“I didn’t realize you were waiting so eagerly for Tikhon to take a breath.”
“You know what? I really thought we’d gotten past this.” She crosses her arms, fixes me with a glare that could cut through steel. “You bossing people around, telling them when to speak, what to do.” Her face turns bitter. “Or where to live.”
Irritation flares through me. “Forgive me for trying to save your life.”
“See? That, right there.” She sticks her finger in my face. “You think you’re king of the world. That you know better than anyone, that only you get to make the decisions. News flash: that’s not how it works, Yulian!”
“I’m thepakhan,” I say. “That’s exactly how it works.”
“Maybe in your Bratva,” she says. “But not in real life. Not with family. And certainly not with me.”
I have no idea how this argument started. I’m supposed to be surveying my surroundings, making sure everyone’s in position, but Mia’s tirade makes me see fucking red.
Family.That word in particular sticks like a knife.
Back then, I wasn’t strong enough. Wasn’t smart enough, quick enough, decisive enough. It’s because of that indecisiveness that my family went unavenged. Because of my blind faith in someone whom I considered a friend that I lost them to begin with.
She thinks family isn’t supposed to be run like a Bratva? She’s dead wrong. It’s supposed to be runexactlylike a Bratva.
Otherwise, you lose it.
I stare Mia down. “I didn’t ask for your opinion,” I tell her coldly. “And until I do, I’d rather you keep it to yourself.”
She reels back as if slapped. “There it is,” she whispers. “It’s always hot or cold with you. Never any middle ground.”
“You knew who I was when you came back.”
“No, Yulian,” she corrects. “Idon’tknow who you are. All I know is what you show me, and right now, it’s two different people. One cold, one hot. But I can’t keep guessing which one I’ll get every time I open my mouth.” Tears gather at the corners of her eyes. “I just can’t keep up with you anymore.”
I hide my wince. Is that what I am? Two different people? A man wearing two faces, never knowing which one’s the mask and which one’s the real thing?
Is that why the woman I love is crying now?
Guilt crashes into me. I want to say something, but the words all stick in my throat. Apologizing is out of the question: apakhannever undermines his own work. Apakhannever makes mistakes to apologize for in the first place.
Right?
“Mia,” I call out, reaching for her.
But then her eyes go wide with terror.
For a fraction of a second, I think it’s because of me. Because I’ve fucked up too badly, broken us in too many pieces.
Then I realize she’s looking past me.
Slowly, I turn too.
And that’s when I see him.
Disguised. A waiter’s clothes hiding the wolf beneath.
A black eyepatch. A tray in one hand.
And a gun in the other.
“Yulian!”
Her scream echoes in my head.
