“Half-brother,” she repeated. “Who attacked Kirill in a parking lot and told him to stay away from your mansion’s security cameras.”
It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway. “I didn’t send him. I didn’t even know he was going to….” My voice cracked. “I would never want anyone to get hurt because of me.”
Illyana studied me for a long moment, those ice-blue eyes seeing too much. Then she leaned forward, elbows on the table, and said something I wasn’t expecting.
“You should ask Cassandra what the Bratva really means.” Her voice had lost some of its edge. “If you think your lazy-ass brother is dangerous, you have no idea what kind of protection you could have if you just asked for it.”
Damir set down the glasses he’d been holding and nodded. “She’s right. All you gotta do is ask, Barbara.” He looked at me with an intensity that made me uncomfortable. “Kirill will move fucking heaven and earth for you.”
The statement landed like a bomb in the middle of our booth. Move heaven and earth. For me. The girl who’d lied to him, who’d let him think the worst, who’d pushed him away every time he got too close to the truth.
Why would he do that? Why would anyone?
“I don’t—” I started, but my throat closed up. “I can’t ask him for help. He hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Hailey said gently. “Trust me. I saw the way he talked about you. That’s not hate.”
“Then what is it?”
Nobody answered, which was answer enough.
Illyana was still watching me, her expression thoughtful. “Why are you so afraid of your brother?” she asked. “What does he have on you that’s worth all this?”
I gave a faint smile, bitter and tired. “Not everyone is as lucky as you are in terms of protective brothers.”
She tilted her head, considering. “True. Timur would burn down half of Chicago if someone threatened me. So would Drew and Damir, if I’m being honest.” A pause. “But that’s not luck, Barbara. That’s what family is supposed to do. Protect each other. Not terrorize.”
“Yeah, well.” I reached for another drink, my hands shaking slightly. “Sebastian didn’t get that memo.”
The conversation shifted after that, Illyana’s attention moving to scan the rest of the club. Her eyes landed on a booth across the way where several men sat—all of them radiating the same dangerous energy she did.
She squinted, leaning forward slightly. “Who’s that?” She pointed at one of them—dark hair, sharp features, the kind of looks that probably got him whatever he wanted. “The one sitting with my brother and cousins. He’s smoking hot.”
Cassandra followed her gaze and smiled. “That’s Andrei. Vladimir’s son.”
“Vladimir.” Illyana’s expression went flat. “As in Vladimir Orlov? The Sovetnik?”
“The one and only.”
Illyana grabbed Damir’s untouched shot and downed it like a pro, not even wincing at the burn. “Fucking fantastic,” she muttered. “I thought Chicago was full of my brothers and cousins. Now I’ve got to add the Sovetnik’s son to the list of men I can’t flirt with because of Bratva politics.”
Everyone laughed—Hailey’s sharp bark, Cassandra’s soft chuckle, Damir’s rumbling amusement. Even Illyana cracked a smile, though it was edged with genuine frustration.
Everyone except me.
Because while they were laughing, while the music pounded and drinks flowed and normal people had normalconversations about normal things, I was sitting there feeling like I was going to throw up.
The whiskey churned in my empty stomach. The lights felt too bright. The bass too loud. Everything was closing in, suffocating, and I couldn’t breathe past the panic rising in my throat.
Kirill would move heaven and earth for me.
Sebastian was getting more dangerous.
Vladimir’s son was sitting across the club, which meant more Bratva connections, more complications, more ways for this entire situation to explode.
And I was trapped in the middle of it all, carrying a secret that grew heavier with every passing day.
“Barbara?” Cassandra’s voice seemed to come from very far away. “You okay? You look pale.”
