inflicted, I’ll return tenfold. They’ll know the true meaning of fear and despair, like Masha did.” Slowly, I tip her chin up, but her eyes are still downcast, her brow pinched. “Look at me,” I demand.

She drags her gaze up to mine. The anger she was hiding behind now gives way to something else.

Bloodthirst. Determination.

The same drive that consumed me when I sought vengeance for Ilya’s death. I razed half of Moscow to get my revenge, and I succeeded. Annihilating the syndicate that dared to come after my family.

She meets my eyes without flinching, holding my stare. ‘Whatever they did to my aunt, I will do to them. I want to help.’

“Whatever you want.” I rub my thumb over her bottom lip and whisper, “Whatever you want, I will give you.”

A mixture of vulnerability and hope dances in her gaze. ‘Why? After everything, why would you do that for me?’ she asks, still in my arms.

“I don’t fucking care if you married me for some twisted revenge plot—you wear my ring. You are my wife.” Kira’s eyes round in surprise, and truthfully, my words surprise me too. I don’t want a wife and everything that comes with it, but the idea of leaving Kira alone to battle the world sets my skin ablaze. “You’re a Belov now, and that makes you mine to protect. You’ll never fight another battle alone.”

Her teeth sink into her plush bottom lip, and my cock throbs in response. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing.”

I cup her jaw and capture her mouth, teasing the seam of her lips with my tongue until they part, granting me entry. I delve inside, our tongues intertwining. Unlike the kiss after the mayor’s house, driven by anger and possessiveness, this kiss is a wildfire, unchecked and brimming with lust.

She groans when I twist my hand in her hair and angle her head so I have better access to her lips.

Fuck, her lips. She tastes good. So good.

A rush of heat from my chest spirals downward, and I grind my rock-hard cock into her soft belly, reveling in her warmth.

A distant voice tells me this is a bad idea. Because I’m already addicted to how her lips taste. If I feast on her pussy and taste her cum, I’ll be in too deep. Once my dick is buried in her tight, beautiful cunt, I’ll be a goner.

Fuck, my wife is going to ruin me.

And I’m going to let her.