"They're not just my brothers by choice. They're part of me." His hand strokes down my back, soothing. "If you want them, and they want you, I won't be the one to prevent that."
Relief floods through me so powerfully I feel tears prick my eyes.
"I only ask one thing," he continues, and his voice hardens slightly. "Don't betray us. Don't lie to us. Don't play us against each other."
The warning lands with weight I can't ignore.
I realize I'm walking a tightrope. These three men have been through hell together. Their bond predates me by decades. If I make them choose between brotherhood and me, I know which side will win.
I need to be careful. Can't let my heart get too involved.
Even as I think it, I know it's already too late.
"How did you meet them?" I ask, because I genuinely want to know. "The twins. Have you always been like brothers?"
Maksim shifts, pulling me closer against his chest. I rest my head over his heart and listen to the steady rhythm while he speaks.
"I met them when I was fifteen," he says. "They were twelve. Already living on the streets for a while by then."
"Why were you on the streets?"
His hand stills on my back.
"My parents were murdered," he says. "In front of me. By a rival family."
I hold him tighter. Press my lips to his chest. "I'm so sorry."
"I was born into wealth and power," he continues, voice distant. Like he's reading facts from a history that belongs to someone else. "In Russia, that comes with enemies. One night, they came to our home. They killed my parents while I watched."
"Oh my God! And you escaped?"
"They wanted me to suffer." His laugh is hollow. "I was considered something of a prodigy. Piano. Everyone expected great things from my future."
A chill runs down my spine. I remember the music from last night. The passion and pain in every note.
"After they killed my parents, they dragged me to the piano room." His voice is flat now. Emotionless. "Threw me on thefloor and stomped on my hands. Over and over. Until every bone was broken. They wanted to make sure I'd never play again."
Silent tears stream down my face. I lift his hand to my lips, press kisses to the scarred knuckles, the misshapen joints that speak of damage that never fully healed.
"I knew my family's power died with my parents," he continues. "I couldn't stay in the house. Couldn't use my name. I had no real family left. So I disappeared into the streets of Moscow."
"Where you met the twins."
"Where I met the twins." I can hear the warmth that enters his voice when he speaks of them. "Zakhar and Alexei. Already surviving on their own, looking after each other. We became inseparable almost immediately."
"How did you go from street kids to... this?"
"I was, what you can call the brains," he says simply. "Found clever ways to make money. The twins were the muscle. We protected each other. Built from nothing. And now we have everything."
I'm speechless. The scope of what he's telling me, the trauma and resilience and determination it must have taken to transform from orphaned street children into the powerful men they are today.
"I'm not an expert," I finally say. "But the music you played last night... it was beautiful. It drew me to you."
He's quiet for a moment. "That was the first time I've played since I was fifteen."
I lift my head to look at him. "What?"
"That piano has been in that room for ten years. I've walked past it hundreds of times. Never once felt the urge to touch it." His eyes find mine. "Until last night."
