The bear-like man behind Ludis shifts his weight, but my brother's face remains a mask of cold amusement. Only the slight pause before he raises his glass betrays any reaction.
"Now that's creative." He takes a deliberate sip. "Did you come up with that before or after you found your instant family?"
My knuckles go white against the armrest. Vic's tablet sits between us on the mahogany desk like a loaded weapon.
"Play it," I tell Vic, not taking my eyes off my brother. Part of me wants to look away—to not watch his face when he hears our mother's death discussed like a business transaction. But I force myself to watch, to memorize every micro-expression that crosses his features.
"If this is another one of your—" Ludis starts, his words dying in his throat as Aleksei’s voice booms through the room, cutting off his bullshit excuses.
"Six-month-old twins," the recording plays. "Should've been an easy job."
The crystal tumbler in Ludis's hand trembles for a fraction of a second before his fingers tighten, knuckles bleaching white against the cut glass. His jaw works silently, that perpetual smirk slipping just enough to show something raw underneath.
"Who would've thought Sofiya had it in her?" Aleksei's recorded voice continues. "Diving in front of those bullets, using her own body as a shield."
Ludis's throat bobs. Once. Twice. The bear-like man takes a half-step forward, but freezes when Ludis raises his hand.
"Bothbratssurvived because of that stupidsuka." Stephan's laughter crackles through the speaker, and I watch my brother's face shift from disbelief to something darker, more dangerous.
The crystal tumbler shakes in Ludis's grip before he slams it down. He leans back, breathing hard through his nose. Each movement calculated, like he's solving a math problem that ends in bloodshed.
The silver lighter clicks. He lights another cigarette while Aleksei's voice fills the room with its poison. Vic doesn't bitch about his precious ceiling this time. His jaw works silently as he watches my brother, his fingers frozen on that fancy fucking watch.
Ludis's eyes close as smoke escapes his lips. Another voice joins in—Stephan's smooth bullshit mixing with Aleksei's gravel.
My gut twists hearing it again. The way they laugh about our mother's death like they're discussing the fucking weather. Like she didn't die choking on her own blood, protecting the sons they tried to kill. I want to put bullets in both of them. Make them count every second she suffered.
“Love makes men weak.Pizdets.” Aleksei’s recorded laughter scrapes through the room. “The fool wouldn’t listen to me after he became a father.Blyat. He turned into a pussy. But convincing him to separate the twins? ‘For their safety,’ Isaid. The grieving father, so desperate to protect his remaining family, he’d do anything—even tear it apart.”
The recording clicks off. In the silence, Ludis takes another drag, slow and deliberate like a man choosing his last meal. The bear behind him flexes his fingers, reading the room's tension like a weather report before a storm.
"Cute story." Ludis's voice comes out hoarse. He crushes the half-smoked cigarette next to its dead brother. "Really tugs at the heartstrings. Must've taken forever to edit."
Blyat.Of course themudakdoesn’t believe it. I lean forward, my palms resting on my thighs. “You think I’d make this shit up?”
“I think—” He mirrors my position, close enough that I can smell the bourbon and smoke on his breath, “—that you’re running out of ways to keep me from what’s mine. First the brotherhood bullshit, now this fairytale about Mama being some kind of hero?”
"It's not a fucking fairytale." My fingers itch for my Glock. "These men killed our mother. Used our father's grief to tear us apart. And now—"
"Now what?" His laugh comes out sharp as broken glass. "We hug it out? Cry about our sad childhood? Maybe start a support group for abandoned little boys?"
The bear shifts again. Maksim's hand drifts toward his holster.
"They're planning to kill my son." The words taste like battery acid. "Your nephew."
Something flickers across Ludis's face—too fast to read. He reaches for the crystal decanter, pouring another two fingers of bourbon like we're discussing the weather. "Not my problem."
Red bleeds into the edges of my vision. Three days of watching Elijah build Jenga towers flash through my mind. Three days of seeing our mother's eyes in his face.
"Blayt.You stupid fuck." I'm on my feet before I realize I'm moving. "They killed our mother. They're coming for my family. And you're sitting there like some brain-dead gopnik pretending none of it matters?"
His glass hits the desk with a crack. “What matters,” he stands, “is that you’re losing your grip. On the Bratva. On reality. First, you find some whore and her bastard—”
The Glock appears in my hand the same moment his weapon clears leather. Behind us, the bear's massive frame tenses like a spring about to snap.
“Don’t,” I snap; I tighten my grip on the gun. “Don’t fucking test me.”
Ludis's eyes glitter with something wild. "Truth hurts, brat?"
