At the far end of the hallway, a man walks toward us, cradling Alina in his arms. He’s tall and sharp-featured, with dark curly hair and the composed stillness of someone who’s accustomed to violence. His suit is spotless, his expression unreadable.
I swear I’ve seen him somewhere, but where?
“She was trapped on the balcony,” he says quietly. “Unconscious but alive.”
When Yulian sprints toward them, the man offers her over without hesitation. Yulian steps in and takes her, his hands trembling only slightly as he curls her protectively against his chest. The man nods once, offers nothing more, then disappears down a side passage like smoke.
Yulian doesn’t seem to care about the identity of the man as he strokes her hair. “I’m here, Alyonushka, I’ll keep you safe, I’ll protect you.”
I’ve never seen Yulian this distraught, almost as if his world would’ve crumbled if something had happened to her.
They must be so close; it certainly felt like it when they were together earlier. Besides, he mentioned she’s like this because of him, so I can see the guilt crushing his usually proud shoulders.
For the first time, I don’t see the reckless, impulsive, violence-driven Yulian who seems to be on a mission to die young. I just see a caring brother who’d gladly offer his life just to keep his sister safe.
Stepping close, I shrug off my jacket and place it over her body, then gently press two fingers against her wrist. Her pulse is faint but steady.
“She’ll be fine,” I whisper as I release her.
My hand brushes against Yulian’s cold fingers, and our eyes meet.
Unsaid words filter between us—something raw and shaking, something that cuts through years of silence and deflection.
For a moment, I forget where we are, and I have the urge to thread my fingers through his, give him some form of comfort, even if it’s just silent.
I’ve never been good with consoling words or offering a shoulder to lean on, but I want to dosomethingfor him.
Anything.
I truly hate that I can be so emotionally stilted right now and wish I had a smidge of Yulian’s spontaneous energy.
At a loss for words, I remain motionless, sweeping my gaze over him. I can almost still see the bruises on his stomach and chest, and I don’t need to see his back to know it’s marked, too.
Just the thought of sending him and Alina back to their monster of a father makes my blood boil.
My phone vibrates, killing the moment.
Mom.
Fuck, they must be so worried.
I straighten, hesitating for a breath. “I have to…”
“Go, I know.” He doesn’t look at me as he gathers Alina closer, but I feel his silence like a tether I can’t cut.
I want to say something, but I’m apparently so bad at finding the right words that I just nod and turn around.
Carrying his unreadable expression with me.
The aftermathof the attack has been a blur.
It’s been a couple of days, and there’s still no answer as to who was behind it. All fingers are pointed at other enemy factions that aren’t Russian since no one would be foolish enough to attack their own.
Every Bratva suffered losses, but none as heavy as Boston’s—they lost two of their leaders. The attack was brutal, full-scale, and as the hosts, Boston bore the brunt of the backlash. Blame rained down on them, only deepening their wounds.
My father and the others on our side of the world have just been keeping an eye on the development of events. We mostly made it out of this unscathed, though we did lose two guards.
Let’s just say Mom and Dad were worried shitless looking for me. I couldn’t exactly admit I was with Yulian instead of heading to the meeting point, so I told them I’d been trapped. It was enough to deflect their suspicion.
