I’m hunched over the kitchen island, head in my hands, when I hear the sound of footsteps approaching.
“Good morning, sunshine!” Kostya sings, like any man would if his soul wasn’t as tormented as mine.
“I don’t have the energy for whatever this is,” I grumble, drawing invisible circles around my kid brother’s happy-go-lucky face.
“Always the grump,” he teases, jumping on the kitchen island and taking a seat beside me. “What’s up your ass this morning?”
“Maybe I’m over being home.”
“I hear that,” Kostya chuckles, popping a piece of bread into his mouth. “But at least fake some enthusiasm. Misha will be pissed if you ruin Christmas for Elena.”
“Nothing will ruin Christmas this year. Not now that Kira is home.”
Kostya’s brows pull together in deep thought, a first for him. “You think Misha’s going to convince Frankie to stay here instead of going back to the States?”
“Her name is Kira, and thisisher home.”
“No, her name is Frankie, and her home is back in Chicago. That’sherhome.”
“Keep your voice down,” I snap, reminding my brother he can’t say every reckless thought aloud in this house. Not only because Misha would take offense to it, but because Sasha would use it as ammunition—another excuse to show our older brother how belligerent and unpredictable Kostya’s become. If Sasha had it his way, Kostya would’ve never left Russia.
Sensing my warning, Kostya slides closer to me so no one will overhear us talking.
“You know I’m right. Frankie should go home. Not only because that’s all she’s ever known, but because Katya would have wanted it that way.”
“You don’t know what Katya would have wanted.”
“Oh yes, I do. I know Katya hid her kid somewhere we couldn’t find her for a reason. I know Katya hated everything to do with theBratva. Or do I need to remind you that it was theBratvathat killed our sister?!”
My hand flies to my brother’s throat as I shove his back onto the island, until he’s lying flat on top of it. “Enough, Kostantin! No more shit out of you!”
He breaks my hold and shoves me away. “Fuck you, Kirill!” he growls, jabbing a menacing finger in my chest. “You know I’m not wrong. You know it. Frankie doesn’t deserve to be swallowed by the poison we deal with every day. She’s good. Good like Katya. She deserves fucking better. And keeping her here, in this cage of a house, in this fucking family, is cruel!” He spits the words out, raw with rage, before jumping off the island and storming out, leaving me alone once again with my troublesome thoughts.
I sit down on a stool and hold my head in my hands, hating that I lost my temper with him. Especially since he’s right. Russia isn’t where a girl like Frankie belongs. She has a life back in Chicago. One that is untouched by blood, misery, andvengeance. She hasn’t become jaded like the rest of us. Hasn’t drunk from the poisoned well that is being a part of theBratva.
No. Frankie has lived most of her life like a normal human being, untouched by all this darkness. It would be heartless to drag her into it. To trap her in the despair we’ve had to live with.
If Kira had grown up with us, then maybe this life wouldn’t be so hard on her.
But Frankie? Frankie deserves better.
Fuck. Now I have to apologize to my brother. And if there’s one thing I hate more than being wrong, it’s saying I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve been saying that a lot lately. And that’s all because of Stella.
I mean, isn’t that why I really lost my patience with my brother just now? Because I’ve been so wound up, tense, and fucking miserable?
I haven’t gone back to her room since I left her last night. Sure, I slept in the hallway in case she called out or needed anything. But that was all I did.
So why did it hurt when she said love wasn’t something people like us deserved? Why did I even care? Deep down, I already know the answer. I don’t have to dig too far to find it. I’m fucking falling in love with her.
No. That’s another lie.
I’ve more than fallen. I’m neck-deep in it, ribs cracked open, bleeding for her like an idiot.
And if I tried to bring any of this up again, she’d either laugh in my face or crush me with that cold little shrug of hers.
Yeah. Coming home has a bitter taste now. I should be on cloud nine like Misha and Sasha, happy to have Kira back. Instead, I’m sitting here licking my wounds over a stupid broken heart.
Isn’t that just fucking wonderful?Blyad.
