Trying to keep a straight face, I asked, “While I’m doing that, could you get the pretty girl into her carrier for me?”
Lev jerked his head up to glare at me. “Vseznayka.”
“While I don’t speak Russian, I can imagine you probably just called me a bitch, right?”
“I called you a smartass.”
With a grin, I replied, “Hmm, I think I earned that.”
To my surprise, the corners of Lev’s lips quirked. “You got balls, you know that?”
“Not that I was aware of.”
Lev snorted. “You know, you remind me a lot of my sisters.”
“I’m assuming that is a compliment?”
He grinned. “Both Mila and Kira are smartasses.”
“Then I’m sure we’d get along well.”
“Let me guess. You give your brothers shit like my sisters do us?”
My eyes widened. “Youwerelistening to me,” I remarked.
Lev laughed. “Like I had a choice.”
“Now who's the smartass?”
“Whatever,” he replied, but he still smiled.
“Anyway, I came out here to see if you could help me with my bags.”
“Jesus, how much shit are you taking?”
“See, I already know you too well because I knew you’d bitch about it.”
Huffing, he replied, “Fine. I’ll go get the bags, and you get the cat.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
As I watched his retreating form, I shook my head. I’m not sure if there was a branch of Stockholm Syndrome where you found the brother of your captive adorable.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: MAKSIM
As I stared down at the gaping wound in my father’s forehead, a myriad of emotions ricocheted through me. There were the expected feelings of relief and gratitude and bitterness and loathing.
But there were also surprising ones. Like sadness and regret.
After everything I’d been through with him, I couldn’t fathom actually mourning his death. As his glazed eyes stared up at me, I hated that even in death, he held power over me. For thirty years, he’d tormented me and my siblings. He’d taken away the only true mother I’d ever known when he killed Irina.
I should’ve had nothing but hate in my heart.
Yet I didn’t.
Fuck. I regretted that I arrived too late to see him killed. I would always hate that I didn’t get to look him in the eye in his last moments. To see what I hoped was the flicker of fear in his eyes. Or the rage that his life was being cut short by one of his own children.
Glancing over to the couch, I eyed Mila. With an empty glass of Father’s expensive vodka, she stared straight ahead. Dima and I spent a lot of time on the plan to take Father out. When he’d not only suggested involving Mila, but having her pull the trigger, I never expected her to really do it.
