But every instinct is telling me to run, so I do.
Try to, at least. I twist to turn away, but he’s faster. His hand shoots out, gripping my arm tight. Not cruel, but firm enough to freeze me in place.
“Sima.” His voice is a low rasp of disbelief. “Itisyou.”
“Maksim—” My throat closes on his name. I shouldn’t say it out loud, shouldn’t even let myself taste the syllables, but it’s too late.
Stupid.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I should have feigned ignorance. Pretended I had no idea who he was, or what the name “Sima” meant. Answered in fucking French—anything.
Instead, like an idiot, I called out his name.
And now, he knows.
“I… I was walking by.” His eyes search my face like he’s trying to reconnect it to the girl he knew. It guts me to see it happen. To watch the consequences of my actions twist my brother’s face with pain. “I saw you in the window, and I thought… I thought, ‘It couldn’t be.’”
“Maks, please.”
But he keeps talking, as if in a trance. “We buried you. Mom and Dad—they think you’re dead.”
“Good,” I snap. “Keep them thinking that.”
My brother’s face changes. Shock replaces relief. “What the hell are you talking about?”
My gaze darts around. People are starting to watch. “Maks, please, let’s go somewhere else.”
“I agree.” His jaw sets. “You’re coming home.”
He starts dragging me towards the exit, but somehow, I resist. “Will you stop for one second and justlisten?”
“Listen to what?” His eyes are hard now. “You’re alive. Now, you’re telling me you don’t want our parents to know. They’ve mourned you for over a decade, Sim. Do you have any idea what that did to them? To me?”
Guilt floods me. I’ve lived with that guilt all my life, but hearing it all laid out before me like this—I can’t bear it. Not now, with so much more at stake.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” I say sincerely.
“Then why the fuck did you run?!”
Suddenly, I realize we’re right against the window. Petyr’s car is parked right outside, with Luka at the wheel.
If he catches sight of Maksim, he’ll recognize him on the spot. He’ll see nothing but a threat. And then…
He’ll do to my brother what my family did to Petyr’s.
No. I can’t let that happen. I can’t watch Maksim be gunned down in front of me. Bratva or not, he’s still my baby brother.
And I have to protect him.
“Forget me, Maks.” My voice trembles despite my attempts to steady it. “Pretend this never happened.”
“I can’t do that, Sim.” His grip tightens just a fraction. “Just come home. Explain to me what happened, and I’ll help you tell Mom and Dad?—”
“I don’t want to tell Dad,” I say. “I can’t, Maks. Please, don’t make me.”
I have no idea what Maksim hears in those words, but the mention of our father is never a neutral event in our family. It always means something to bring him into a conversation.
