I married the Don’s daughter, formed a public alliance neither family can go back on, and got back the thing I bargained with, strengthening my brother’s position asPakhanand our Bratva.
I’m supposed to clink my glass to his, but I don’t.
Because the thing I was waiting for—breaking the fucking curse, welcoming my relief, my freedom—it never comes.
“Thought you’d be pleased,” Wolf says.
“It won’t ever be enough, will it?” I mutter, looking up at my brother. “No matter what I do.”
Wolf exhales, shaking his head with a faint smile. “I never asked you to pay, Mikhail. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no bad blood between you and me. Our past is ugly, yes, but whose isn’t? You’re my brother.”
My fingers tighten around my glass as I tune inward. Brother…?
What kind of brother does the things I’ve done? I made him suffer, and then, when he needed me, I shut him out, fending for myself.
“I don’t know how to live with this. It’s fucking eating me alive. And my wife…” My jaw clenches. “She deserves me at my best. I want to give her that version of me.”
He sits across from me, leaning forward in his chair, his glass of whiskey dangling between his knees.
“Stop asking me for forgiveness, Mikhail, because you already have it. The things you had to do to keep me alive… Your sacrifice won’t be forgotten. And what happened after—the rupture between us—it was unavoidable after the shit your mother put us both through. Not because we didn’t feel like brothers, but because she took our fucking souls, and each of us needed to find our way back to ourselves after. But look at us now. Look at how far we’ve come. What more proof do you need that we’re family?”
Proof…I don’t need any proof. I know he doesn’t hate me, which is what makes things worse. If he hated me, then at least I’d take my punishment. But instead, he says these things to me as if our past doesn’t matter.
“It’s you who needs to forgive yourself,” he adds, and for the first time, I don’t fight the thought.
I know he’s right. I’ve known it for a long time but refused to accept it. Because what the fuck does forgiving myself even mean?
There is no other way, though, and the realization thrums against my heart like a battle cry. My entire fucking body recognizes the validity of what he’s saying, as if it has been waiting for me to come to terms with it at last.
I exhale, long and heavy, downing my drink in one go.
“What happened with Antonio and Remus?” I ask, changing the subject.
Wolf snorts. “He did it. That asshole marched into San Maleno with fifty armed men. Shot up half the compound. Killed a bunch of Antonio’s soldiers.”
“And?”
“And Antonio didn’t shoot him.”
I quirk a brow. “Why the hell not?”
“Because the resemblance is fucking uncanny. Same eyes…same temper. Antonio knew he wasn’t lying when he said he was his son. Besides…” Wolf trails off, giving me a look.
“What?”
“Remus killed anotherCapo—Angelo something—right there, in front of everyone. Then, half of Angelo’s soldiers switched sides, probably realizing who held the power.”
“What the fuck,” I mutter. “So he’s untouchable now is that what you’re saying?”
“Pretty much. We’ve got to keep an eye on him. Unless…” Wolf says, studying me. “Don’t tell me—you wanna go back and finish the job?”
Damn right, I want to. Everything in me screams at me to go, telling me this is the last thing I’ll have to do for my brother, the same lie I’ve been telling myself for years.
I shake my head. “I’m done with that. My wife needs me here.”
My brother offers a faint smile. “Well, look at you. Finally got it in your head.”
I roll my eyes. “In any case, sounds like we’ve got ourselves a future threat with Remus being next in line for the Cosa Nostra.”
